Two days passed after the gala, but Elena could still feel the weight of every stare, every whisper. She avoided looking at the ring on her finger, though it caught the light no matter where she turned.
Maya teased her endlessly—"Adrian Blake's fiancée, can you believe it?"—but Elena couldn't shake the unease in her chest. She wasn't his fiancée. Not really. Not in the way that mattered.
So when her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number, her stomach flipped.
> Adrian Blake: Dinner. Tonight. 7 p.m. Blake Estate.
Wear something appropriate.
She stared at the screen. Appropriate? What did that even mean in his world?
Her father encouraged her when she told him. "Maybe it's not so bad, Ellie. If he's introducing you to his family… that means he's serious."
But that was the problem. Serious or not, this was still a game. And she was the piece being moved across the board.
---
The Blake Estate sat on a hill overlooking the city, a sprawling mansion of stone and glass, lit like a beacon against the night sky. Elena's breath caught as she stepped out of the car. It wasn't just wealth—it was power carved into every marble column and gilded window.
Adrian was waiting at the entrance, dressed in a sharp black suit. He didn't smile, but his eyes lingered on her a second longer than usual.
"You're late," he said.
"You didn't tell me what 'appropriate' meant," she shot back.
His gaze flicked over her dark blue dress—simple, elegant, borrowed from Maya—and something flickered in his expression. Approval, maybe. Or something deeper.
"It'll do," he said finally, offering his arm.
Reluctantly, she took it.
---
Inside, the dining room was already alive with conversation. A long table stretched beneath a crystal chandelier, surrounded by people Elena instantly recognized from magazines and newspapers—politicians, CEOs, socialites. And at the head of the table sat a woman who carried herself with such regal poise that Elena knew immediately: Adrian's mother.
"Ah, here she is," Mrs. Blake said, rising gracefully. Her eyes were sharp, assessing Elena in one sweep. "The mystery fiancée."
Elena flushed, unsure whether to curtsy, shake hands, or just disappear. But Adrian stepped forward smoothly.
"Mother. This is Elena Carter."
Mrs. Blake's lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Welcome, my dear. Sit beside Adrian."
The dinner unfolded like a performance. Crystal glasses clinked, silver cutlery gleamed, and every question aimed at Elena felt like a trap.
"So, Elena," one guest drawled, "tell us—how did you and Adrian meet?"
Her throat tightened. She couldn't very well say I was cornered into a contract marriage to save my father.
Before she could stumble, Adrian spoke smoothly. "At her flower shop. She caught my attention."
The table erupted in polite laughter and murmurs of approval. But Mrs. Blake's sharp gaze lingered on Elena, as though she saw right through the polished story.
Later, when the meal ended and the guests mingled in the drawing room, Mrs. Blake pulled Elena aside.
"You're not like the women Adrian usually entertains," she said softly, her tone both curious and cutting.
Elena swallowed. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Mrs. Blake's eyes narrowed, but there was a glint of something—respect, perhaps. "We'll see if you're strong enough. My son is not an easy man."
Elena's heart pounded, but she forced a smile. "Neither am I."
From across the room, Adrian watched the exchange, his unreadable gaze fixed on the two women in his life—one testing, one defying.
And for the first time, Elena wondered if she wasn't just in over h
er head… but standing at the edge of a war she didn't yet understand.