Reeves stares at me for a long moment, somethingdark and ugly shifting across his features. When he speaks again, his voice is cold. Clinical.
"You know what? Go ahead. Go on your fancy date with your rich boyfriend." He takes a long swig of beer. "Since you're so determined to whore yourself out, might as well be a high-class one. Use that magical pussy of yours to earn us some real money for once. You should do a little negotiating… a million bucks and he gets to fuck you, any way he wants. I'm deadly serious."
The words hit like a physical slap, stealing the air from my lungs and leaving me gasping. My breath catches in my throat, sharp and painful, as if his cruelty has somehow reached across the table and wrapped itself around my windpipe.
The kitchen suddenly feels too small, too bright, the cheerful yellow walls closing in on me like a trap. Heat floods my face—shame, anger, humiliation all mixing together in a nauseating cocktail that makes my stomach lurch.
He’s right. Iama whore.
I can feel Liam's innocent presence beside me, his small body a reminder of everything sacred that Reeves has just desecrated with his vile suggestion. The man I married, the father of my child, has just reduced me to nothing more than a commodity to be sold to the highest bidder.
And he’s not wrong.
"Daddy said a bad word," Liam announces, his voice cutting through the toxic air between us.
"Yes, he did." I stand on shaking legs, my appetite completely gone. "Finish your dinner, sweetheart. Mommy needs to clean up."
I turn away before Reeves can see the tears burning my eyes, my hands trembling as I reach for my plate and stand. The porcelain feels cold against my fingertips, a stark contrast to the heat flooding my cheeks.
I can't let Liam see me like this—falling apart at the kitchen table where we should be sharing a peaceful family dinner.
Instead, I focus on the simple mechanics of clearing dishes from the sink, stacking them with careful precision in the dishwasher, as if the act of creating order might somehow restore what has been shattered between us. The familiar weight of our everyday plates grounds me, their cheerful yellow pattern a mockery of the darkness that's settled over our home.
Something needs to change.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The next evening, I stand in front of my bedroom mirror while Liza sits cross-legged on my bed, Oliver purring in her lap. The black Armani dress hangs perfectly on my frame, elegant and understated in a way that makes me feel like someone else entirely.
"Girl, you look absolutely gorgeous." Liza's eyes sparkle with excitement as she watches me fasten my grandmother's pearl necklace. "That dress was made for you."
My hands shake slightly as I work the clasp. "I can't believe I'm doing this."
"I can't believe Reeves said what he said." Her voice hardens. "What an absolute asshole."
I smooth the dress over my hips, studying my reflection. The woman looking back at me seems confident,sophisticated—nothing like the frazzled mom who spent yesterday cleaning peanut butter off the kitchen backsplash.
"Maybe I should cancel." I turn away from the mirror. "This is crazy, right? Caine and I keep doing this. He keeps luring me back in. Then he apologizes. Then he does it again.”
“I don’t think he’s a bad guy. I think he just has it really bad for you.” Liza sets Oliver aside and stands, moving to my dresser. "Here, let me fix your hair."
She runs her fingers through the loose waves I've carefully styled, adjusting a few strands around my face. Her touch is gentle, sisterly.
"Promise me something," she says, meeting my eyes in the mirror. "Don't do anything you'll regret. But also don't punish yourself for wanting to feel beautiful. For wanting someone to see you as more than just a mom and a bartender."
"What if Reeves is right? What if Caine is just playing some twisted game?"
"Then you'll figure it out." She squeezes my shoulders. "But Jenny, I've watched you these past few months. You light up when you talk about him. When's the last time Reeves made you feel that way?"
I can't remember. The realization hits like a cold wave.
"Just be careful," Liza continues, her voice softernow. "I love you, and I don't want to see you get hurt. But I also don't want to see you disappear completely into this life that's suffocating you."
The doorbell rings downstairs, and my heart hammers against my ribs.
"That's my ride."
We hurry downstairs and grab our jackets. Liza steps into her Doc Martens, and I slip on the sexy heeled black boots I've selected to go with the dress. I grab my sparkly black purse, hands trembling, and reach for the painting I made for Caine.
