While My Husband Cheated I Married His Powerful Brother novel Chapter 132

Chapter 132: Chapter 132 A Gift of Trust

Veyra set the crystal glass back onto the white tablecloth with a sharp, heavy clink.

Her cheeks were flushed bright red, and her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. She had just spat a mouthful of wine worth more than what most normal people earned in an entire year right back into the glass.

Wesley sat frozen across from her, his fork hovering mid-air. He stared at her like she had suddenly grown a second head, his expression a chaotic mix of utter confusion and pure disbelief.

"What in the world are you doing?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Veyra grabbed a cloth napkin and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to regain her composure.

"I can’t drink this," she said bluntly.

"Why not?"

"Because I’m pregnant."

Wesley blinked, leaning back against his chair. "I know you’re pregnant, Veyra. You literally had a glass earlier."

"That was completely different," she countered, shaking her head. "I only tasted it. I didn’t actually swallow it."

Wesley’s eyebrows shot straight up toward his hairline. "You didn’t swallow it?"

"No," she said casually. "I just let a tiny bit sit on my tongue so I could figure out what it tasted like."

"Then why did you spit it out just now?"

Veyra looked at him with an incredulous expression, as if he had just asked why humans needed air to breathe.

"Because alcohol is a known teratogen," she explained, using a tone that sounded like a tired doctor dealing with a stubborn patient. "It can cause serious birth defects and developmental issues. Pregnant women aren’t supposed to drink any alcoholic beverages at all."

Wesley stared at her. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again, but no words came out for a solid five seconds.

"You knew that," he said slowly, processing the information. "The whole time you were sitting here, you knew that."

"Yes."

"And you still ordered it and put it in your mouth?"

"I was curious." She gave a light shrug of her shoulders. "I just wanted to know what a million-dollar bottle of wine actually tasted like. Now I know. And I’m done."

Wesley kept his eyes locked on her for a long, quiet moment. Then, his shoulders started to shake, and he burst out laughing. It wasn’t a fake, polite chuckle either, it was a loud, full-bodied laugh that echoed off the high ceilings of the private room.

"You are absolutely unbelievable," he wheezed, shaking his head.

Veyra offered a small, proud smile. "I’ve been told."

Wesley picked up the heavy bottle of Romanée-Conti. He looked at the fancy label, then glanced up at her, and then stared back down at the bottle in his hand.

"So," he began, letting out a heavy sigh, "what you’re telling me is that I have to finish this entire bottle all by myself."

"Looks like it."

"By myself," he repeated, emphasizing every syllable.

"Yes."

"A bottle worth over a million dollar. Just me."

Veyra nodded innocently. "That’s the price of curiosity, Wesley."

Wesley shook his head in half-hearted disbelief, but he didn’t seem truly upset. He tipped the bottle and poured himself a fresh glass, taking a long, slow sip.

"I am definitely going to remember tonight," he muttered, resting his chin on his hand. "The night I drank a million-dollar bottle of wine completely alone because my pregnant guest decided to spit hers back into the cup."

"I’m sure you’ll survive the trauma," she teased.

"Barely."

With the awkwardness stripped away, the atmosphere relaxed. They ended up talking for hours, lost in conversation while the restaurant quieted down around them.

Wesley shared stories about his early years in business, the dirty deals he had to pull off just to stay afloat, the dangerous enemies he had made along the way, and the few loyal allies he managed to keep. Veyra sat back and listened, completely hooked on every word.

She had never met anyone quite like Wesley. He was sharp, calculating, and ruthless when he needed to be, but there was an unexpected honesty to him. He didn’t pretend to be a saint or mask his intentions behind fake politeness.

"You’re pretty different from the people I usually deal with," he noted quietly as he signaled for the check.

Veyra tilted her head. "Different how?"

"Most people who figure out who I am fall into two categories," he explained, swirling the last bit of dark red liquid in his glass. "They either try to suck up to me to get money, or they get terrified and run away as fast as they can." He paused, a smirk touching his lips. "You just sat here, picked my brain, and spat out my expensive wine."

Veyra let out a genuine laugh. "I take it that’s a first for you?"

"Definitely a first."

When the night finally came to an end, Wesley walked her out toward the private elevator.

As they waited for the doors to open, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, small black card. The edges were dipped in solid gold, and a crest was deeply embossed right in the center.

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