The Rolls Royce door shuts with a quiet thunk.

You stand stiffly beside Xavier on the pavement, heels planted, clutch tight in your hand. Your silk gown clings perfectly, makeup flawless, diamonds glittering on your ears — but your jaw is clenched like a vice.

You haven’t said a word since the car ride.

He adjusts his cufflinks. Silent. Stern.

And then, through his teeth: “You’re seriously still pissed?”

You don’t look at him. “I asked you one thing. One thing, Xavier.”

“I didn’t invite her,” he snaps. “She’s on the board. It’s not like I could blacklist her from the event.”

“She kissed you on the mouth.”

“It was the cheek.”

“She aimed for the mouth.”

He exhales slowly, hands on his hips. The valet eyes you both like he knows he’s witnessing pre-gala warfare.

You start toward the entrance, teeth gritted. “You could’ve pushed her off the damn balcony, I don’t know.”

“And gotten sued for assault at a cancer research gala?”

You stop short at the grand marble staircase, spinning around. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Next time a woman kisses you in front of me, I’ll just take notes on your restraint.”

He steps closer, his voice low and dark, inches from your ear. “You really want to do this now?”

You stare straight ahead. Cameras are waiting. Lights flash just beyond the entrance doors.

He tugs you gently by the wrist before you go storming in.

“Fix your face before we walk in,” he mutters. “You’re mad at me, I get it. But I’m not letting them think we’re weak.”

You wrench your arm away. “Then you better act like someone worth standing beside.”

He opens the door for you anyway. Lets you step in first.

The cameras click. You plaster on your most calculated smile. He rests a hand on the small of your back like he didn’t just make your blood boil in the limo.

You’re both breathing too hard.

The flashbulbs go off.

And underneath it all, his voice against your temple: “I'm sorry again, sweetheart.”

ignore him.