The Unwanted Wife's Spectacular Genius Comeback
Chapter 2
The heavy crystal chandeliers of the Kirkland estate's main banquet hall cast a blinding, unforgiving light.
It was the second night of the family gathering. Francesca stepped into the noisy room alone, wearing a conservative, high-necked couture gown that felt more like armor than clothing.
She scanned the sea of tailored suits and glittering diamonds, searching for Emery.
He was nowhere to be found.
"Well, look who finally decided to join us."
Francesca stiffened. She turned to see Marion Kirkland, her stepmother-in-law, marching toward her with a flute of champagne and a trailing entourage of wealthy matrons.
Marion's sharp eyes raked up and down Francesca's dress. She let out a soft, incredibly grating scoff.
"Tell me, Francesca," Marion projected her voice, ensuring the surrounding guests could hear. "How are those dry, boring numbers doing in your little MIT lab? Have you discovered a formula for basic social etiquette yet?"
The women behind Marion erupted into a chorus of synchronized, mocking giggles.
Francesca gripped her silk clutch so tightly her knuckles turned white. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a polite, rigid smile.
"The lab is doing well, Marion. Thank you for asking," Francesca said, her voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart.
Marion took a step closer, invading Francesca's personal space.
"It's a shame you spend so much time with machines," Marion sneered. "Catalina's engagement is approaching. She has such an exquisite eye for Renaissance art. She knows exactly how to host a proper Kirkland event. You could learn a thing or two from her, instead of embarrassing us with your lack of charm."
Heat rushed to Francesca's cheeks. The humiliation burned in her throat.
She opened her mouth to defend herself, but the massive carved wooden doors of the banquet hall suddenly swung open.
Emery strode into the room.
He brought a freezing, unapproachable aura with him. The chatter near the doors died down instantly as he walked straight toward Francesca.
He didn't hesitate. He reached out, his large hand wrapping firmly around her waist, and pulled her flush against his side.
Francesca's body went completely rigid at the sudden, unexpected contact.
Emery's dark eyes locked onto Marion. They were devoid of any warmth.
"The hostess of the Kirkland family does not need to memorize a few old paintings to prove her worth," Emery's voice was a low, dangerous rumble that cut through the silence.
Marion's face drained of color, then flushed a mottled red. Faced with the absolute authority of the CEO, she forced a tight smile and quickly retreated with her friends.
The surrounding whispers ceased entirely.
For a split second, a tiny, foolish spark of gratitude flared in Francesca's chest. He had defended her.
She tilted her head up, parting her lips to thank him.
Her eyes met his.
They were completely empty. There was no affection, no protective warmth. Just a cold, calculating void.
Emery leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear.
"Do not embarrass this family in public again," he whispered, his tone sharp enough to draw blood. "Keep your head up and act like you belong here."
The spark of gratitude froze, shattering into a million pieces of ice.
He didn't care about her feelings. He only cared about the pristine image of the Kirkland conglomerate.
"Emery!"
A sweet, melodic voice floated over the music.
Catalina, wearing a stunning, deep burgundy gown that clung to her curves, drifted toward them like a butterfly. She had her arm looped intimately through Hudson's.
The moment Catalina approached, the hand resting on Francesca's waist suddenly tightened.
Emery's grip was so forceful that Francesca almost gasped. His fingers dug painfully into her ribs.
Francesca bit the inside of her cheek to mask the pain, watching in horror as the cold mask on Emery's face melted away.
"Catalina," Emery said. His voice was entirely different now. It was soft, accommodating, and stripped of all its sharp edges. "Are you getting used to the food here? If the chef isn't to your liking, I can have them fly someone in."
The contrast was a physical blow. It felt like a backhand across Francesca's face.
"Oh, everything is perfect, Emery," Catalina smiled brightly.
As she spoke, Catalina's gaze shifted. She looked right over Emery's shoulder and locked eyes with Francesca. The triumphant, gloating look was back, clear as day.
Bile rose in the back of Francesca's throat. The hypocrisy of the two men and this woman was making her physically sick.
"Excuse me," Francesca muttered.
She didn't wait for a response. She forcefully twisted her body, breaking free from Emery's iron grip, and practically ran toward the hallway.
She pushed through the heavy doors of the women's restroom and locked herself in the furthest stall.
Her chest heaved as she dragged in ragged breaths.
She stepped out of the stall and walked to the marble sink. The woman staring back at her in the mirror looked pale, exhausted, and utterly pathetic.
She turned on the faucet, letting the freezing water run over her wrists. She splashed the icy liquid onto her face, shocking her system.
She looked at her reflection, her eyes hardening into dark stones.
She would not let him touch her tonight. Not after this.
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