The man stood at the center of the crowd, with Willow in a pale blue gown right by his side.
Willow had her arm looped through his, her posture so natural it looked like a scene rehearsed a thousand times.
She tilted her head up adoringly as he spoke, gracefully shielding him from overly zealous guests. Her smile was soft, her manners perfectly calibrated.
A guest approached with a champagne flute, laughing heartily. "Mr. Langford brought his wife tonight? No wonder you're in such a good mood."
Wren stopped dead in her tracks.
Julian heard it too and shot her a sidelong glance.
From a moderate distance away, Wren watched a perfectly measured blush creep across Willow's cheeks.
She didn't deny the assumption.
Instead, she murmured, "You're mistaken. I'm just here with Lawrence."
Lawrence.
It sounded like a clarification.
But her grip on his arm didn't loosen an inch.
And Lawrence made no move to pull away.
The guest chuckled, the implication thick in the air. "Same difference, same difference. As long as Mr. Langford has someone taking good care of him, we can all rest easy."
Willow lowered her head, playing the picture of demure embarrassment.
Lawrence merely raised his glass. He didn't correct the man.
Standing on the fringes of the crowd, Wren flashed back to their second year of marriage.
It had been her very first time attending a gala on his arm.
Someone who didn't recognize her had asked if she was his new assistant.
Flustered, she had opened her mouth to explain, only for Lawrence to cut in smoothly, "She doesn't usually attend these kinds of events."
He didn't say she was Mrs. Langford.
He didn't even bother introducing her by name.
For the rest of that night, she stood beside him like a nameless, decorative accessory.
After that, she rarely accompanied him in public.
Lawrence told her she just wasn't suited for networking.
And she had actually believed him.
But the truth was, she wasn't unsuited for it at all.

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