Chapter 4
Story: A Billionaire's Sweet Revenge at the Gala
The murmuring had spread beyond the circle of guests nearest the dessert table, rolling outward in waves as people turned to each other with raised eyebrows and whispered questions. Who is she? Is that really Daniel Mercer's wife? He called her nothing. Did you hear him? He didn't know. He didn't know.
Gavin stood in the center of the widening ripple, and for the first time in years, he had no idea what his next line was. His hand hung at his side, empty without the champagne flute, and Delphine's grip had gone from warning to desperate, her nails digging through the sleeve of his tuxedo.
"Gavin," she said again, harder. "We need to leave."
But he couldn't leave. Not yet. His feet were rooted to the marble like they had been poured there, because his mind was still running the numbers, still trying to reconcile the woman he had left β plain, quiet, content to stand by dessert tables at other people's galas β with the woman who was now standing across from him in a floor-length champagne gown, a thin diamond-set gold band on her finger, the fold of a cashmere wrap visible over her husband's arm.
Daniel Mercer's arm.
His throat worked. "How do you know him?" he managed, and the question was so absurd, so backwards, that a guest near the terrace window actually laughed β a short, sharp sound that was instantly smothered behind a glove.
Seraphine tilted her head. "I met him at the library."
"At the β"
"The public library on Twelfth Street. I had just moved back to the city. I had a new job, a new apartment, and a four-month-old daughter, and I wasn't sleeping well." She said it simply, like she was describing a favorite recipe. "I used to take Lily for walks in the evening, and one night I couldn't get her to settle, so I took her into the library. Daniel was there, looking for a book on β what was it, Daniel?"
"Thermodynamics," Daniel said smoothly. "I was trying to re-proof something from my university days and I'd lost my copy." He looked at Gavin with the mild, evaluating gaze of a man examining a bug that had wandered into his office. "Your wife β that is, this woman β helped me find it. She knew exactly where it was shelved. I asked if she worked there. She said no, she just came often enough to know the stacks. I asked her for coffee. She said her daughter wouldn't sleep. I asked if I could come with her and hold the baby while she drank it."
Delphine's mouth had gone slack. Gavin's face had gone grey.
"You're telling me," he said slowly, "that you met Daniel Mercer β the Daniel Mercer β in a library. And you β"
"At the library," Seraphine repeated, and a small, genuine smile touched her lips. "Where else would I meet someone? I wasn't exactly running in your circles, Gavin. I was a single mother with a job and a baby and a library card. Daniel was the only person I knew who didn't mind that I smelled like formula and hadn't slept in a year."
"I minded," Daniel said quietly. "I minded that you hadn't slept. I didn't mind that you smelled like formula."
The warmth in his voice was so simple, so matter-of-fact, that it landed like a blow on Gavin's chest. He had never spoken about Seraphine that way. He had never once described her to anyone with anything like affection β she was the quiet girlfriend, the safe choice, the woman he had been sure would wait forever.
The woman he had been sure would never be anything without him.
"If you had told me," Gavin said, and his voice cracked on the last word. "If you had just β when I said those things β if you had told me who you were β"
"Who I was," Seraphine repeated slowly, tasting the words. "Gavin, who I was never changed. I was the same woman who helped you with your tax returns and reminded you to call your mother on her birthday and waited up for you when you were late. I was the same woman you looked at across this very room two minutes ago and called nothing." She shook her head slowly. "The only difference is that now you know my husband's name. And you think that changes who I was all along."
The heaviness of it settled over the room like a blanket. A few of the guests were openly staring now, their frozen composure giving way to the ancient, universal pleasure of watching a man publicly disassemble himself.
"Let's go," Delphine said again, harder, and this time she didn't wait for him. She turned on her crimson heel and started walking toward the terrace doors, her strides long and sharp, her steps ringing on the marble like a series of tiny verdicts.
Gavin didn't follow. He stood frozen, watching Seraphine bend down to smooth her daughter's hair β the little girl had crept back to her mother's side, drawn by the tension β and he watched Daniel Mercer rest his hand on her shoulder, and he watched the small, silent, complete family that had formed exactly where his life used to be.
"Say something," he said to no one.
But there was nothing left to say.
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