Princess lounged in her velvet chair, a glossy strand of hair coiling around her finger, every motion regal and measured. The air was thick with perfume and pretense when Morticia's voice cut sharply through it—sweetly venomous.
"I think there's something between Mr. Black and Silver," she announced, the edges of her smile curling with glee.
Princess froze mid-twirl, her attention snapping to the source of the gossip. Silver? With Edward? The thought lodged itself like a thorn in her side. That girl was ordinary—laundromat perfume and secondhand charm, amusing perhaps, but fleeting. Edward Black didn't stoop for ordinary.
Yet the idea gnawed at her, unwanted but persistent.
Morticia continued, weaving her words like serpents through the room. Each syllable dripped with poison disguised as idle chatter, and Princess hated that she couldn't simply tune it out.
Her gaze flicked toward the hallway at the sound of approaching footsteps. A shadow crossed the threshold—Silver was coming toward the lounge.
The soft brush of her dress followed, whispering against her knees as she entered the light. There were no diamonds, no fanfare—only a girl with hair slipping free from its pin, curling against her cheek in a way that might have seemed effortless to someone less discerning.
Pretty, Princess conceded inwardly, but unremarkable—a blank canvas to be painted over when something finer arrived. No one would mistake Silver for a commanding presence. Even on her best day, she would remain beneath her.
Her engagement to Edward had started as a contract—strategic and unyielding. Its conclusion was inevitable: Edward was hers, and soon he would learn it.
Princess's lips curled in a brittle smile. Then Morticia struck again, unrelenting.
"He delivered the fur in her place," she said, eyes glinting with malice. "Told me she sent him. She didn't seem to know."
"He did?" Her voice was a knife-edge of ice.
Porcelain cracked inside Princess. Her nails scraped lightly against the glass tabletop. Edward didn't care about anyone but himself. That Edward—protecting Silver? Shielding her from consequences? The thought unsettled her.
"Yes," Morticia purred, delighting in the effect of her words.
Even if he wasn't involved with her, Princess couldn't stand that he cared enough to help. Edward was hers—by blood, by design, by fate. Silver was merely a wrinkle in the fabric—temporary, correctable.
Morticia babbled on, unaware of the storm gathering in Princess's eyes.
"The showcase," Princess interrupted, her voice louder than she intended. Rising, she felt the silk wrap around her legs, one hand pressing against the trembling glass as a cold plan unfurled in her mind.
At that very moment, Silver stepped fully into view, pausing at the doorway as though sensing the tension inside.
"I'm sorry, Princess," she said, tugging at the strap of her bag. "I should have told you about the appointment."
Princess waved a hand, flawless and composed. "No problem at all. I hope you're well."
Morticia smirked, leaning back. "What did the doctor say?"
"Nothing serious," Silver replied, steadying her voice. "Just nausea."
Morticia laughed, low and sharp. "Are you pregnant?"
Silver's cheeks burned. Her hand slipped behind her bag, fingers pressing lightly against her belly — an unconscious act of shielding, quiet and small.
Princess laughed sweetly, almost comfortingly. "Look at her poor face. You've scared her, Morticia."
"I was joking," Morticia said, though her eyes gleamed.
Silver gripped her bag tighter, her body braced for the next verbal strike. Morticia always knew how to dig deep.
Princess's composure slid back into place, voice smooth again. "About the showcase," she said, reaching for her glass and setting it down with a faint click. "We're receiving a high-value piece of jewelry from the museum. It will be displayed during the event and returned afterward."
Her gaze lingered on Silver, glinting with something unreadable. Silver's stomach twisted, coiling tighter under the scrutiny.
"I'll need someone capable to oversee it," Princess continued. "I'll be preoccupied with wedding preparations—which, of course, follow immediately after."
Silver went still, the words catching somewhere between disbelief and ache. Edward hadn't mentioned anything. She drew in a deep breath as she fought to keep her expression neutral.
Morticia interjected smoothly, "I can do it. It's nothing new to me."
Princess inclined her head with perfect politeness. "True. But I was thinking Silver could handle it."
Silver blinked, stunned. "Me?"
A collective gasp rippled across the room. Morticia's disbelief was palpable. "A showcase this big, for someone just starting?"
"Exactly," Princess replied, smooth and unyielding. "Fresh eyes, a fresh touch. Silver—do you want it?"
The room held its breath. Silver's pulse raced, her chest tightening. She swallowed and nodded, even as exhilaration mixed uneasily with fear.
Princess's smile bloomed—perfect, inviting, and poisonous beneath the surface. "Then it's yours."
Lost in thought, Silver's mind raced with everything unfolding. Siilence stretched in the room—until a familiar voice broke through it.
"Are you okay?" His tone, low and steady, anchored her back to the moment. A firm hand brushed her shoulder.
She looked up and found him there—Edward Black.
"Yes, yes," she managed, her voice low.
Princess slid a neat stack of papers across the table. "Here's the layout of the storage unit and the adjoining rooms."
Edward walked over and studied the plans with intense scrutiny. Every movement was precise and controlled. "You'll need men posted here," he said, tapping a point on the blueprint. "At least two, round the clock. And one for the person in charge."
He glanced toward Silver. He meant her.
Princess laughed lightly. "She'll be fine. No one would think the jewel would be with her."
But Edward's tone remained flat and final. "She needs protection."
His words fell heavily, silencing even Morticia's smirk. He still wouldn't look at her—not really—but his insistence felt like a shield she hadn't asked for.
Princess folded her hands, her voice smooth and resolute. "Then it's settled. Silver and I will collect the jewel next week."
Edward's head lifted. "Then I'll be there." His presence was quiet, commanding, inevitable.
For a moment, the air around Silver felt thin. She clasped her bag to her chest, her body frozen in the space between dread and longing. Morticia's gaze burned into her from across the room—curious, faintly taunting.
Though the room had gone still, Silver could sense the undercurrent—a storm brewing beneath the calm. She forced a small smile, even as her pulse drummed in her ears.
She could play their game. She would survive it.
Her hand slipped absently behind the bag again, brushing her belly in a subtle, protective gesture she didn't quite notice.
When Silver finally dared to glance at Princess again, that polished smile—crafted to perfection—suggested that she might already be losing.