Chapter Eleven
1317 Words
The dining room in the Larson estate was all marble and crystal, the kind of space designed to make people feel small. The chandelier overhead cast sharp, glittering light across the long table set for five.
Lydia sat at the head, her posture flawless, her expression unreadable. Ethan lounged in the chair to her right, one arm draped over the back, a lazy smirk playing at his lips. He looked like he belonged in a cologne ad—chiseled jaw, dark hair swept back, eyes that glinted with something dangerous.
When the doorbell rang, Lydia didn't move. She simply folded her hands in her lap and waited.
Max entered first, his hand wrapped protectively around Gia's. She wore a simple cream dress that hugged her curves, her dark hair falling in soft waves. She looked beautiful. Nervous. And entirely out of place.
Beside her, clutching Max's other hand, was Sharon—a little girl in a pink dress with ribbons in her hair, her eyes wide and curious.
Lydia's gaze swept over them. Lingered on Gia. Cataloged every detail.
*Bartender,* she thought. *I can smell it on her.*
Max guided Gia forward. "Mom."
Lydia rose gracefully, offering her cheek. Max kissed it dutifully, then stepped back so Gia could do the same. Gia's hand trembled slightly as she leaned in.
"Mrs. Larson," Gia murmured. "Thank you for having us."
Lydia's smile was razor-thin. "Of course."
Ethan was already on his feet, moving around the table with the easy confidence of someone who'd never been denied anything. He pulled Max into a brief, back-slapping hug, then turned to Gia.
"The new Mrs. Larson." His voice was smooth, warm even. But his eyes were calculating. "Welcome to the family."
He took her hand and kissed it. Gia's smile faltered.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Ethan's gaze dropped to Sharon. His smile widened. "And who's this little angel?"
Sharon beamed up at him, utterly guileless. "I'm Sharon!"
"Are you now?" Ethan crouched down to her level, his eyes flicking briefly to Max. "And who's your daddy, sweetheart?"
Sharon giggled and pointed at Max without hesitation. "Him!"
Something flickered in Ethan's expression—brief, sharp, gone in an instant. He straightened, pulling his phone from his pocket and typing something quick before sliding it away.
Lydia gestured to the table. "Sit. Let's eat."
---
Dinner was excruciating.
The clink of silverware against porcelain was too loud. Every bite Gia took felt like it was being judged. She could feel Lydia's eyes on her, dissecting her posture, her manners, the way she reached for her water glass.
Max ate calmly, unbothered. But his hand found Gia's under the table, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
Finally, Lydia set down her fork. "So, Gia." Her voice was pleasant, conversational. Deadly. "What exactly is it that you do?"
Gia swallowed. "I—well, I was a bartender when Max and I met. Right now, I'm not working."
Lydia's lips thinned. "A bartender."
"Yes."
"And you got married—when, exactly? Max didn't mention it until after the fact."
Gia's cheeks flushed. Max's jaw tightened.
"We didn't see a reason to wait," Max said evenly. "We fell in love. That's what matters."
"Love." Lydia's laugh was brittle. "I raised you to be smarter than that."
"You raised me to follow my heart," Max shot back. "Isn't that what you always said?"
"Not like *this*." Lydia's voice dropped, venomous. "Not with some—"
"Careful, Mom."
The warning in Max's tone was unmistakable. Lydia's mouth snapped shut.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the show. His gaze slid to Sharon again, lingering on the curve of her nose, the shape of her eyes. She looked like Max. Too much like Max.
He picked up his wine glass, swirling it lazily. "So, Gia. The kid's not Max's, then?"
The table went still.
Gia's breath caught. Max's hand tightened around hers.
"She was married before," Max said smoothly. "A few years ago. Before we met."
Lydia's eyes widened. "You have a *child*?"
"Sharon is part of the package," Max said, his voice hard now. "And I love her like she's mine."
Lydia looked like she'd been slapped. She opened her mouth, closed it, then pushed back from the table.
"I've lost my appetite." She stood, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. "Excuse me."
She swept out of the room, leaving a cold silence in her wake.
Ethan raised his glass in a mock toast. "Well. That went well."
---
**Three Weeks Later**
Gia stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of her blouse. It was her first day at Bennett Group, and her stomach was a knot of nerves and determination.
Max had told her she didn't need to work. He'd said it a dozen times, in a dozen different ways. But Gia couldn't just sit in his penthouse like some kept woman, waiting for the next family ambush.
She'd married him for stability. For Sharon. For a way out.
But now? Now she needed to prove she was more than the gold digger everyone thought she was.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Max.
*Good luck today. You'll kill it.*
She smiled despite herself.
---
Max dragged a hand through his hair as he pushed through the front door. The day had been a nightmare—back-to-back meetings, hostile investors, Ethan circling like a shark.
He found Sharon on the living room floor, surrounded by stuffed animals, her brow furrowed in concentration as she arranged them in a line.
"Hey, princess." He sank onto the couch beside her, loosening his tie.
She looked up, grinning. "Daddy! Look, I made a parade!"
His chest tightened. *Daddy.* He'd never get tired of hearing that.
"I talked to the school today," he said. "You're starting Monday. "Westbridge Elementary"
Gia appeared in the doorway, eyes bright. "Westbridge Elementary" Max, that's—"
"The best," he finished. "She deserves the best."
Gia's smile was soft, genuine. For a moment, the pretense between them felt paper-thin.
Then Max stood, rolling his shoulders. "I'm going to shower."
He disappeared down the hall, leaving Gia standing there, her chest aching with something she didn't want to name.
---
Across town, Christy paced her apartment, her phone clutched in her hand.
One month suspension. One *month*. Because Charles had begged on her behalf like she was some charity case.
Her reflection stared back at her from the darkened window—furious, humiliated, burning.
"Enjoy it while it lasts, Gia," she whispered. "Because I'm coming for you."
She opened her laptop, fingers flying across the keys.
*Max Larson doesn't marry nobodies,* she thought. *So let's find out who you really are.*
---
**Four Weeks Later**
Gia had thrown herself into work. Long hours, late nights, client meetings that left her exhausted but exhilarated. She was good at this. People liked her. Respected her.
For the first time in years, she felt like she was building something.
The headlines started cropping up.
*"New Manager at Bennett Group Making Waves."*
*"Gia Larson: The Woman Behind the Rising Success."*
Lydia saw every single one.
And she seethed.
She made calls. Quiet ones. To lawyers, publicists, socialites with daughters who'd kill for a chance at Max.
*This girl,* Lydia thought, *will not ruin everything I've built.*
---
Saturday morning. Sunlight streamed through the penthouse windows as Gia moved through her yoga routine, breathing deep, centering herself.
Her phone buzzed on the mat beside her.
She glanced at it. Froze.
The headline blazed across the screen in bold, ugly letters.
**"WIFE OF MAXLARM CEO EXPOSED: FORMER ESCORT MARRIED FOR MONEY"**
Below it, another.
**"MAX LARSON'S GOLD DIGGER BRIDE: THE TRUTH REVEALED"**
Her hands shook as she picked up the phone. The article was everywhere. Every gossip site. Every tabloid.
Her vision blurred.
The life she'd fought so hard to build was crumbling.
And somewhere, someone was smiling.
- Writer
