I take a few seconds, trying to steady myself before lifting a hand and pushing the door open.
The conversation dies instantly, every head turning toward me.
And that’s when I notice who else is here.
Brad and his wife, Kelly.
Why are they here? Law never invites them over anymore.
My gaze immediately finds Law again, his dark eyes dragging over me, making my skin crawl.
“Blaire!” Kelly chirps, pushing her chair back with a bright smile.
I remain rooted to the spot, paralyzed, unable to tear my eyes from him until she steps in front of me and pulls me into a tight hug.
Soreness explodes through my ribs, and I wince before I can stop myself, my eyes squeezing shut.
Kelly pulls back immediately, her hands settling on my upper arms as concern flashes across her face.
“Are you okay?” she says quietly, her eyes sweeping over me, searching.
I blink, my mind scrambling for an excuse.
“It was a long day at the gym, that's all.”
“Oh.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “You should really take it easy. You already look incredible.”
Incredible?
The compliment makes me cringe internally. Only if she could see the tragedy hidden beneath this pretty dress, she wouldn't be saying that.
“Come sit. Let’s catch up,” she murmurs, head tilting toward the table with her hand on the small of my back.
I manage a brittle nod and drift past her like a ghost tethered to its own grave. Sliding into the chair beside Law, I keep my eyes nailed to the wood grain of the table, refusing to raise my head.
Every cell screamsrun, but my body obeys the invisible chains. I already know the script, and this polite acting is only the prelude to the real performance.
A private chef moves like a shadow in the kitchen while meaningless chatter laps against me in oily waves. My eyes burn with unshed tears, staring into the void between heartbeats.
Brad’s prying gaze sweeps over me from the right, Law’s presence presses from the left, and anxiety coils tighter, a serpent in my throat.
I try to swallow it down, but saliva fills my mouth, and sweat blooms cold across my forehead, tracing icy fingers down my spine.
Then the chef delicately sets the plate down in front of me.
The crimson vulgarity catches my eye—raw, glistening meat, bleeding juices across porcelain like an open wound. Color drains my face, and bile surges up my throat, thick and bitter, as fractured memories detonate behind my eyes.
The smell hits, and a guttural rench rips from my throat before I can cage it.
My trembling hand flies to my mouth as every head snaps toward me.
He knows full fucking well I can’t eat meat.
“Are you okay, Blaire?” Kelly’s voice is laced with alarm.
“She’s pregnant,” Law announces smoothly, and my wide, watery eyes shoot to his.
“Oh my god,Kelly gasps. “Congratulations!”
