Vow of Convenience

Ch. 8

LEVI DEL CAMPA

She thought I wanted to kiss her. It was obvious from the way her breath hitched and her eyes fluttered, searching mine for something that wasn't there. I had my reasons, though. I wasn’t playing the game she thought I was.

There was nothing on her face—no smudge, no flaw—but there was something far worse. A man across the room was staring at her, and there was too much in his eyes. Emotions that weren’t supposed to be there, but were undeniable. Alejandro Ortega. The same man who had confronted me, my so-called friend, had feelings for my wife. And he had the nerve to make it clear to me.

Zesa was oblivious, or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she was playing her own game too.

Their meetings had clearly turned into something more, at least for him. And even if he did like her, why the hell would he come to me about it? Unless… unless he knew. Unless he could sense the distance between Zesa and me, the way I was only here because of that damn contract. Maybe he thought it gave him the right to ask me to step aside. To move out of the way so he could have her.

The audacity.

It didn’t matter that I didn’t love Zesa. It didn’t matter that this marriage was nothing but a piece of paper binding us together. I was her husband. Not him. Me.

I gritted my teeth, feeling anger pulse beneath my skin, raw and hot. The nerve of him to tell me to my face that he had feelings for her.

Zesa, though… she was clueless. Or maybe she was aware and just didn’t care. My mind raced, connecting dots I didn’t want to see. Was he the reason she gave me that ridiculous ultimatum? Three months to win her over or lose her forever? Was Alejandro her second choice, waiting in the wings?

The thought clawed at my insides, and I hated it. I hated that it bothered me at all. Why should I care? It was none of my business who she wanted to be with. She had every right to choose someone else. I shouldn’t care.

But I did.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with concern. Her eyes searched mine like she could sense the storm brewing inside me. “You look like you're having some sort of internal argument.”

I snapped out of my thoughts. “Let’s leave.”

“What? We can’t leave now,” she said, sitting up straighter. “The party’s about to start. And there’s going to be an auction. I want to get one of the paintings.”

“I feel sick.” I didn’t care how weak I sounded. The idea of staying here, of watching Alejandro circle her, made me nauseous.

Zesa inched closer, placing her hand on my forehead as if she could diagnose me with a touch. “You don’t have a fever.”

I took her hand down gently. “Your hand isn’t a thermometer. You can’t tell by just touching me.”

She studied my face for a long moment. “But your skin does look a bit paler than usual… Are you terminally ill or something?”

“What?” My head snapped towards her, and I couldn’t help but laugh, though it was humorless. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“I mean, you’ve been weird lately. You’re here, sitting beside me at an event you would’ve skipped without a second thought. It’s almost like you're… being nice to me. And that’s not like you at all.” She leaned in closer, eyes wide, almost innocent. “Are you sick? Be honest. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

I shook my head, leaning back in my chair. “I’m not terminally ill, Zesa. Just a little off. And I don’t need you to take care of me. I can handle myself.”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicion dripping from her gaze. “Then why did you come?”

Because I felt guilty, I thought bitterly. Guilt that gnawed at me after her last outburst. I never noticed before how much she waited for me, how disappointed she looked when I didn’t show up. How she tried to have breakfast with me, and I always turned her down. I hadn’t realized how much I’d hurt her. But I wasn’t about to admit that out loud.

“Because I didn’t want you to look like a fool,” I said instead, keeping my tone even.

Her brows furrowed. “A fool?”

I nodded. “People would’ve talked if you showed up alone.”

“This is strange,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “You never cared about what people thought. Are you sure you're not sick? We can see Doctor Steve if you want. He’s a good doctor. You’ll be comfortable.”

“Drop it, Zesa. I’m fine.”

She let out a soft sigh, her lips pulling into a small smile. “Good. Because I really want to stay for the auction.”

I gave in with a nod, though every fiber of my being wanted to leave. My gaze drifted towards the stage as Alejandro stepped up, microphone in hand. He began his speech, but his voice blended into the background, every word irritating me more. I wasn’t listening until he lifted his glass and called for a toast.

“To Caisse Méridien and another hundred years of success.”

I raised my glass out of politeness, downing the champagne without a word. Then came the auction.

The painting was revealed—a nude scene, ancient, erotic in a way that made the room hum with quiet whispers. I glanced at Zesa. Her bidder card was already in the air, excitement written all over her face.

“Five hundred thousand,” she called, and I could see the fire in her eyes when another woman raised the stakes. Sophia Reyes, of course.

“One point two million,” Zesa declared, triumphant.

The auctioneer’s voice droned on, but the night had lost its luster. By the end of the event, Zesa had won two paintings and an antique vase. I’d gotten a vase just to shut her up, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Alejandro’s stare. Zesa’s excitement. The feeling of being trapped.

When we got home, I was ready to collapse. Zesa was already in bed, phone in hand, but as soon as I laid down, she rolled off and started making a bed on the floor.

“What are you doing?” I asked, sitting up.

“I don’t need to sleep beside you,” she said flatly. “The floor is fine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can sleep in another room.”

“No.” She yanked the blankets off me, grabbing the pillow from under my head. “It’ll be a new experience for me.”

I groaned, running a hand through my hair. “You’ll hurt all over in the morning. Just sleep here.”

She shrugged, her voice sharp. “What’s a little physical pain compared to the emotional pain you’ve given me?”

There it was again—her weapon of choice. Guilt. I lay back, staring at the ceiling, letting her do whatever she wanted. She could sleep on the damn floor if it made her feel better.

But then her phone rang, cutting through the silence.

“Hello?” Her voice tightened. “Yes, this is she. Who’s calling?” Her expression shifted as she shot up. “What?! Calm down, Louryn. I’ll be there soon.”

She threw her phone aside, rushing to the closet. “Levi, get dressed. We need to go to the hospital.”

“Why?” I asked, glancing at my phone. “It’s nearly midnight.”

She was stripping out of her robe, and I quickly averted my eyes. “Louryn’s baby is in the hospital. They found a tumor. She needs surgery.”

I didn’t ask any more questions. I just grabbed my clothes and got dressed, though my mind was racing. Zesa’s worry was palpable, and as we rushed out the door, I saw a side of her I hadn’t expected.

The drive to the hospital was quiet except for the soft sound of her leg bouncing nervously. I glanced over at her, wondering what was going on in her head. She didn’t know how to hide her emotions. It was written all over her face.

“The baby will be fine,” I said, trying to reassure her. “Don’t worry.”

She didn’t respond, just kept staring out the window, fingers knotted together in her lap.

When we arrived at Spring Valley Hospital, she didn’t wait. She bolted out of the car and ran inside, leaving me to lock the doors and follow. The sterile scent of disinfectant hit me as soon as I stepped inside, mingling with the quiet buzz of the hospital.

“She’s in the ICU,” the nurse said after Zesa asked about Louryn.

We found Louryn pacing outside the room, her eyes red, her hands trembling. When she saw Zesa, she crumbled, collapsing into her arms.

“You came,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Zesa hugged her tightly, her eyes locked on the baby behind the glass. Tubes, machines—everything hooked up to that tiny body. The doctor approached us, a woman with tired eyes and a stethoscope slung around her neck.

“You’re family?”

“Close enough,” Zesa said, running her hand up and down Louryn’s arm.

The doctor nodded. “We’ve done the scans. It’s a brain tumor, and the pressure is building. Surgery is necessary to relieve the intracranial pressure, but it’s a delicate operation.”

Louryn whimpered, her hand clutching Zesa’s. “What are the odds?”

“There’s always a risk with this kind of procedure, but she’s young, strong.” The doctor’s gaze softened. “I’m optimistic.”

Zesa squeezed Louryn’s hand tighter, her voice firm. “Do whatever you need to save her.”

The doctor nodded again before walking away. Zesa stayed by Louryn’s side, her grip unwavering, her strength unfaltering.

And for the first time in a long time, I saw her in a new light.