His Curvy Wife Returned Every Dress He Bought Her, but the Mafia Boss Finally Heard the Cruel Reason Why

Adrien and Emily reached the floor of the ballroom. The crowd parted instantly before them, creating a wide, open lane leading directly toward the head table.

Every single woman who had been a member of the private group chat stood frozen along the perimeter of the room.

Julianna Mercer looked as if she had seen a ghost. Her hand trembled so violently that champagne sloshed over the rim of her crystal glass, dripping onto her lavender silk dress.

Adrien stopped walking directly in front of Julianna.

The surrounding guests fell completely silent, watching the interaction with bated breath, sensing that the atmosphere in the room had suddenly turned deadly.

Adrien didn't look at Julianna. He turned to Emily, bowing his head slightly. "Excuse me for a moment, my love. I need to speak with Mrs. Mercer."

Emily gave him a small, knowing smile, her voice clear and carrying over the silent crowd. "Of course, Adrien. Don't take too long."

Adrien stepped closer to Julianna. He was so tall that his shadow completely engulfed her.

"Julianna," Adrien said softly. His voice was smooth, quiet, but carried through the silence like a dropped blade.

"A-Adrien..." Julianna stammered, shrinking back slightly. "It... it is a lovely evening. Emily looks... she looks beautiful."

Adrien reached into his velvet jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, thin black envelope. He didn't hand it to her; he dropped it onto the silver tray held by a nearby waiter.

"That envelope contains the printed transcripts of your private messaging group from the last five months, Julianna," Adrien said softly, his voice meant only for her and the six terrifyingly quiet guests standing near her.

Julianna’s face drained of every drop of color. She looked as though she might faint onto the polished floor.

"Every photo," Adrien continued smoothly. "Every comment regarding my wife's body. Every insult directed at her background."

Julianna squeezed her eyes shut, a tear of pure horror leaking down her cheek. "Adrien... please... it was just silly gossip among women... we didn't mean—"

"My wife is the sole owner of the Moretti Holding Group's real estate portfolio as of four o'clock today," Adrien interrupted, his dark eyes fixing on her with a cold, terrifying finality. "That includes the land beneath your husband’s shipping logistics office, your country club in Lake Forest, and the building where your daughter attends private school."

Julianna gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Harrison has forty-eight hours to clear his office," Adrien whispered, leaning in so close his words felt like ice against her skin. "And if I see your name on another social committee in this city, I will personal make sure your family spends the rest of their lives living in a two-bedroom rental in Indiana."

He stood up straight, adjusting his bow tie with absolute composure.

"Enjoy the evening, Mrs. Mercer," Adrien said pleasantly. "The champagne is forty years old. I suggest you drink as much of it as you can tonight."

He turned on his heel and walked back to Emily.

Without looking back at the pale, trembling woman behind him, Adrien offered his arm to his wife. Emily placed her hand on his forearm, leaning in slightly to whisper in his ear.