Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 41: Champagne, Please

Chapter 41: Champagne, Please

NATHAN JANG

Vanessa’s lips were still swollen from mine when I pulled away to make the call. The taste of her lingered—sweetness, but with a sharp undertone, like the burn of expensive whiskey. She watched me with those beautiful eyes as I dragged my thumb over my bottom lip. What was left of her lipstick stained my thumb.

Someone picked up on the third ring. "Get me the head of the Civil Registration Bureau. Now."

The man on the other end of the line hesitated. "Mr. Jang, it’s after hours—"

"And my patience expires in five minutes." I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. The silence that followed was answer enough.

I hung up.

Vanessa arched a brow from where she lounged against the pillows, her blonde hair fanned out like spilled ink. The sheets were tangled around her waist, her bare skin glowing in the dim light of the suite.

"That sounded expensive," she mused, tracing idle patterns on the silk sheets.

"It will be." I tossed the phone onto the dresser and crawled back over her, bracing my hands on either side of her head. The scent of her floral perfume clung to my skin. "But you’re worth it."

She smirked, trailing her fingers down my chest, nails scraping just hard enough to remind me she wasn’t a docile little thing. "Good answer."

I caught her wrist, pressing it into the mattress. Her pulse jumped under my fingers, fast but steady. Unafraid. "Now tell me why Gregory Savage matters."

Her smirk faded. For a second, I saw the flicker of something else—annoyance, maybe even a hint of frustration. Then it was gone, smoothed into that cool, unreadable mask she wore so well.

"He thinks I saved him," she said, voice flat. "And he’s a little... obsessed. So we’re going to send him the info on who really saved him. Let him be grateful to the actual person who pulled him from the river in Prague."

I studied her face. There was more to it—there always was with Vanessa—but she wasn’t giving it up yet. Fine. I’d let her keep her secrets. For now.

My phone buzzed. A single message: The Bureau head will arrive in twenty minutes.

Vanessa sat up, all business now. "Perfect. I’ll get dressed." She slid off the bed, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet.

I watched her, the way she shimmied into her discarded clothing, the way she finger-combed her hair with ruthless efficiency. This was the Vanessa Belmont the world saw—polished, untouchable. The heiress who never had a strand out of place, never let a crack show in her armor.

Only I knew the woman beneath.

And I intended to keep it that way.

***|***|***|***|***

ANNABETH SAINT

I turned toward the ballroom, steeling myself for the gauntlet of pitying stares and rumor-mongering whispers that awaited. The air inside would be thick with judgment and false concern, every vulture in the room waiting to pick at the carcass of my reputation.

But before I could take a step, a hand clamped around my wrist.

"Where have you been?"

My stepmonster’s voice was honeyed poison. Estelle Saint stood in the doorway, framed by the ballroom’s golden light, her gown a monstrosity of tulle and sequins that looked like a folded burrito.

I yanked my arm free. "You caught me. I’m on the balcony. Breathing. A revolutionary concept, I know."

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She stepped closer, her perfume—cloying and expensive, like orchids left to rot—filling the space between us. "Who were you talking to?"

"Nobody."

She tilted her head, the jewels at her throat catching the light. "Your father wants you at the dinner table now. We need to show everyone that there are no hard feelings between us and the Lees." Her lip curled. "But don’t worry. I’ll fix it."

The unspoken threat hung between us. I’ll fix you.

Estelle turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me to venture into the ballroom on my own.

The moment I stepped inside, the whispers began.

"Did you hear? Her sister stole her marriage. Can you believe it?"

"Pathetic. Who will marry her now?"

"I heard her father’s cutting her off. She was fired from the company, too."

I clenched my jaw and kept walking. Let them talk. I’d survived worse.

***|***|***|***|***

GRACE WITHERSTONE

Marcus Lu was still staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

"You’re really him?" I blurted. "The Marcus Lu? The one who—"

"—owns half of Ash City?" He leaned back in his chair, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. "Guilty."

I groaned, dropping my face into my hands. "I just talked about otter poop with the head of one of the six families who run Ash City."

"And it was the most entertaining thing I’ve heard all night." He flagged down a waiter with a lazy flick of his fingers. "Champagne, please." The waiter scurried off, and Marcus didn’t look away from me. "Unless you’d prefer more otter spraint?"

I burst out laughing, the sound too loud in this sea of polished, restrained conversation. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re the first person in this room who hasn’t tried to sell me something." He accepted the champagne flute, clinking it against mine. The crystal sang between us. "To the queen of Loserdom."

I took a sip, the bubbles popping on my tongue. "You here for the bride or the groom?"

The ballroom doors swung open.

Nathan and Vanessa strode in, their fingers laced together, their clothes suspiciously rumpled.

Fiona Belmont’s champagne glass shattered on the floor.

***|***|***|***|***

VANESSA BELMONT

The room went silent as we entered.

Until we heard glass shatter on the floor.

I squeezed Nathan’s hand, my chin high. Let them stare. Let them whisper.

Fiona materialized at my elbow, her smile razor-sharp. "There you are. We were starting to think you’d eloped."

Nathan stepped between us. "Fiona."

"Nathan." She reached up, her fingers brushing the strawberry mark on his neck. "How careless of you."

I slapped her hand away. "Touch him again and I’ll break your fingers."

Fiona’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes turned glacial. "Such hostility, Vanessa. What would your parents say?"

"They’d say you should learn to keep your hands to yourself."

Nathan’s grip on my waist tightened.

Fiona leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. "You think you’ve won? He’ll tire of you."

"You wish." I smiled. " What I will do, Fiona, is tire him out." I winked and walked away with my husband.

***|***|***|***|***

NATHAN JANG

Fiona Belmont was like a splinter under my skin—small, irritating, impossible to ignore.

She stood too close, her perfume cloying, her smile sharp enough to draw blood. Every word out of her mouth was a carefully crafted barb, designed to dig under Vanessa’s defenses. And mine.

"How careless of you," she’d said, her fingers brushing the mark on my neck.

As if she had any right to touch me.

I resisted the urge to scrub at my skin where her nails had grazed. Instead, I kept my grip firm on Vanessa’s waist, grounding us both. Fiona’s games were nothing new, but tonight, there was an edge to them. A recklessness.

Vanessa’s spine was steel beside me, her voice cool as she threatened to break Fiona’s fingers. I loved that fire in her, the way she refused to back down. But I also knew Fiona wasn’t just taunting for the sake of it. There was strategy in her cruelty.

And Vanessa was playing right into it.

The music swelled around us, the ballroom’s chatter rising again, but the air between the three of us remained charged. Fiona’s parting shot—"He’ll tire of you."—lingered like poison.

Vanessa’s fingers tightened around mine, her nails biting into my skin. She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. But I knew her well enough to recognize the flicker of doubt beneath the defiance.

That was the problem with Fiona. She didn’t just attack; she planted seeds. And Vanessa, for all her strength, couldn’t ignore the tendrils of doubt that grew from them.

My lips brushed Vanessa’s ear. "Let’s get out of here."

She tilted her head, her gaze still locked on Fiona’s retreating figure. "Running away?"

"Choosing my battles." I traced my thumb over the curve of her hip. "And you’re the only one worth fighting for."

A slow smile curved her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Charming. But we both know Fiona doesn’t give up that easily."

No, she didn’t. And that was what worried me.

Fiona had been circling Vanessa, a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. Tonight felt like the beginning of something. A move in a game I didn’t fully understand yet.

And Vanessa—

I studied her profile, the way her jaw was set, the tension in her shoulders. She was calculating, already three steps ahead. But Fiona had a way of twisting words and intentions.

"Tell me what you’re thinking," I murmured.

"That thong underwear is the devil’s clothing," she responded. "I really hate these panties."

"Next time, don’t wear any."