She Is My Wife

Coralie stared at the refractive glass in Tobias's hand. She possessed no definitive answer to whether pure friendship could exist between men and women, but her intuition told her it was a dangerous game to play. Her gaze shifted back to the center of the room. Desmond had consumed far too much alcohol.

The crystal wine decanter that had been in his hand earlier was missing, suggesting his mineral water was long gone. His peers relentlessly pushed him to drink more, cheering with every empty glass. Coraline stood nearby, making weak, ineffective gestures to stop the rowdy men. Her pregnant belly rendered her efforts useless, and she looked more like a helpless bystander than a protective friend.

Meanwhile, Desmond downed several more glasses. His usually firm stance began to sway.

Coralie pushed her chair back and stood up. "Sorry. I will check on Desmond first."

Tobias offered a simple nod. "Alright. Go ahead."

Coralie navigated through the bustling crowd, her heels clicking softly against the floorboards. She arrived just in time to snatch the freshly refilled wine glass straight out of Desmond's hand before he could bring it to his lips.

"Hey, who is this woman?" a slurring voice demanded.

Coralie ignored the rude tone and the judging stares. She gripped Desmond's arm, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt, and looked up at his flushed face. "Desmond, are you alright?"

He blinked down at her, his unfocused eyes clearing for a fraction of a second as he recognized her. He shook his head. "I am fine."

Their hushed exchange went unnoticed by the raucous group. Assuming she was a presumptuous hotel staff member overstepping her boundaries, one of the drunker men reached out to grab her shoulder. "Who do you think you are to approach Desmond like this? Are you out of your mind?"

Desmond moved with startling speed. He grabbed the man's wrist, shoved him back, and pulled Coralie firmly behind his broad frame. "Do not touch her."

The man stumbled, clutching his wrist in shock. "Desmond, why are you defending her? This woman clearly has ulterior motives. I have encountered plenty of gold diggers like her."

Desmond stood tall, his voice cutting through the noise with absolute authority. "She is my wife."

The drunkard froze, his face draining of color. He stared at Coralie, safely tucked behind Desmond's protective stance, before whipping his head toward Coraline. Confusion painted his features. "If she is your wife, then what about Coraline?"

Silence swept over the immediate circle. All eyes locked onto Coraline. She stood in the background, her knuckles white as she clutched Desmond's discarded suit jacket against her chest. Her face was ashen, and a distinct redness rimmed her eyes. "I have said it before. Desmond and I are just friends."

She forced a smile, but it looked brittle and unnatural. The onlookers exchanged knowing glances. The illusion of her grand romance with Desmond had just been publicly shattered.

"Desmond, you and Coraline..." someone trailed off, unsure how to navigate the awkwardness.

Desmond regained his usual cold composure. "It is getting late. Let's all head home. Coralie, let's go."

Coralie nodded. "Okay."

She stepped out from behind him, turning her attention to Coraline. She extended her hand, palm up. "Thank you, Miss Rowe. You can give me Desmond's jacket now."

Coraline tightened her grip on the fabric, her knuckles turning whiter. She refused to hand it over. "I will be going back with you anyway, so I will just hold onto it."

Coralie glanced at the crowd watching their every move. She decided against starting a tug-of-war over a piece of clothing in public, refusing to give the onlookers more gossip to chew on. She lowered her hand. "Alright. I have to help Desmond walk. Thank you, Miss Rowe."

Desmond wrapped an arm around Coralie's waist. "Let's go."

As Coralie supported Desmond's heavy weight and walked toward the exit, Coraline trailed behind them like a third wheel, still hugging the coat like a lifeline. Back in the booth, the spectators erupted into confused, hushed murmurs.

"What just happened?"

"I have no clue."

Tobias walked over to the group. He raised his glass of wine, downed it in one smooth motion, and shook his head. "One should seize opportunities when they arise. Do not wait until it is too late to take action."

A classmate laughed, slapping his shoulder. "Tobias, you poetic drunk. What is that supposed to mean? We do not get it."

Tobias slammed his empty glass onto the table. He stared at Coraline's receding figure in the distance, letting out a heavy sigh. "If only one had known earlier, one would have acted differently."

The moment they stepped out of the velvet-draped doors of the bar, a blast of cold night wind hit them. Coralie shivered, her dress providing little protection against the chill. Fortunately, Desmond leaned heavily against her, and his body radiated a comforting heat that seeped into her side, chasing away the cold from half of her body.

Desmond swayed slightly, his speech slurred. "I will call a driver."

Before Coralie could respond, Coraline rushed forward and whipped out her phone. "I am on it. I will get the driver sorted."

Coralie tightened her grip on Desmond's waist. "I will drive."

Desmond looked down at her, his brow furrowing in surprise. "You can drive?"

Coralie offered a small smile. "Yes. I just have not had many opportunities to do so."

For the past three years, Desmond had always assumed the role of her personal chauffeur. Whether it was early morning shifts or late-night emergencies, he always dutifully insisted on driving her to the hospital. Tonight marked the first time he was incapacitated and the roles were reversed.

Coralie patted his side. "Where are the car keys?"

"In my pocket," Desmond mumbled.

Coralie reached over and patted the pockets of the suit jacket Coraline was stubbornly clutching, only to find them empty. "They are not here."

Desmond rested his chin on Coralie's shoulder, his weight pressing down on her as the alcohol truly took hold. "They are in my pants pocket."

Coralie struggled to keep him upright. "Well, stand up straight. I cannot reach it while you are leaning on me like this."

Coraline's eyes flashed with a sudden, desperate energy. "I can do it. Let me!"

Without warning, Coraline lunged forward, thrusting her hand directly toward the front pocket of Desmond's trousers.

Coralie reacted on pure instinct. She shot her free hand out, her palm colliding with Coraline's wrist mid-air. Her grip was like a vice, halting the pregnant woman's aggressive advance before her fingers could even graze the fabric of Desmond's slacks. The physical block was swift, jarring, and undeniable. Coralie locked eyes with her, projecting cold marital authority.

"Miss Rowe, it is not very convenient for you to reach into his pants pocket, right?"