The days following the gala were oddly quiet.
Damien was buried in work. Eleanor remained elusive. The mansion felt like a museum—cold, immaculate, and haunted by secrets.
Zara spent her mornings in the garden and her nights pacing her room. She was beginning to feel more like a guest than a wife. Every room held whispers of a life she hadn't been part of. She needed air. A distraction. Something… real.
That evening, she took Eleanor's driver's offer and went to a private art showing in the city something small, exclusive, and low-risk. She wasn't ready for another public battlefield.
She wore a simple black dress, tied her hair loosely, and wore no jewelry. She was just Zara tonight, not Mrs. Blackwood.
The gallery was intimate paintings hung under soft golden lights, wine glasses clinking quietly, and the hum of cultured conversation floating like perfume.
As she wandered through a section of abstract portraits, a voice drifted behind her.
"Beautiful, aren't they? Emotion hiding in color."
Zara turned.
A woman stood beside her—tall, poised, and striking. Her golden dress shimmered under the lights, and her lips curled with practiced grace.
"I'm Celine," she said, offering her hand. "We met at the gala, briefly."
Zara's fingers froze mid-reach. "I remember."
Celine's eyes twinkled, amused. "I was hoping we'd run into each other somewhere less… crowded."
Zara's instinct flared. "You don't seem like someone who leaves things to chance."
"hmmn," Celine replied, sipping her wine. "Tell me, how does it feel? Being married to Damien."
Zara tilted her head. "That's a strange question."
"Is it? You're the new wife. Everyone's curious." Celine's tone was light, but there was steel beneath.
Zara took a slow breath. "He's complicated. But I'm not easily intimidated."
Celine smiled thinly. "You'll need more than courage. That man attracts enemies like moths to a flame."
"Are you one of them?"
Celine's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "I'm someone who hates waste. And Damien… he wastes his potential on people who don't understand him."
Zara leaned in slightly. "Then it's a good thing I don't plan to waste anything."
Their gazes clashed ice meeting fire.
Moments later, Celine excused herself with a graceful pivot, leaving Zara alone with her thoughts and a rapidly cooling glass of wine.
***
Back at the mansion, Zara entered through the private entrance.
Eleanor was waiting in the hallway.
"Late," she said flatly.
"I didn't realize I had a curfew," Zara replied.
"You don't. But you do have eyes watching you."
Zara blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You're not invisible, dear. You're new. People want to know who you are and whether you're strong enough to stand beside Damien."
Zara stepped forward. "I'm not here to be tested. I've already survived more than you can imagine."
Eleanor studied her for a long moment, then nodded slightly. "Good. You'll need that fire."
Then, to Zara's surprise, she walked away without another word.
***
Later that night, Zara stood on the balcony, looking over the sleeping city.
Damien hadn't come home yet. Or maybe he had, and just didn't care to see her.
She wrapped her arms around herself, the night breeze brushing against her bare skin.
Everything was a game here smiles with daggers, words with traps. But tonight, for the first time, she didn't feel like a pawn.
She felt like a queen learning how the board worked.
And Celine? She was just another piece.
Zara turned and whispered into the wind, "I'm not going anywhere."
Fractures and Faces*
Zara's morning began with a note.
*Lunch. Downtown. Wear something fierce. —Eleanor.*
Zara sighed. Fierce? She wasn't sure what Eleanor's version of "lunch" entailed, but it likely wasn't sandwiches and lemonade. She pulled out a deep green jumpsuit, tied her curls back into a sleek ponytail, and slipped into nude heels. Bold, but not desperate. Commanding, but not loud.
The driver picked her up at noon and dropped her off at an upscale rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. The hostess led her to a corner table already occupied by Eleanor… and Celine.
Zara stopped mid-step.
"Didn't expect me?" Celine said smoothly, sipping from a flute of champagne.
Eleanor gestured at the empty seat. "Sit. This is important."
Zara sat, her eyes flicking between the two women. "What's this?"
Eleanor folded her hands. "A lesson. In appearances."
Zara arched a brow.
"You're married into power now," Eleanor continued. "And power comes with rules. You must learn to smile at those who'd stab you… and stab prettier."
Celine smiled over her glass. "Consider this your test drive."
Zara leaned back in her seat. "I wasn't aware I'd enrolled in finishing school."
"You haven't," Eleanor said sharply. "But you'll thank me for this. Celine is… useful."
"Useful," Zara echoed. "Is that what Damien calls her?"
Something flickered in Celine's expression. Just for a second.
Eleanor raised her glass. "Let's eat before someone ends up poisoned."
***
After lunch, Zara walked alone toward the valet.
"Care for a ride?" Celine's voice called from behind.
Zara turned. "Thanks, but I'll manage."
Celine stepped closer. "You know, I admire you a little."
"That makes one of us."
"You've got teeth. I like that." She glanced at Zara's left hand. "But teeth don't protect hearts. And Damien… he's colder than he looks."
Zara's expression didn't flinch. "He's a man who's lived through hell. So have I."
"You think that bonds you?" Celine asked, voice low. "It'll break you. People like us broken doesn't attract love. Just vultures."
Zara stepped forward until their faces were inches apart. "Then I guess you're circling too early."
She turned and walked away, her heels sharp against the concrete.
***
That night, Damien returned home earlier than usual.
Zara was curled on the couch with a book, the fireplace crackling nearby.
He stopped at the threshold, watching her silently.
"Something wrong?" she asked, not looking up.
"Eleanor told me you met Celine again."
Zara closed the book. "She ambushed me. You're not going to warn me off her too?"
"No," Damien said, walking in. "I want to see how you handle her."
"So I'm a test now?"
"You've always been a test," he said, tone unreadable.
Zara stood. "Why do you keep me here, Damien? Really?"
He paused.
For a moment, something flickered across his face—something vulnerable.
"Because you're not afraid," he said simply. "And I need someone who isn't."
Zara took a step closer. "You think fear is weakness?"
"I think trust is."
She reached for his hand, gently. "Then let's be afraid together."
Damien didn't pull away. But he didn't move either.
In that moment, under the dim lights and quiet hum of the fire, they were just two scarred souls learning how not to flinch.
***
Meanwhile, across the city, Celine poured herself another glass of wine and stared at the photograph in her hand.
Zara. At lunch. Smiling with Eleanor.
She crushed the picture slowly, letting the paper crumple beneath her fingers.
"Game on," she whispered.