Chapter 66: Cheyenne's Humiliating Defeat

Omari sensed something was wrong with Cheyenne and asked, "Cheyenne, what's wrong?"

Seeing a man approach, he understood. His gentle smile widened as he put his arm around her slender waist and whispered, "Is it because of him?"

He felt jealous of Kelvin. Kelvin's mere presence affected Cheyenne's emotions.

Omari lowered his head, momentarily hiding his disappointment behind his lashes.

Cheyenne, choked with emotion, could only whisper, "No"

"Kelvin! Wait for me!" Abbie's clear voice called from a private room. She emerged, elegant in a pink dress, her chestnut hair adorned with a pearl headband.

Seeing Cheyenne, Abbie looked surprised, then smiled gently. "Miss Lawrence, what a coincidence."

Noticing Omari, Abbie sighed inwardly. Such a distinguished man with a divorced woman? She thought him foolish.

Omari saw through her sarcasm. A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes as he hugged Cheyenne tightly, whispering flirtatiously, "Is that your ex-husband's mistress? Cheyenne, you lost miserably!"

Abbie paled in comparison to Cheyenne in every way—figure, appearance, and ability. Yet, this seemingly frail woman had easily won Kelvin's love. Cheyenne's eight years with him seemed insignificant.

Cheyenne smiled bitterly, momentarily unaware of Omari's hand on her waist. In Kelvin's eyes, she saw only coldness and disdain—worse than a stranger's.

"Yes, it's miserable," she said calmly. Her composure only fueled Kelvin's anger.

He glanced disdainfully at Omari's hand on Cheyenne's waist, then said to Abbie without warmth, "Abbie, let's go."

Abbie was elated by Kelvin's disdain for Cheyenne.

"Kelvin, don't be so hasty," Abbie said, turning to Cheyenne. "Miss Lawrence, are you looking for a private room? We just vacated one; our reservation isn't for another two hours."

Does she think I'm desperate for scraps? Cheyenne wondered.

Abbie, noting Cheyenne's inexpensive clothes, assumed she was penniless, a far cry from her former designer wardrobe.

"I've paid for it," Abbie said firmly. "Use it, since you're not what you used to be." She turned to leave.

Omari, his gaze fixed on Cheyenne, smiled gently. "Wait!" he exclaimed. "We appreciate your kindness, Miss, but we won't need the room. Cheyenne and I are going home."

Turning to Cheyenne, he said, "I have a bottle of Producteur Comande, the wine you mentioned."

Producteur Comande was a rare, highly sought-after Bordeaux.

Cheyenne loved wine, and Kelvin knew it well. He recalled her charming, innocent intoxication—the seductive nightgown, the red wine savored by candlelight, her kittenish charm. He remembered her drunken kisses, the mingling of wine and perfume. He'd been unable to resist her.

He remembered a past encounter:

"Why are you drinking again?" "Because I want you to kiss me." "Do you really crave it that much?"

Cheyenne, misinterpreting his complex emotions, had boldly embraced him. He'd then roughly pulled up her nightgown, saying coldly, "Cheyenne, don't push your luck! You're my wife, not some wild animal in heat. Act like it!"

He'd forbidden her wine since then.

Hearing Omari mention the wine, Cheyenne subconsciously licked her lips. "Sounds great."

Kelvin's hand clenched. His eyes were bloodshot. He imagined Cheyenne with another man.

Abbie's offer was rejected. She smiled, concealing her resentment.

"Very well. I won't disturb you, Miss Lawrence"

"I'm Cheyenne's boyfriend," Omari announced confidently, presenting his NIGHTBREEZE business card. "Omari Lara."

Abbie initially dismissed him, knowing NIGHTBREEZE, but assuming he was a lowly employee. To appear gracious before Kelvin, however, she accepted the card.

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