Page 2 of The Breaking Point

“Come with me?” I beg

“What, no. I'm not coming with you.” She says, trying to step away.

“Yeah. You’re coming with me.” I grab Quinn’s hand and clamp our fingers together like a trap. She tries to yank free, but I hold on tighter.

She narrows her eyes, mutters“Bitch”under her breath, but doesn’t fight me too hard. Not here. Not in public.

Fine. I’ll take it. Better her fury than facing Aiden’s college friends alone, thirty-year-old boys still pretending the frat never ended.

As we close in, the calls start.

“Hey, Mrs. Bennet!”

It’s not respect. Never was. They’ve been calling me that since I was just his baby mama. It used to sting. Still does, in a different way. They and Mary could’ve co-chaired a committee on passive-aggressive jabs. Every time they opened their mouths, it was a reminder: two kids, and I was still just the girlfriend.

Pretty sure Aiden proposed just to shut them up. Explains the four-year engagement.

“Hey, guys. Thanks for coming.” The words taste like dust.

Eli, the drunkest of them all hoists his glass, eyes glassy. “How could we miss the anniversary of the day our boy chained himself to you forever?”

He laughs, loud and sloppy, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Like I’m not standing right here.

I feel Aiden tense beside me. His arm slips around my waist, protective. Or maybe just redirecting. “Alright, guys,” he says lightly. “Let’s not enjoy the open bar too much.”

He guides me away, but the sour taste lingers.

“I don’t understand how you’re still friends with them,” I murmur, low so only he hears.

“I know you don’t like them,” he says, same tone, same script. “But they were there for me. When I felt alone. After I left you and Jack.”

It’s always that line. And I always have mine ready. But I don’t get to say it.

Quinn appears out of nowhere. “Thanks for abandoning me back there,” she says, all sass and mock betrayal.

I mouthsorry, grateful for the save. Even if I dragged her here against her will.

“We should head back for the photos,” Aiden says, checking his watch.

I nod. “I’m gonna use the bathroom real quick. You go. Help them set up.” I say, putting my palm out for the pouch I had Aiden put in his pocket before we left the house.

He smirks, handing it to me. “You really want me to set up the photos?”

I turn to Quinn, “Why don’t you help him?”

They head off, Quinn already teasing him about taking terrible pictures. I duck into the bathroom, grateful for the breather.

Inside, I take a minute. Actually pee. Wash my hands. Then lean in toward the mirror, tilting my face in the light. I swipe a touch of concealer under my eyes. Reapply my lipstick. Nothing too bold, just enough to erase the exhaustion.

My reflection stares back. Thirty-four. No time for the gym between work and the boys and the marriage I keep trying to make time for. But I’m not unhealthy. Just soft in places I used to be tighter. The floor-length silver gown hugs me like it was made to. It drapes just right over my hips, pulls in at my waist. The open back lets the cool air kiss my skin, and the dress clings where I still carry confidence.

The heels add a few inches, pulling me just a little closer to Aiden’s six-foot frame. My dark hair’s loose tonight, styled but soft, cascading down my back in waves that brush my skin every time I move. A little effort, a little magic. Not bad for someone who applied eyeliner while making sure Alex didn’t microwave metal again.

I look good. I feel good.

Opening the bathroom door, I step out while zipping up the pouch. And walk straight into Eli.

“Whoa,” he says, steadying me with one hand on my elbow. “Didn’t mean to bodycheck you, Mrs. Bennet.”

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