Chapter 3 Break the atmosphere

Evangelina watched the spectacle unfold with the detached interest of a theater critic observing a poorly written play. She noticed the subtle shift in the room's dynamic. In the past, Chaya had always referred to him respectfully as 'Douglass,' maintaining a carefully constructed boundary of familial affection. But tonight, there was a possessive lilt to her voice, a confident familiarity that suggested the boundaries had long since been obliterated.

Evangelina lowered her gaze, staring at the condensation forming on her water glass. She had once fought tooth and nail for the right to call him hers. She had demanded his time, his loyalty, his love, only to be met with cold indifference. Now, she realized that trying to force a man to love you was like trying to warm your hands on a glacier.

Chaya stood by the towering raspberry cake, holding a silver cake knife. As Douglass approached, he stepped behind her, his massive hands covering hers on the handle. It was an incredibly intimate gesture, one that practically enveloped her smaller frame against his broad chest.

The crowd erupted into cheers and catcalls, their phones flashing as they documented the golden couple. Chaya’s face was flushed a deep, triumphant red as they sliced through the pink frosting together. It was a scene straight out of a romantic movie, completely ignoring the fact that the man’s legal wife was sitting less than twenty feet away.

The sweet, heavy scent of vanilla and raspberry filled the room, mingling with the sharp tang of expensive alcohol.

Chaya plated the first slice, a generous piece topped with a spun-sugar rose. She turned and nudged Douglass gently. "Douglass, be a gentleman and take this to Evangelina. It’s raspberry, her absolute favorite."

It was a masterclass in passive-aggressive dominance. Chaya was playing the gracious hostess, proving to the room that she was entirely unthreatened by the ex-wife's return.

Douglass stood frozen for a moment. His towering frame was rigid in the dim light, making him the absolute focal point of the room. He seemed to debate rejecting the request, but eventually, his jaw clenched, and he took the delicate porcelain plate.

He walked across the room with slow, deliberate strides. When he reached Evangelina, he extended his arm, holding the cake out with the cold, mechanical efficiency of a corporate transaction.

"It’s Chaya’s birthday," he commanded, his voice laced with an arrogant expectation of compliance. "Eat a bite."

Evangelina looked up at him, her gray-blue eyes completely devoid of the turbulent emotions that used to define her existence. She didn't reach for the plate. Instead, she looked at the pink frosting with a faint expression of distaste.

"No, thank you, Douglass," she said evenly, her voice carrying clearly over the hushed whispers of the crowd. "I've been on a strict diet lately. Sugar makes me nauseous."

The sycophants in the room immediately rolled their eyes, exchanging exasperated looks.

"Typical Evangelina," a woman muttered loudly enough to be heard. "Always has to ruin the mood. She can't stand seeing Chaya happy for even one night."

Douglass stared down at Evangelina, his eyes searching hers for a flicker of jealousy, a hint of the old madness. But he found nothing. She was a placid, unreadable lake. He slowly lowered the plate, his expression tightening into a mask of pure, unadulterated ice. "Suit yourself," he muttered, turning on his heel and walking back to the bar.

For the rest of the night, the party devolved into a haze of heavy drinking. Douglass, who was notoriously disciplined and rarely drank to excess, began downing glasses of scotch with alarming speed. Whenever someone tried to toast Chaya, he intercepted the glass, swallowing the liquor in a single, burning gulp.

Within an hour, the alcohol had clearly taken its toll. Douglass was seated on a leather sofa, his head leaning back against the cushions, his eyes closed in a drunken stupor.

Chaya hovered over him, gently wiping his brow with a napkin. She looked up at the remaining guests with a long-suffering, affectionate smile. "He really overdid it tonight, trying to protect me from the toasts. I told him I could handle it, but you know how protective he is."

The crowd cooed in sympathy, praising his devotion.

As the guests began to filter out, Chaya carefully draped Douglass’s arm over her shoulder, preparing to leave. She looked over at Evangelina, who was quietly gathering her coat.

"Evangelina, are you riding back with us?" Chaya asked, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

Evangelina slipped her arms into her trench coat. "Sure."

Before she could take a step, three of Chaya’s most loyal defenders blocked her path. "Listen here, Evangelina," a young heir sneered. "You made Chaya's life a living hell for years. She’s the true daughter of the Campos family, and you’re just a mistake that got lucky. Don't think you can come back and start bullying her again. We won't let you."