This time, I won't wait for anyone

"Mrs. Ashford?"

Ethan let out a sharp, incredulous bark of laughter. He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing two steps back before glaring at me again.

"Is this a joke, Zelia? Did you actually pay the manager to stage this little performance?"

Serena's tense posture relaxed instantly, her smirk returning with venomous ease. "Of course she did. Who ever heard of an Ashford marrying someone who vanished into thin air five years ago?"

"And that photograph," Ethan pressed, leaning across the table, his tone patronizing and smug. "A little boy on your screen? What, did you find a stock image just to get under my skin? You honestly expect me to believe you have a four-year-old child?"

I picked up my bag. "Believe whatever keeps your ego intact, Ethan."

"Stop hiding behind fake names," Ethan snapped. "You're angry. I get it. I walked out on you, and you want to punish me. But making up a secret marriage and a fantasy kid is just embarrassing."

Serena stood up, hooking her arm through Ethan's with exaggerated tenderness.

"Leave her alone, Ethan," Serena cooed, casting a pitying look down at my coat. "She's obviously had a rough time coping. In fact, Zelia, you should come to the family estate tonight. Dad organized a welcome dinner for us. All the aunts and uncles are coming."

I looked at her coldly. "I'm not interested in your family reunions."

"Oh, but we insist," Serena urged, her eyes gleaming with malice. "We need to catch up properly. Unless, of course, your imaginary husband won't let you out of the house?"

Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets, eyeing me with lingering doubt. "Come tonight, Zelia. Let's see how long you can keep this lie going."

* * *

The crystal chandelier in my parents' dining room cast a harsh, unforgiving glare over twenty seated relatives.

By the time I walked into the dining hall, Serena's poison had already done its work.

Whispers rippled through the aunts like dry grass catching fire. Eyes darted toward my bare wrists, my simple navy dress, and the empty space beside my chair.

"Look who finally showed up," Aunt Clara murmured behind her wine glass. "Unmarried, broke, and hiding in the city."

"I heard she had a child out of wedlock," another cousin whispered loudly. "What a disgrace to the family name."

I pulled out a chair at the far end of the long mahogany table and sat down.

My mother didn't even wait for the soup course to be cleared. She set her silver spoon down with a sharp clatter against the porcelain rim.

"Zelia," my mother began, her voice ringing across the silent room. "Serena tells me you claim to have a son."

My father didn't look up from his steak, cutting into the meat with rigid, mechanical strokes.

"I do have a son," I answered clearly.

"And who fathered him?" Mother demanded, her nostrils flaring. "Some nameless bartender? A deadbeat you picked up after running away from your sister's wedding?"

"He has a father," I said, holding her gaze without flinching.

Serena picked that exact moment to chime in, sighing softly as she patted Ethan's knee under the table.

"Mother, please don't interrogate her," Serena said, putting on a saintly expression that made my stomach turn. "Life has clearly been unkind to Zelia. Living alone in New York with a toddler cannot be easy."

She turned her face toward me, dripping with theatrical pity.

"Zelia, you don't have to keep lying to protect your pride," Serena continued, her voice loud enough to reach the kitchen staff. "Ethan and I talked it over in the car on the way here. If you're struggling to pay rent or cover school tuition, we want to help. Ethan's family has plenty of charitable trusts. We could easily help you raise the boy."

Ethan nodded, sitting up straight, basking in the glow of his supposed generosity.

"She's right, Zelia," Ethan said, giving me a magnanimous nod. "You made mistakes, but the child shouldn't suffer for them. Just admit you're struggling, and I'll personally cover his expenses."

"How generous of Ethan!" Aunt Clara gasped. "After everything that happened five years ago, he's still willing to take care of her bastard!"

A low chuckle escaped my lips.

"You want to pay for my son?" I asked, tilting my head at Ethan.

"I'm offering you a lifeline," Ethan insisted, frowning as if offended by my lack of gratitude. "Stop acting stubborn. Where is this supposed husband of yours right now? If you're married to an Ashford, why are you sitting here by yourself?"

Before I could reply, the heavy double doors of the dining hall swung open with a resounding thud.

The two footmen at the entrance practically flattened themselves against the wallpaper, bowing so low their noses nearly touched their knees.

"Mommy!"

A bright, high-pitched shout cut through the suffocating tension of the dining room.

A four-year-old boy in a crisp charcoal coat broke past the threshold. His dark curls bounced as his patent-leather shoes struck the parquet floor in a rapid sprint. He ignored the twenty gaping faces at the table and launched himself straight onto my lap.

"Mommy, I found you!" he cheered, wrapping his small arms tightly around my neck.

I caught him against my chest, smoothing down his unruly hair. "Leo, what are you doing here?"

Behind him, a tall, imposing shadow crossed the doorway.

Dylan Ashford stepped into the light of the chandelier. His tailored midnight-blue suit clung impeccably to his broad shoulders, and his silver cuff links caught the glare of the room. Every ounce of his presence commanded absolute, suffocating authority.

The old-money lineage that practically owned half of Manhattan stood right in front of my family.

Dylan walked straight to my chair, ignoring the dropped forks and pale faces around him. He leaned down, placing one warm hand on my shoulder, and pressed a kiss against my forehead.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart," Dylan said, his deep baritone cutting through the silence. "The board meeting ran over schedule. Leo refused to go to sleep until he came to pick you up."

The entire room turned into a tomb.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

Ethan's glass slipped from his fingers, tipping over onto the tablecloth. Red wine seeped across the white linen like fresh blood, but he didn't even notice. His jaw hung open, his face completely drained of color as he stared at Dylan Ashford.

Across from him, Serena's painted smile shattered into pure, horrified shock. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles whitening until they shook.

"D-Dylan Ashford?" Aunt Clara stammered from the corner, her voice trembling. "The Dylan Ashford?"

Dylan didn't glance her way. Instead, he straightened to his full height, resting one hand casually on the back of my chair.

His storm-grey eyes scanned the table, finally settling squarely on Ethan.

A sharp, mocking curve touched Dylan's lips.

"You must be Ethan," Dylan said, each word landing like an iron weight.

Ethan swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he struggled to find his voice. "I... yes."

"I've heard quite a bit about you," Dylan continued smoothly, stepping slightly forward. "In fact, I believe I owe you my sincere gratitude."

Ethan blinked, completely stunned. "Gratitude?"

"Of course," Dylan said, letting out a faint, dismissive hum. "If you hadn't been stupid enough to abandon my wife at the altar five years ago, I wouldn't have been able to marry her."

Ethan flinched as if struck across the face.

Serena opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, unable to form a single syllable.

Before anyone could recover, my father suddenly pushed his chair back with a loud screech.

He didn't look at me, and he didn't look at Ethan. His eyes were glued in sheer terror to the sleek leather folder tucked beneath Dylan's arm.

"Mr. Ashford..." my father croaked, his hands shaking violently as he pointed toward the documents. "That folder... is that the restructuring assessment for my company?"