Chapter Eleven

Grace’s POV

I already knew tonight would be the first of many I’d come to dread.

The air around the dining table was thick, mostly with my own tension. My stomach was in knots, my appetite nonexistent, but I still sat there, pushing food around my plate like I wasn’t coming apart inside.

I wasn’t even sure what I had planned to say to Hunter in the study before dinner when I called his name. It wasn’t like I could tell him what I saw. Helena would deny everything, and I had no proof. I should have taken a damn photo.

Across from me, Helena swirled her wine lazily, completely at ease, like nothing in the world could touch her. She was lost in her own world, laughing softly at some story only she found interesting. It cut through the silence smooth, perfect, like her. But she wasn’t perfect. She was a cheater.

I wanted to punch her.

How could she be so careless? She had everything, a husband who would do anything for her, a life most people could only dream about. And still, she was throwing it all away like it meant nothing.

I barely registered whatever she was saying something about a gala, a socialite’s dress disaster. I was supposed to be engaged, to nod and smile like I was part of the conversation. But I couldn’t.

All I could think about was the truth.

Helena was cheating.

And Hunter.

I was too aware of him. He hadn’t said much, hadn’t even touched his food. He just sat there, fingers tapping his knife against the plate in a slow, steady rhythm. His face was unreadable, but I knew him well enough to know his mind was somewhere else entirely.

“Darling,” Helena purred, reaching over to trace her nails lightly down Hunter’s arm. “You’ve been so quiet tonight. Something on your mind?”

His gaze flicked to her. Then away. “Just tired.”

She hummed, like she didn’t believe him, then turned her attention to me. “And you, Grace? You’ve barely eaten. Are you feeling alright?”

I clenched my fork tighter. “I’m fine.”

“You should eat more,” she said smoothly, taking another sip of wine. “You’ll need your strength for the baby.”

There it was. The reminder. To Helena, I wasn’t a person—I was a function. A means to an end. I was their baby maker.

Hunter’s fingers twitched around his knife, just for a second. I almost missed it. But I saw. He didn’t like it either, Helena talking about me like that.

Silence stretched across the table, pressing down on me like a weight. Helena didn’t seem to notice. She just kept talking, her voice light, unbothered.

“I have to leave after dinner,” she announced, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her glass. “Charity committee meeting. It’s important.”

I frowned, glancing at the clock behind Hunter. It was late. Too late for a meeting.

Hunter must’ve thought the same thing because he finally looked up, something flickering in his eyes. “A little late, isn’t it?”

Helena waved a hand. “Hunter, the event is next week. There’s still so much to do.”

His expression didn’t change. “I’ll have the driver take you.”

“No, no,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I can drive myself.”

A beat of silence.

“You won’t miss me too much, will you, darling?” she teased.

His jaw twitched. “I think I’ll survive the night.” His voice was calm. Too calm. Then, “What time should I expect you back?”

She took another slow sip of wine. “Late.”

Something twisted in my gut. Was she meeting him? The thought made me restless, like my skin was too tight. I needed to get out of here before I said something I couldn’t take back.

I pushed my chair back. “Excuse me.”

Hunter’s head snapped up. His full attention, finally, on me. “Where are you going?”

“I need some air.” Neither of them stopped me, but I felt their eyes on my back as I left.

Helena’s forged innocence.

Hunter’s… something else.

The cool night air hit me as I stepped outside. I wrapped my arms around myself, taking slow, measured breaths. My chest felt tight. Suffocating. This was only the first night, and I already felt like I was drowning in what I knew.

I had always loved the gardens here. It was quiet. Safe. A place to think.

I should have taken a photo. Or recorded something. Anything to prove what I saw. But even if I had… what then? Would Hunter believe me? Would he think I was meddling? Or worse, would he blame me?

A soft creak from behind made me tense.

I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Helena must have left.

Hunter’s voice was low when he spoke. “I know Helena didn’t say it, but we appreciate what you’re doing. Offering to carrying our baby.” He hesitated. “She comes across as… thoughtless sometimes.”

I let out a sharp breath. Thoughtless. What a polite way to phrase it.

Offering. He called it an offering. Like I chose this. Like it wasn’t emotional blackmail.

I turned to face him. The moonlight cut sharp angles across his face, making his expression impossible to read. But his eyes, his eyes, were steady. Searching.

“I didn’t do it for gratitude,” I said quietly.

He nodded, watching me too closely. Like he was trying to figure me out. “I know.”

Something about the way he said it made my stomach tighten.

“You give a lot for your family,” he added.

I should have walked away. Should have ended the conversation there.

Instead, I said, “Sometimes it’s easier than fighting.”

His expression shifted, sharp with something I couldn’t quite place. “Grace.”

I held his stare, my pulse thrumming too fast. “I…” The words died in my throat. No, not now, not tonight. Maybe never.

“I think I’ll go up to my room,” I murmured, stepping past him before he could say anything else.

I didn’t look back.

But I could feel him watching me the whole way inside.