Chapter 11 #2
“Don’t,” she warns, and for the first time her mask slips.
“Why not? Ashamed of the truth? Fine. I’ll say it.
I was with Isabel because you and everyone else in this room made damn sure I believed I had no choice.
You decided a long time ago that the only woman I should want was the one you chose for me.
You pushed her into my life and pushed me into hers, and now you have the nerve to sit there and—”
“?Basta! Enough.”
My father’s voice cracks across the table and cuts me off. His face is flushed with fury. “You will not disrespect your mother.”
I turn to him. Alejandro Navarro. Head of this family. A man who has never let me forget my place. He sat through my mother’s tirade in silence, but now his hand tightens around his wine glass as if he would rather have his fingers around my throat.
I straighten to my full height. “I’m telling the truth,” I say, each word measured and taut.
My heart slams against my ribs, adrenaline pushing me toward violence or the door.
“For once, someone needs to. You all act like I threw away some fairy tale with Isabel, when the truth is you engineered it. And you would rather see me miserable with the right woman than happy with one you do not approve of.” I jab a finger toward the door Yara walked out of. “That is my reality.”
Around the table, no one dares breathe. My father’s glare turns lethal. “You worthless, ungrateful son of a—”
My mother lifts a manicured hand, silencing him, though her eyes never leave mine. “All this for her? For a woman who has spent years in your bed and still failed at the only thing this family ever needed from her.”
My blood turns to ice.
“Everyone here has tiptoed around it long enough. Your wife cannot give you a child, Xavier. She is worthless.”
My palm slams into the table hard enough to rattle crystal and silver.
“Watch it.” My pulse thunders in my ears. “You do not speak about my wife like that.”
“Your wife?” she spits, as if the word itself offends her. “How is that a wife? That girl waltzed into this family with nothing and has given nothing in return. No child. No future. Nothing but years wasted on a marriage that should never have happened.”
I do not even realize I am moving until my chair screeches across the marble behind me.
In the next second, I am a foot from her.
My voice drops to a whisper only she can hear.
“Keep her name out of your mouth. I swear to God, Mamá—one more word, and I do not care that you gave me life. I will make you regret ever thinking you could treat Yara this way.”
A collective intake of breath moves around the table. My mother’s eyes widen at the promise in my tone. Then she rises, meeting me head-on. Beside her, my father stays seated, his jaw set like stone.
“Let me remind you, chérie. Your wife is barren. Instead of facing that truth like a man, you stand here defending her as though loyalty could undo what she is. It cannot. Her body has already made the decision for you. What you need now is a solution.”
Barren.
The word drifts through the room like poison. My vision tunnels. I cannot think. Cannot breathe. There is only rage.
I drag in a breath and force it out, fighting the urge to put my fist through the wall. All the guilt, fear, and fury of the last few weeks surges up at once, mixing with a lifetime of resentment.
“Yara is my wife. Not this family’s incubator.
Not some womb for you to inspect and judge.
She is a Navarro by marriage, and you will treat her with the respect she deserves.
If you ever reduce her to what her body can or cannot do again—if you ever treat her as anything less than my partner—you will lose far more than my respect. ”
My mother’s face goes pale, then flares red. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a fucking promise,” I snap.
One I intend to keep. I have given her enough warnings already. Another word about my wife’s body and I forget she is my mother.
For one suspended moment, no one moves. My mother and I glare at each other, years of unspoken war blazing between us.
I think she might slap me.
Part of me is ready for it. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe if someone knocked some sense into me, I would finally grow a spine. I caused this. All of it.
Geneviève Navarro forces a brittle smile. “Go after her, then.” She nods toward the door. “Run to your wife. Beg her forgiveness. Play the devoted husband for the rest of the night.”
My whole body is wound too tight. I do not trust myself to move or speak. I just watch her, hatred burning so hot it feels surgical, and wait for the next blow. Because I know it is coming.
“But if you walk out that door before I am finished, I will say something in this room that your marriage will not survive.”
The words land like a guillotine.
“What did you do?”
She tilts her head, a cruel glint entering her eyes now that she has the upper hand again. “Sit. Down. Xavier. Unless you want Yara to find out tonight that Isabel is the least unforgivable part of what you’ve been hiding.”
Ice floods my veins, followed almost instantly by a brutal wave of panic.
She knows.
How?
How much?
Did he send those receipts to her too?
Shit.
I have no idea how she found out, but I can see it in her face. That triumphant look. She has me by the throat. If she exposes my secret here, in front of everyone—if Yara hears it like this—
“Have the chauffeur take my wife home,” I snap to the nearest staff member. “Now.”
Chair legs scrape against marble as my father surges to his feet. “Isabel is the least of it?” he demands, staring at his wife. “What the hell have you two been keeping from us?”
“A truth that should have come out long ago,” Geneviève says. “One way or another, it is time ma belle-fille knows what kind of man she married. Don’t you think, mon fils?”
Ma belle-fille—my daughter-in-law. The false sweetness in the way she says it tells me she is done merely trying to wound me. Now she means to destroy my marriage outright.
“You will not say a damn word to her,” I hiss, glancing around to make sure my order has been followed.
The only relief is that she has not said it in front of Yara. I will tell her myself. Just not like this. Not now.
Geneviève lifts one slender shoulder in an elegant shrug.
“If you want to be the one to tell her, be my guest. Frankly, I would prefer it. But we both know you won’t.
You’ve had, what, five years to grow a conscience and be honest with that girl?
Instead, you let her live in ignorance while you play the doting husband.
” She tuts softly. “The poor thing does not even realize you ruined her life.”
White noise fills my head. I am seconds from losing it—truly losing it—in a way I have not since I was a teenager under this same roof.
I have to get out of here. Now. Before she cracks me open in front of everyone.
I am a grown man. A self-made billionaire for fucks sake. And somehow these people can still reduce me to a frightened boy.
As I stride out of the room, my mother’s taunting voice follows me.
“Remember—you’re only delaying the inevitable. She’ll find out what you’ve done sooner or later, Xavier. The longer you lie to her, the worse it will be when the truth comes out.”
I pause in the doorway, my back still to them. Her words sink into me like claws. I see Yara’s tear-streaked face. Hear the hurt in her voice every time her body fails her. My eyes burn.
“You’ve let that girl ruin you,” my father spits at my back. “Look at this pathetic mess. All because you can’t control your woman or yourself.”
A bitter laugh scrapes up my throat. “No. It’s because I love her.” It is the first admission of its kind I have ever given them. I turn my head just enough to look back. “Not that you’d know a damn thing about love.”
Then I walk out on my family without another word.
I do not stop moving. I stride through the foyer, past startled staff and lingering cousins in the hall.
With every step, that house feels farther behind me, but my heart is still pounding, adrenaline buzzing through my veins.
I want to punch something. Break something.
Scream. But the only thing that matters now is getting to Yara.
Has she made it home?
Regret and fear twist deep in my gut. I should have gone after her the second she left the table. Fuck, I should never have let her come here at all.
I yank my phone from my pocket as I shove through the grand front doors and into the night. Cold air hits my face, laced with salt and the distant crash of waves below the cliffs .
The screen stays black. My phone is dead.
“Damn it.”
Perfect fucking timing.
I take the front steps two at a time, already reaching for my keys.
“Xavier!”
A voice calls from behind me. Feminine, but not Yara’s.
I turn to see Isabel hurrying out through the open doorway, lifting the skirt of her evening gown as she jogs down the steps. One of my cousins hovers anxiously in the foyer behind her, but Isabel waves them off.
Great. Exactly what I do not need right now.
I turn away, dragging a hand through my hair. “Not now,” I mutter as she comes up beside me.
“Wait, please.” Isabel reaches for my arm, and I sidestep before she can touch me. She pulls back, her eyes widening slightly at the reflex. “I’m sorry. I just… I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
Isabel’s gaze drops, concern creasing her brows. “No, you’re not.”
“It’s nothing.” Impatience roughens my voice. “Go back inside, Isabel. This isn’t your problem.”
The last thing I need is an audience for my humiliation and panic.
“Xavi,” she says, using the nickname she used years ago. “Your mother was way out of line. I had no idea she was going to—”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I do not want to talk about my mother’s performance or the vile things she said about Yara. Not with Isabel. Not with anyone.
She nods and swallows. “What can I do? Let me help you. Please.”