The week after that night passed in a blur. Viviene moved through her routine as though nothing had happened, and Grayson found himself walking on eggshells, trying to broach the subject again and again. But each time, she deflected with practiced ease, a faint smile that said, everything's fine. That refusal to confront the night, that calm, impenetrable wall, only fanned the flames of his frustration. He wanted to speak, to demand honesty, but he knew she needed time. And he would give it even if it killed him a little every day.
Now, the yearly family dinner loomed. Like the past two years, they were expected to attend as a couple. Grayson's anticipation mingled with nerves as he watched Viviene prepare. She chose a beige dress that hugged her form like a second skin, simple yet impossibly elegant. As she moved, every step was grace incarnate. He could hardly take his eyes off her.They got to the venue,"You look…" he started, but words failed him. Instead, he let his hand drift to her waist, holding her close as he inhaled the subtle scent of her perfume. Her fingers occasionally brushing over the ring he'd chosen for her the one that suited her delicate, manicured hands perfectly. Family soon surrounded, greeting with warm smiles and admiring the young "perfect couple". Viviene blush with every compliment given, hiding her face in his chest, showing her perfectly manicured finger wearing his ring, often brushing her hand on his chest as if trying to claim him while flaunting her ring.
She was his. Every laugh, every shy glance, every graceful gesture belonged to him, and he savored it. The world narrowed to the warmth of her body pressed against his, the light touch of her hand, and the glint of that simple, perfect ring.
When the family's attention was fully captured, he allowed himself to step away, glass of wine in hand, just long enough to admire her from a distance. She greeted the rest of the family with her trademark warmth, a smile that could disarm anyone, the subtle blush of modesty making her even more radiant. He drank her in like a fine vintage, every detail carved into his memory.
And then Julian appeared.
"Enjoying the view, Grayson?" Julian's voice cut through the haze like ice. He leaned casually, that smug smirk playing on his lips. "She's… radiant, isn't she?"
Grayson's jaw tightened. The moment he'd been holding onto, the perfect bubble of pride and intimacy, shattered in an instant. Julian had that infuriating way of showing up uninvited and claiming space just by being there.
"She's mine," Grayson said under his breath, though Julian was close enough to hear. But the words didn't carry the bite he intended they barely scratched the surface of his anger.
Julian's eyes glimmered with mischief. "Really? Because last I heard, it was just a contract. Nothing serious. Don't let her slip through your fingers, Grayson. People like Viviene… they don't wait."
Heat flared along Grayson's spine. He wanted to lash out, to punch that smirk off Julian's face—but he restrained himself. Not here. Not in front of her.
Julian, seeing the flicker of fury in Grayson's eyes, chuckled softly. "You've always had a temper, you know. Don't let it ruin the night. Or worse… don't let her notice it."
Grayson's fingers clenched around the stem of his wine glass, knuckles whitening. He knew this was far from over. Julian wasn't just a nuisance; he was a reminder of everything Grayson didn't want to admit—his jealousy, his desire, and the fact that no matter how perfect Viviene seemed tonight, he had to fight for her attention in ways he hadn't expected.
And as Viviene's laughter rang across the room, warm and bright, Grayson realized something: he would endure Julian, endure every smug remark, every subtle jab. Because she was worth it. Because she was his.