Chapter 19
GWEN
Afew weeks had passed since we sat in that island diner, and I had officially returned to Medina.
The transition back to the property on Lake Washington was not an act of instant magic. The foundation of our marriage had sustained severe damage, and repairing it required daily, deliberate effort.
Reid was doing the work.
He treated our new boundaries as absolute law.
The shift in his routine was so profound it occasionally left me speechless.
He left his office every evening, regardless of what crisis was brewing.
He left his laptop in his briefcase by the front door, creating a physical barrier between his corporate empire and our home.
When his phone vibrated during dinner, he let the calls drop to voicemail without a glance. He answered my questions with transparency, volunteering information about his schedule before I even had to ask. He was the partner he had promised to be, proving his devotion with his actual time.
The estate had felt like a prison during the last year of our marriage.
I used to wander the quiet halls, staring out the windows at the dark water, waiting for a husband who was never going to come home.
Now, the house felt different. We spent our evenings sitting on the back patio, actually talking to one another. The crushing isolation was gone.
Yet, despite his unwavering effort and the cautious peace we were building, a lingering tension thrummed in my veins as we prepared for our first major public appearance together.
Tonight was a semi-public charity fundraiser hosted at a downtown Seattle venue.
The guest list was densely populated by Mitchell Energy investors, corporate board members, and a smattering of rival executives.
This was the exact world where our marriage had nearly died.
This was the ruthless environment where Reid had historically prioritized his ambition over my existence.
Stepping back into that sphere felt like stepping onto a battlefield.
I stood in front of the mirror in our master bedroom, smoothing the silk of my emerald gown. I stared at my reflection, trying to locate the armor I used to wear to these things.
"You look breathtaking," came a familiar voice.
I looked up. Reid stood in the doorway, dressed in a sharp black tuxedo.
The soot-covered wildland firefighter was gone, replaced once again by the polished billionaire.
But the cold, distant edge that used to define his corporate persona was missing.
His eyes were soft as he walked across the bedroom, stopping just behind me.
He didn't check his watch or tell me the town car was waiting. He simply placed his hands on my bare shoulders and met my gaze in the mirror.
"I know you don't want to go to this," Reid said quietly. "If you want to stay home, Gwen, I will cancel right now. We don't have to walk into that room."
"It's the hospital benefit," I reminded him, leaning back slightly into the solid warmth of his chest. "We need to make an appearance."
"I don't care about the optics of the donation," Reid countered, his grip on my shoulders tightening a fraction. "I only care about you. If this is too much, too soon, you just say the word. I will shut it down."
I searched his reflection, looking for the subtle guilt trip he used to deploy when I abandoned a networking opportunity. There was none. He was genuine.
"I'm okay," I told him, turning around. I reached up and brushed a piece of lint from his lapel. "I just need to remember that we aren't the same people we were a year ago."
"We aren't," Reid agreed. He leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to my forehead. "I've got you. The entire night. I promise."
The drive across the floating bridge into Seattle was quiet.
I watched the city skyline draw closer, the towering glass skyscrapers glowing against the night sky.
In the past, this drive would have been spent in silence while Reid furiously typed emails.
Tonight, his phone was tucked away, and his hand rested warmly over mine on the center console.
We arrived at the venue just after eight o'clock.
The event space occupied the top floor of a modern high-rise, featuring walls of glass that offered a sweeping view of Elliott Bay.
The room hummed with the steady murmur of high-level networking, the clinking of champagne flutes, and a string quartet playing in the corner.
I stood near the edge of the room, holding a glass of sparkling water, observing the relentless machinery of the Seattle elite.
Reid stood right beside me. He looked every bit the CEO the room expected him to be, his presence naturally drawing the attention of every broker and investor in the vicinity. But his behavior had fundamentally shifted.
In the past, he would have deposited me at a corner table with a brief smile and immediately vanished into the thick of the crowd to secure capital. Tonight, he anchored himself to my side.
He kept his body angled slightly toward mine, a physical barrier between me and the rest of the room.
His hand rested firmly on the small of my back.
When an aggressive venture capitalist approached us, ignoring me to launch into a rapid-fire pitch about a lithium supply chain, Reid didn't take the bait.
"Not tonight, David," Reid interrupted smoothly, cutting the man off. "I am off the clock. My wife and I are just here to enjoy the evening and support the foundation."
The investor blinked, startled by the hard boundary, before offering a stiff apology and retreating.
"You didn't have to cut him off so quickly," I murmured, taking a sip from my glass. "I know the lithium contracts are important for the new battery line."
"They are," Reid agreed, his hand sliding slightly higher on my spine. "But they aren't more important than standing here with you. No more competing for my attention."
I looked up at him, studying the relaxed set of his shoulders. The lingering anxiety that had been plaguing me all evening finally began to dissipate. He was actively shielding me from the demands of his empire.
"You really meant it," I said softly, the realization washing over me.
Reid turned his head, his eyes locking onto mine, entirely oblivious to the influential people surrounding us.
"I meant every word I said," he promised, his voice dropping an octave. "I let ambition blind me to the fact that you were hurting. I will never let you feel invisible in a room like this again."
Before I could formulate a response, a sudden shift in the room’s energy hijacked my attention.
The steady hum of networking abruptly faltered near the main entrance.
The disruption moved through the crowd like a shockwave.
Conversations died mid-sentence. Heads turned in unison.
A tense, awkward silence began to spread rapidly across the perimeter of the venue, drowning out the string quartet.
I frowned, following the collective gaze of the room toward the grand doors of the entrance.
My heart executed a hard stutter against my ribs, the blood turning to ice in my veins.
It was Victoria Albright.
She stood in the center of the entryway, looking entirely unrecognizable from the calculating woman who had stood on the porch of the lighthouse and casually dismantled my reality.
The pristine designer labels she used to weaponize were gone.
The flawless cashmere and tailored silk were nowhere to be seen.
Instead, she wore a wrinkled cocktail dress that looked like it had been slept in.
The fabric clung to her in an unflattering, haphazard way.
Her hair hung in messy strands around her pale face.
Her makeup was severely smudged, emphasizing a hollow, exhausted look.
And she was completely inebriated. She swayed heavily on her feet, struggling to maintain her balance on her stilettos.
The private security guards stationed at the entrance stepped forward immediately, realizing she lacked an invitation and posed a disruption. One of the men reached out to grab her arm, but Victoria jerked away with a vicious snap of her shoulder.
"Get your hands off me!" she shrieked, the sound utterly jarring in the refined space.
Her erratic, bloodshot gaze swept over the sea of stunned executives and abruptly locked onto us.
I felt Reid stiffen instantly beside me. The relaxed hand resting on my back dropped, his posture shifting in a fraction of a second into an immovable barrier. He stepped slightly in front of me, shielding my body with his own.
Victoria didn't hesitate. She marched directly toward us, her heels catching awkwardly on the thick carpet, forcing her to stumble. The crowd parted for her out of pure, self-preserving instinct, creating a clear path across the venue floor.
She stopped barely three feet away from us. The smell of cheap alcohol radiated off her skin.
She looked at Reid, her eyes burning with a chaotic fury. She raised her hand and pointed a shaking finger directly at the center of his chest.
"You," Victoria sneered, her voice cracking loudly, echoing over the complete silence of the crowd. "You think you can just stand here and pretend nothing happened? You think you can just drink champagne and play the devoted husband while I have nothing left?"
Reid did not raise his voice. He did not take a single step backward. He met her erratic, public anger with absolute, chilling calm. The temperature in his eyes plummeted to zero.
"Victoria," Reid said, his tone flat and dangerously even, carrying the authority of a man who could end a career with a signature. "You are intoxicated, and you are trespassing. You need to turn around and walk out those doors right now, before I have you physically removed."