He winked at her. She froze, then nodded weakly.
My chest turned to ice.
“Did he tell you to take them—or did you decide that for us?”
Elara wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Of course it’s for us. And… and Dorian is right…”
Dorian is right.
Dorian smirked wider, twisting the knife.
“Don’t be hard on her, Adrian. She’s too kind. She knew you wanted kids, but she didn’t want to upset you. Isn’t that thoughtful?”
“Get the fuck out!”
I shoved him back, then kicked him hard. He crashed into the doorframe, his forehead splitting open, blood trickling down his face.
“Adrian! What are you doing?!” Elara shrieked, rushing to Dorian’s side. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hands trembling as she shielded him. “He’s my friend!”
“Friend?” I laughed, bitter and hollow. “Would a friend interfere with whether we have children? Would a friend show up at our honeymoon villa? Elara, answer me—who’s your husband? Me, or him?”
She faltered, lips parting but no words coming out. Finally, she snapped, “You’re being unreasonable! Wait until I get back at you!”
Dorian clutched his bleeding forehead, yet his tone was gentle, saintly.