Adrian turned on Isabella.
“He wants this.
Can’t you see that? He wants you dependent on him.
You are his secretary.
He gives an order, and you run.”
A hush spread across the nearby tables.
Isabella waited for the words to wound her.
Instead, they revealed him.
Adrian had never respected the work that paid half their mortgage and nearly all the expenses he called temporary.
He liked the salary, the apartment, the invitations, and the access.
He simply disliked admitting that Isabella had earned them.
Lorenzo started to speak.
Isabella lifted one hand.
He stopped.
She looked directly at Adrian.
“You are right about one thing.
This is between us.
So answer me without mentioning Lorenzo.
How long?”
Adrian’s anger flickered.
“Nothing happened.”
“How long?”
“You’ve been distant for months.
You are always working.”
“How long?”
He looked around the ballroom, seeking sympathy and finding none.
“A few weeks.”
Isabella tapped the first photograph.
“This was six weeks ago.”
“Fine.
Six weeks.
It was a mistake.”
“A mistake is one action.
You built a schedule.”
Adrian’s voice dropped.
“Can we go home and discuss this privately?”
“No.”
“Isabella.”
“You wanted me alone tonight.
You got what you wanted.
Go home by yourself.”
His expression hardened.
“That apartment is mine too.”
“The mortgage payment cleared from my account yesterday.”
“We are married.”
“For the moment.”
The words seemed to shock him more than the photographs.
Adrian stared at her as if she had violated an agreement by refusing to forgive him immediately.
“You would throw away our marriage over this?”
“No,” Isabella said.
“You threw it away.
I am only refusing to carry it after you dropped it.”
He looked at Lorenzo again.
“You think he will protect you? Men like him don’t do anything without wanting something back.”
Lorenzo’s eyes went cold.
But Isabella answered first.
