Chapter 3: The Final Charade

"As long as she likes it," Julian said.

"Aren't you worried Cecilia will find out?" Silas asked. "It was such a hassle getting her out of the psych ward. You shouldn’t push her and risk having her sent back there again."

"If she finds out, she finds out," Julian brushed it off. "She'll throw a tantrum for a minute and then cave. It's the same routine every time, and she never gets tired of it."

He spoke with such casual indifference, as if his behavior were perfectly acceptable.

Then Tristan Hayes spoke up—the same guy who had earlier claimed I didn't know much about sex.

"Honestly, she's looking better these days. At least she doesn't argue anymore. Have you trained her since she got back, Mr. Sterling? Is she any better in bed now?"

"That's enough," Julian snapped.

The men in the study fell dead silent.

Out in the living room, I sat on the sofa, calmly turning the pages of my book.

Silas strolled out of the study first. He wandered over to the sofa, gave me a slow once-over, and smiled. "Ms. Sinclair. You're looking much healthier. Let me know if you ever need my services again."

I didn't reply.

He dropped onto the cushion beside me. "Honestly? I still think about that night last year."

Tristan and Damian walked out of the room a moment later.

Damian's eyes locked onto my waist, and he shot Silas a smirk. "She's thinned out a lot. Wonder if she feels the same as she used to."

Tristan let out a harsh, cutting laugh. "No wonder Mr. Sterling lost interest. Look at her—just sitting there like a statue. She's boring."

Julian walked out last. He threw a glance my way and said, "There's a party tonight. Get ready. I need you there as my fiancée. Understood?"

"What time does it end?" I asked.

He looked surprised for a second, clearly confused as to why I cared, but he answered anyway. "Ten o'clock."

My flight was scheduled for eleven.

I nodded.

His three friends traded knowing smiles.

Later at the party, Julian kept me glued to his side, mingling and introducing me to the other guests.

Not that he needed to. The scandal from a few years back was common knowledge. Everyone here remembered my very public breakdown, how I had slept with my fiancé’s three friends, and how he had locked me up in a mental hospital afterward.

People were practically falling over themselves to smile at Julian. But the second their eyes flicked to me, those expressions melted into pity.

I just offered polite smiles in return, feeling completely unfazed.

"Mr. Sterling," Vivian purred, her tone dripping with affection.

She marched right up and looped her arm through his.

"Thank you," she said, pushing her chest out to make sure everyone got a good look at the $140-million necklace resting against her collarbone.

Julian didn't bat an eye, though he offered her a soft smile. "As long as you like it," he replied.

They completely ignored the fact that I was standing right there.

My stomach rolled. I slipped my hand out of the crook of Julian's arm. "I need to use the restroom," I said.

Julian leaned in, dropping his voice. "If you're going to pick a fight, we can do it when we get home. Do not make a scene here. Understand? Hurry back."

I murmured my agreement, made a beeline for the restroom, and threw up.

The nausea made the room spin, throwing me straight into a flashback of the psych ward—especially the memory of nurses prying my mouth open and forcing medicine down my throat to subdue me.

Fortunately, I didn't have mental breakdowns anymore, and no one was forcing me to take medication.

I washed up and stepped back out. Walking past the terrace doors, I spotted Silas and Tristan leaning against the railing, smoking.

They started talking about me the second they spotted me.

Silas blew a lazy smoke ring. "Look at her. She's trying so hard to hide how upset she is. Must be jealous again."

Tristan laughed. "Vivian is ridiculous, parading that necklace around just for the attention. She won't be satisfied until she pushes Cecilia into another mental breakdown."