The guest list was curated with surgical precision.
No randoms.
No gossip-hungry outsiders.
Only key players from the media, industry allies, two trusted influencers, and a few high-society names known for setting—not following narratives.
Amelia worked for days with the event planner, hand-selecting every element—from the lighting to the centerpiece flowers to the wine pairing. Everything was intentional. Everything whispered class, unity, control.
The narrative wasn't just going to be told.
It was going to be lived.
And photographed.
The night arrived fast.
The Stone mansion glittered under soft lighting as black luxury cars pulled into the driveway. Cameras stayed outside the gate. No red carpet. No interviews.
Just eyes.
Watching from a distance.
Waiting to see if the headlines were true.
Amelia descended the stairs in a deep emerald gown, one shoulder bare, the fabric hugging her body like a statement. Her presence didn't ask for attention—it commanded it.
Alexander met her at the foot of the staircase, already in a tailored black suit with a dark green tie that subtly matched her dress.
"Ready?" he asked, his voice low.
"Born for it," she replied.
He offered his arm.
She took it.
They walked in like a united front—flawless, composed, unshaken.
The wolves were already circling.
Dinner was set in the gold salon, one of the mansion's most elegant rooms. The table seated just sixteen, each guest greeted with a handwritten note and a customized menu.
Amelia made sure no seat was random.
Veronica, of course, wasn't invited.
But her absence made just as much noise as her presence would have.
"So tasteful," murmured Miriam Devereaux, a top fashion influencer, as she sipped her wine. "And here I thought the rumors would keep you both in hiding."
Amelia smiled. "Only people with something to be ashamed of hide."
Alexander added smoothly, "We figured it was better to let the truth speak for itself."
Murmurs of approval followed.
The meal unfolded like choreography—five courses, live cello music, and conversations that never once strayed into desperation or defense. Amelia didn't force affection, but every glance she gave Alexander felt warm, controlled, real.
And every time he touched her hand or leaned in to whisper something, it wasn't an act.
They weren't pretending.
They were becoming.
But no good story comes without a twist.
Halfway through dessert, an unexpected guest arrived.
Lucas Brandt.
A tech entrepreneur. Billionaire. Known for being brilliant, reckless, and too close to Veronica in recent years.
He wasn't on the list.
Alexander's jaw tightened the second he saw him step into the hallway.
"I didn't invite him," Alexander murmured.
"I know," Amelia replied coolly. "But let's not flinch."
Lucas strutted into the dining room like he owned it, flashing that trademark smirk as he greeted a few guests.
Then he turned to Amelia.
"Mrs. Stone. Even more stunning in person."
Amelia rose calmly. "Lucas. Bold of you to crash a private dinner."
He chuckled. "Come on. You think word wouldn't get out? A Stone event is never truly private."
Alexander stood beside her now, eyes cool. "Say what you came to say, Lucas."
Lucas looked at Amelia. "Only came to see the woman who managed to distract the Ice King. Was hoping she'd be... more than just a pretty strategy."
The entire table went quiet.
One breath.
Two.
Then Amelia laughed softly, but sharp as glass.
"Oh, Lucas. You confuse charm with cleverness."
She stepped forward, smile unwavering.
"Alexander didn't marry me for distraction. And I didn't marry him for his last name. We're a team. Which, I understand, might be foreign to you. Since your relationships usually last as long as your stock trends."
Ouch.
Even Miriam choked on her drink.
Lucas raised both hands. "Fair enough. I'll see myself out."
He left without another word, the tension fading behind him.
Alexander turned to Amelia.
"That was... impressive."
She looked at him. "Did you doubt I could handle it?"
He shook his head. "Not for a second."
The rest of the night flowed with a new current.
One of respect.
Amelia had faced a direct hit live and deflected it without help. Without fear.
By the time the final guests departed, even the skeptics were smiling. One journalist leaned in as he shook Amelia's hand.
"Whatever the media's saying... they're wrong," he whispered. "You're the real power in this house."
Amelia didn't flinch. "There's more than one kind of power. I just know how to use mine quietly."
Later, alone in the hallway, Alexander stopped her.
"You didn't have to defend me."
"Yes, I did," she said. "Not because I'm your wife. But because I'm your partner. And you would've done the same."
He stepped closer.
"No," he said. "I wouldn't have done it like that."
She raised a brow. "Too sharp?"
He shook his head. "Too perfect."
And then finally he kissed her.
Not for the world.
Not for the cameras.
But for himself.
For her.
And this time, she kissed him back without hesitation.
No lines between strategy and affection.
Just two people stepping into something deeper.
Something no wolf could touch.