The Blake name carried weight—too much weight. After the gala, whispers spread like wildfire through the city. Elena's name was suddenly on the lips of socialites and businessmen alike. The woman who had once been invisible had humiliated Daniel White without blinking, and she had done it as Mrs. Blake.
By midweek, invitations began arriving at the mansion—luncheons, charity teas, soirées. The same women who had once ignored her now wanted her seated at their tables. Elena sifted through the glossy envelopes with cool detachment. In her past life, she had longed for their approval, but now she saw them for what they were: opportunists sniffing around power. And Adrian's name was the currency.
She was no fool. If her enemies wanted to use her marriage to bring her down, then she would use that same marriage to crush them first.
At breakfast, she slid one of the invitations across the table. "A business luncheon. Wives and daughters of the city's elite. They expect me to attend."
Adrian didn't look up from his paper. "Decline."
Elena sipped her tea, studying him. "Declining would only make me look weak. You know how quickly sharks circle when they smell blood."
Finally, he glanced at her, one brow raised. "And since when do you care about appearances?"
"Since I realized appearances can be weapons," she answered evenly. "If people think I'm untouchable because I'm your wife, then they'll think twice before crossing me. Isn't that convenient for both of us?"
His gaze lingered on her, sharp and unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, he smirked faintly. "So now you're using me as your shield?"
She leaned forward slightly, her lips curving. "I thought that's what a husband was for."
For the briefest moment, amusement flickered in his eyes. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by cool indifference. He returned to his paper. "Do as you like. But don't embarrass me."
Elena's heart skipped. Permission. That was all she needed.
—
The luncheon was held at the Alcott Hotel, its ballroom glittering with chandeliers and gilded mirrors. Women in tailored dresses clustered in groups, their laughter polished but shallow. As Elena entered, conversation faltered.
She felt their eyes on her—assessing, measuring, underestimating. She let them. She wanted them to.
"Mrs. Blake!" A tall woman with perfect hair and a calculating smile approached. "We weren't sure if you would join us. You're quite the talk of the city after last weekend."
Elena's lips curved politely. "It's hard to stay hidden forever."
The woman's smile faltered slightly at the edge of her boldness, but she quickly recovered, linking arms with her. "Come, sit with us. We were just discussing future collaborations."
The table was a battlefield disguised with silk gloves. Elena recognized most of the faces—daughters of old families, wives of CEOs, women who wielded influence through whispered words. In her past life, she had stumbled into these circles like a lamb among wolves. This time, she came prepared.
They tested her first with soft jabs. "I hear you don't often attend these events. Perhaps city life feels overwhelming?"
Elena's smile was serene. "Overwhelming? No. I simply don't waste time where I'm not wanted."
A ripple of unease passed through the table.
Another chimed in. "And what about Mr. Blake? He's always been… distant. Do you find it lonely?"
She stirred her tea lazily. "If power was easy to reach, every man would have it. Fortunately, I married a man who doesn't need my company every second to prove he values me."
The women blinked, caught between shock and reluctant admiration. Elena sipped her tea as if she hadn't just elevated herself while shutting them down.
The real test came when one woman leaned forward, feigning sympathy. "You must have been surprised, running into Daniel White at the gala. Such an unfortunate history there. Some women might still feel… attached."
The air stilled. All eyes turned to Elena.
Her smile sharpened, her voice slicing like silk over steel. "Daniel White?" She tilted her head as if searching her memory. "Ah yes. Men like him are useful only as lessons—not partners. I learned. I moved on. Some people never do."
The table went silent. Then, forced laughter bubbled up, brittle and strained.
By the time dessert was served, the tide had shifted. The women who once ignored her now leaned closer, their voices sweeter, their smiles tighter. Elena had walked into their circle alone and walked out having bent it to her will.
—
When she returned home, Adrian was in his study. She entered without knocking, the faint scent of ink and leather filling her nose.
He didn't look up from the document he was signing. "So? Did you enjoy playing house with the city's vultures?"
Elena crossed the room, resting the invitation card on his desk like a trophy. "They'll think twice before circling me again."
He set his pen down slowly and leaned back, studying her. "You've learned how to bite."
"Better than being bitten," she replied.
Something flickered in his gaze—something he quickly masked. He stood, moving closer until he was just a breath away. "Be careful, Elena. Playing with power is like playing with fire. Sooner or later, it burns."
Her heart raced, but she met his gaze head-on. "Then maybe I'll let it burn me. At least this time, it will be on my terms."
The air between them thickened. For a moment, his hand twitched, as if he might reach for her. But instead, he turned sharply, retrieving another file from his desk. "Go rest. I have work to do."
Elena lingered for a heartbeat before leaving, her pulse unsteady. She had leaned into his power, and though he resisted, she had seen it—the crack in his armor, the flicker of interest he couldn't quite hide.
She smiled to herself as she closed the door softly behind her. The trap was set.
And Adrian Blake had already stepped into it.