Try to make me cry

Chapter 3

“I see you did check your text. I sent you a text on UsChat. I canceled the date because I have other plans today,” my husband stated, his voice low, his eyes fixed on me.

I checked my phone—my UsChat app had just finished updating in the background. I opened it and saw the message, timestamped nearly an hour ago. He had genuinely canceled.

So, this was not his plan. But I think I knew why he was still here.

“So you have plans then why are you here?” I challenged, my own voice now regaining its sharpness, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking ashamed.

He sighed—a deep, theatrical sound clearly intended for the attentive audience surrounding us.

“Well, I'm here now. I see you made a new friend,” my husband said, his gaze finally sweeping over Julian with thinly veiled contempt before he sat down in the empty chair across the table.

So what is the meaning of this? Why did he say that like a kind, forgiving person? It was purely for the benefit of the people watching. You don't have to fool anyone, I thought, suppressing the urge to throw my wine in his face.

Julian, still the charming stranger, rushed to break the ice. “Oh, I see you're the one she's been waiting for so long... It's nice to meet you. I'm Julian Thomas,” he said, extending his hand across the table, his smile bright but clearly nervous.

But my husband just looked at Julian's hand like it was something filthy he might catch a disease from. The silence stretched until Julian's hand wavered awkwardly. Finally, Eddie took it, his grip brief and crushing, offering the fakest smile I've ever seen on his face—a rigid pulling of the lips that didn't reach his eyes. I wanted to laugh out loud at the performance.

“I’ll be taking my leave now,” Julian said, his sad tone betraying his disappointment at losing the conversation, and perhaps the beautiful woman.

“Where are you going?” I said, stopping him mid-rise.

Both men looked at me, Julian looking thoroughly confused, and Eddie’s eyes flashing with an internal warning.

“You were just talking about how you'll keep me company,” I continued, my voice betraying nothing but petulance. “It was all a lie, just because some man showed up?”

Julian just looked at my husband, he looked like he was asking for permission to sit. “Oh, no, that's not it, it's just—“

“Sit next to me,” I commanded, not even looking at my husband, but gesturing to the empty seat beside me. Julian clearly doesn’t know Eddie was my husband.

Julian, stunned into obedience, did so.

What’s with you, fool? I thought to myself, looking at my so-called husband. He was still radiating fury, but he couldn't move. He couldn't explode in front of half the city's financial elite.

“I didn't know you had spies spying on me,” I said, directing the accusation across the table.

“What are you talking about?” Eddie managed, his voice controlled.

“I'm talking about how you knew I was still here, despite canceling hours ago,” I said, meeting his gaze.

“I saw you hadn't seen my message, so I figured. You usually don't leave your messages unread,” he lied effortlessly.

That was technically true, but he was still a liar. It was because of those formal faces around the room. Someone—a spy, a friend, must have sent him a photo of his wife sitting alone with a handsome stranger. He left his ‘other plans’—likely whoever he was sleeping with, maybe Bella Levert—and came here to quash the rumor of abandonment before it became the rumor of a public affair. to come here. His rush wasn't about love or care; it was about saving his public image.

Julian was caught between his charm and outright terror. He clearly wanted to broker peace, seeing two powerful people having a misunderstanding.

“I was just keeping Maggie company,” Julian tried to make light conversation, seeing the intense tension between us. “You two have such... focus. The way you look at each other is really something. You almost seem to share the same behavior, just pointed in opposite directions.”

Eddie dismissed him entirely, leaning past him to speak directly to me. “You should have checked your phone, Maggie. Don't waste people's time.”

“It finished updating,” I countered, equally cold.

Julian tried again, he was thinking it was because of him sitting there with her that caused this, attempting to steer the conversation back to light pleasantries. “It's understandable. Technology fails sometimes. But I truly hope you two resolve—”

“You see, Julian?” Eddie interrupted, his tone patronizingly sweet. “Maggie has a habit of making a drama out of everything. It’s a tedious byproduct of her childhood, nothing you need to involve yourself in.” Eddie’s delivery was designed to make Julian feel small, foolish, and entirely irrelevant.

Julian’s face tightened. He finally realized this wasn't a cute misunderstanding; it was a cold, high-stakes political chess match.

“Oh, very well. Can I leave now? I've been sitting here for so long my ass hurts so bad,” I said, standing abruptly, my crimson dress drawing all eyes.

“Then I’ll take you home,” Eddie said, rising to his full, commanding height.

“No,” I countered, shaking my head.

I felt bad for the cute guy Julian, I can’t just let Eddie get away with this.

“You have matters to attend to, so you should go back to where you were coming from… He will take me home instead.” I said as I grabbed Julian’s arm with a bright, mocking smile and walked out on him, leaving him trapped at the table.

Outside the HP Restaurant

Outside, the cool, humid air of Veritas Heights hit me, a shocking relief after the restaurant's controlled climate. My pulse hammered—a wild, free rhythm I hadn't felt in years.

“God, that felt good,” I exhaled, the genuine rush of defiance intoxicating. I couldn't remember a time I'd acted so purely to infuriate him. Was it the wine, or was it just exhaustion breaking my control?

Julian, still holding my elbow as we navigated the slick stone steps, looked utterly overwhelmed.

“Hold up,” he said, his voice tense but steady. “Who is that guy? You two were fighting like you were about to kill each other, you were angry because he was late.”

“Don't worry about that guy,” I dismissed him with a careless, almost giddy wave of my free hand. The wine and the adrenaline were making the world tilt. As I stepped onto the polished curb, my high heel slipped. I pitched forward.

Julian reacted instantly. His arms shot out, catching my waist with surprising, solid strength, halting my fall. I leaned into him, disoriented, feeling the rigid structure of muscle beneath his tailoring.

“Are you okay, Miss? You’re pale,” he murmured, his concern immediate.

“No, she is not okay, she's drunk.”

The voice was cold, lethal, and right behind us. Eddie.