Once everything was in order, Emma instantly changed her demeanor. She slipped her arm through Sheridan’s, taking the initiative. “Come on, let’s go greet our guests,” she said, her tone light and cheerful.

She even forced a bright smile, her voice sweet as she murmured, “I’m sorry, darling. I lost my temper earlier.”

The transformation was so dramatic, it was as if she’d become someone else entirely.

Sheridan grinned, his eyes trailing slowly down the plunging neckline of her dress. There was a teasing edge to his voice as he asked, “Emma, do you know what I like most about you?”

“What is it?” she replied.

He leaned in, his words heavy with layered meaning. “It’s not just that you’re so uninhibited in bed. I admire how nothing fazes you–no matter how much you have to endure or how high the price, you’ll do whatever it takes to get what you want. You’ll even use yourself as a bargaining chip if you must.” There was a glimmer of genuine admiration in his eyes, but it was quickly eclipsed by something more sly and calculating.

He couldn’t help but respect her ruthless determination–she was willing to sacrifice her body and dignity just to get one over on Ivy. That kind of ferocity could make even a man like him stand back in awe.

Standing off to the side, Rosetta overheard the first half of the exchange. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she looked as though she wished she could just disappear.

Still, as long as there was no public meltdown or embarrassing scene, and nothing that would bring shame upon the Windsor family, everyone could breathe easy.

Arm in arm, Emma and Sheridan made their way through the crowd, smiling and exchanging pleasantries with the guests. Eventually, they stopped in front of Jamison and Ivy.

“Welcome to my engagement party, Ivy,” Emma said, holding her head high and putting on a dazzling smile.

The guests nearby couldn’t help but stare at Emma’s revealing evening gown, whispering and gossiping behind their hands.

Ivy shot Emma a glance, visibly taken aback.

She knew Emma had gotten breast augmentation surgery, and lately, her figure had become more provocative than ever.

She vividly remembered the night Emma first met Sheridan–how the two of them had gotten hot and heavy in the parking lot. She and Jamison happened to walk by and caught a fleeting glimpse of Emma’s exhibitionism.

But at least that was a secret tryst, hidden away from prying eyes.

Today, though, was the engagement party–her engagement party. This was supposed to be her moment.

Emma, as Miss Windsor, was supposed to have some sense of dignity, some self-respect. Yet here she was, wearing a dress so revealing it bordered on vulgar, looking every bit the bargain-basement temptress. If she bent over even slightly, she’d be risking a full wardrobe malfunction. Was she completely out of her mind?

Ivy glanced around at the other men in the room. Their eyes were practically glued to Emma; some of them looked like they were about to start drooling. Didn’t she care at all about the hungry looks, the barely concealed desire?

Or worse, did she actually enjoy being the center of that kind of attention?

What was truly baffling was that Emma’s behavior was so shameless, and yet Sheridan didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

What kind of man let his wife flaunt her body for everyone to ogle, as if he was proud of it?

The Carters were a well-known, respectable family. Weren’t they afraid of becoming a laughingstock by marrying a woman who acted like a common streetwalker?

And the Windsors–how could they allow their daughter to conduct herself like this? She might as well have stamped a price tag on her chest.

Ivy was stunned.

What she didn’t realize was that the Windsors had long since stopped caring about Emma’s reputation. As long as she brought attention and benefits to the family, it didn’t matter how she dressed or behaved.

As for Sheridan, he looked absolutely triumphant, beaming with pride. His expression practically broadcast to the entire room: Look at my fiancée–she’s gorgeous and she’s all mine.

The more Ivy thought about it, the more disgusted she became. The shamelessness, the lack of boundaries–these two really were a match made in hell.

Jamison noticed that his wife hadn’t responded to Emma’s greeting. Realizing she was too shocked to speak, he gently nudged her arm. “Miss Emma is speaking to you,” he reminded her, the formal address making his distance clear.

Snapped out of her thoughts, Ivy fixed her gaze back on Emma.