VANESSA
Roman's words hung in the air between us like a challenge. The hungry gazes of the pack journalists and surrounding guests burned against my skin.
"Our son," he'd said. So publicly. So boldly. As if he had any right.
I lifted my chin, refusing to cower. "This isn't the time or place for this discussion."
Without waiting for his response, I turned and walked away. My heart pounded with each step, but I kept my shoulders straight and my head high. I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing me shaken.
Wesley appeared at my side almost immediately, his hand settling at my waist with practiced ease.
"That was quite a performance," he murmured. "Are you alright?"
I forced a smile. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine," he countered, guiding me toward a quieter corner of the ballroom. "That bastard had no right to ambush you like that."
"He's testing my boundaries," I said quietly. "Seeing how far he can push."
