?<strong>Chapter 197:</strong>


    In the vastness of the venue, Joelle wandered lost until she stumbled upon Adrian, secluded and smoking alone. As she turned to leave, his voice, low and probing, stopped her. “Feeling guilty?”


    Joelle faced him squarely, her expression defiant. She never felt guilty. When she was giving birth to the baby and her life was hanging by a thread, he was going abroad with Reba. She hadn’t battled for his favor or her so-called integrity. She had simply protected the child for whom she had risked her life. Was that wrong?


    “Guilty? Why should I?” she retorted.


    Adrian extinguished his cigarette and approached. Joelle stood in a sharp ck suit paired with a knee-length skirt, her only adornment a brooch—a keepsake from Irene. Her beauty, understated yet undeniable, caught the eye with her refined features and poised air. As Adrian reached out to adjust the brooch, she sidestepped his touch.


    “Mr. Miller, please keep your distance.”


    His smile twisted in self-derision. “Ah, I forgot you’re Rafael’s wife now.”


    Joelle wasn’t in the mood for banter. “Where’s the main event?”


    Adrian met her query with silence, his gaze intense as he assessed the changes time had wrought upon her. Memories of a young Joelle, calling out to him with affection, haunted his thoughts, rendering him momentarily distant.


    When he remained mute, Joelle turned to leave, only for Adrian to seize her wrist, pulling her close against a railing. “Adrian!”


    Though secluded, the possibility of being overheard—or worse, seen—was real, and she recoiled from any further connection with him.


    “I’ve been searching for you for three years,” he murmured. His tone wasn’t one ofint, yet Joelle perceived it as such.


    “Why?” Joelle ceased her resistance momentarily, her demeanor as sharp as a thorned rose, sparing no kindness for those she deemed undeserving. “Mr. Miller, spare me the pretense of affection. You came to me only because of the child. But let me be clear—she has nothing to do with you.”


    Adrian tightened his grip, one hand at her waist, the other forcing her chin up. “Say that again.”


    Joelle’s frown deepened as she waspelled to look at him. “Adrian, release me!”


    Yet, his grip did not ease. In one swift motion, he hoisted her onto his shoulder.


    Momentster, Joelle found herself unceremoniously deposited onto a sofa in a nearby lounge. Dizzy and furious, she hurled insults at him, calling him despicable.


    His face clouded with memories as he pinned her down by the chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Think carefully. Are you sure the child has nothing to do with me?”


    Joelle was nervous, not out of fear but from the futility of argument in such a situation.


    “And what if I acknowledge she’s yours? You know I have a son with Rafael now. We have a son and a daughter. We are happy…”


    Her words were cut short as Adrian’s grip tightened painfully. He pressed down, his presence emanating a chilling aura. Joelle sensed a strange difference in him this time. He seemed increasingly gloomy and stern, casting an oppressive shadow that was unfamiliar and intense.


    Avoiding his piercing gaze, she heard his cold, mocking tone. “Do you really think you can marry into the Romero family? Why would they ept you, a divorcee?” The distance between her and Rafael the previous day echoed painfully in her mind. She had tried to get close to Rafael, but he had rebuffed her. Adrian’s words now twisted the knife of those unresolved tensions.


    The bitterness of her previous marriage resurfaced, and Joelle felt herself reverting to the version of herself that had been so scorned by the Miller family.


    “You think everyone is like you, Adrian? I am with Rafael because of love. The Romero family’s eptance is none of your concern.”


    His response was sardonic. “You seem much more confident than you were three years ago.”


    As Joelle pondered the implications of his words, her fiery resolve faded almost instantly. Her expression changed dramatically, and she hastily reached out to grasp Adrian’s hand.


    But she was toote. Adrian’s hand slipped into her dress, finding her most vulnerable spots with a familiarity that betrayed his intimate knowledge of her body. He had kept a secret all these years; she was the only woman he had ever loved. “Adrian!”


    He yfully bit her earlobe, listening intently to her rapid, uneven breaths. “Did you ever think of me when you and Rafael were being intimate?”


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