Chapter 7

Winona went rigid and pivoted her head, her own stare immediately clashing with Caleb's icy, unyielding gaze. What on earth was he doing here? Before she could react, he yanked her off the couch in one swift motion and slung her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. "What the hell are you doing, Caleb? Put me down!" she screamed. Caleb didn't even flinch. Striding straight for the door, his voice cut like glass. "I told you—you can do whatever you want, but you're not allowed to come to places like this and hire a male host!" "Why do you care?" she snapped, fury spilling out. "Who the hell do you think you are?" "I'm your husband." She laughed, as though he'd told a ridiculous joke. "Husband? You mean the husband who drinks for another woman?" Caleb's steps faltered. He went quiet for a moment before replying, "I told you that wasn't her fault. Besides, you smashed two bottles over her head—she's hurt. What more do you want?" Without giving her a chance to argue, he shoved her into the waiting Rolls-Royce at the curb. Fuming, Winona reached for the door handle, ready to leap out of the moving car, but Caleb caught her in time. His arm locked around her, unyielding. "Stop it, will you?" he warned, exhaustion simmering beneath his calm. "Be good." The car was already in motion. Struggling was pointless. She turned her face to the window, refusing to look at him. Caleb looked worn out. Leaning back against the seat, he soon drifted off. His head tilted unconsciously, resting against her shoulder. Her body stiffened. Winona was about to push him away when Wesley cautiously piped up. "Mrs. Solt, please don't be mad at him. He's barely slept these past few days because of that international merger. He's just finished an all-nighter this morning. "When he heard you were here, he came straight over—didn't even stop for a drink of water. He was worried you'd get too wild. He didn't want Mr. Nander to find out and lecture you…" Winona listened silently, but a bitter ache bloomed in her chest. What was that supposed to mean? He could care enough to protect her from her father, but only as a convenient tool, never as a woman in his heart. Then, as if mocking her thoughts, Caleb's arms tightened in his sleep. He pulled her closer, murmuring a name against her shoulder. "Miranda… Don't go…" That one word hit Winona like a thunderclap, shattering the last fragile hope she had clung to. Pain ripped through her chest. She couldn't take it anymore. With a burst of strength, she shoved him hard, sending him sprawling across the backseat. The jolt woke him. He rubbed his temples, his expression quickly settling back into its usual cold composure. Without so much as a glance at her, he reached for the tablet beside him and began skimming through the stack of financial reports. The silence in the car was suffocating. When they returned to the cold, cavernous house, neither spoke a word. Winona didn't want to sleep. She went straight to the study, opened her laptop, and began editing the photos she hadn't had time to post. Before she could even get through the first batch, Caleb walked in, shut her laptop, and scooped her up again. "It's late. Go to bed." Too tired to fight or argue, she let him carry her back to the bedroom. The next morning, Winona woke and instinctively reached for her phone. A headline caught her eye. "Rising Photographer Miranda Granger's Solo Exhibition Opens Today—Stunning Work Captivates the Public!" Beneath it were photos from the event—enlarged shots of her so-called original works. Winona's eyes widened. She shot upright in bed. Those were her photos, the ones she had kept on her USB drive, unpublished. Miranda had stolen them and hosted an entire exhibition. Rage surged through her veins. She jumped out of bed, threw on her clothes, and stormed toward the stairs, only to find Caleb already waiting. Calm and unruffled, he stood at the top of the stairs, as if expecting her. "Don't go looking for trouble with her," he said evenly. Winona froze mid-step, staring at him in disbelief. Her voice trembled as she asked, "You… knew?" Then, it hit her. Last night, when she had been editing those very photos, he had come in, taken her USB drive, and forced her to rest early. A chill spread through her chest like ice. "It was you, wasn't it?" she whispered, hoarse with disbelief and hurt. Caleb didn't deny it. "Miranda's been preparing for her exhibition for months, but all her original files were lost when her hard drive crashed. "The opening date was already set, the invitations were out—canceling it would've been devastating for her. Besides, she's seen your previous work and admires your style. So, she asked if she could… borrow some of your photos."