Episode 7
The invitation was waiting on Ella's desk—a heavy, cream-colored card announcing a major Lennox Capital gala and fundraiser at a museum in downtown Boston. Zavian's instructions were terse: "Attendance required. Dress accordingly. Maintain the facade." This was Rule 2 in its highest-pressure form.
Ella felt a cold surge of resentment. This wasn't just acting; this was stepping into Zavian's toxic habitat. She was prepared for the ruthlessness of his financial statements, but she wasn't prepared for the human cost of his power.
Determined not to look like a debutante bought for show, Ella selected a dress that was striking but restrained—a deep emerald green that complemented her intense gray eyes and sharp silhouette. When she came downstairs, Zavian was already waiting in the foyer. He was immaculate in formal wear; the sight of his imposing figure in a tuxedo, highlighting his broad shoulders, was a visceral reminder of the control he wieldded.
His cold hazel eyes swept over her. It wasn't a compliment; it was an assessment, a check of his property. "Adequate," he pronounced, which she correctly translated as high praise from a man whose expectations were non-negotiable.
"I assure you, I've accounted for all variables," Ella countered, tilting her chin up. "I've reviewed the guest list. I understand my role is to act as the decorative, compliant wife. I'm prepared to execute the mission."
"Your mission," Zavian corrected, stepping closer so his low voice was audible only to her, "is to look genuine. The goal is to shut down speculation, not encourage it. Try to focus less on the cost-benefit analysis of your smile, and more on appearing utterly captivated."
The gala was a suffocating display of old money and predatory power. Zavian moved through the room with a silent, calculated grace that demanded deference. Ella, rigidly on his arm, cataloged the subtle shifts in body language: the instant respect from younger executives, the cautious rivalry from his peers, and the predatory curiosity from the women who clearly viewed her as a temporary, puzzling obstacle.
Zavian was efficient at the facade. His hand remained firmly on the small of her back—a continuous, low-grade physical pressure that sent flares of unwanted heat through her system. When introducing her, his language was possessive, delivered with a cold sincerity that was disturbingly convincing. "This is Ella, my wife. We decided to make it official quietly."
The worst moment came when Zavian introduced her to Victor Thane, a major figure in the city's old guard and a known rival to Lennox Capital. Thane was older, smooth, and utterly dismissive of Ella.
"A rather hasty arrangement, Zavian," Thane sneered, his gaze sweeping over Ella's dress before settling back on Zavian. "One does hope Ms. Hayes is aware of the standards required. And the... discretion involved."
Zavian's grip tightened almost painfully on Ella's back. He was preparing a financial threat, Ella could tell. But Ella moved first, asserting her Girl Power against the threat.
She smiled sweetly at Thane. "Mr. Thane, my expertise is in data, and I assure you, I am intimately familiar with Zavian's standards. I audited the contract myself. As for discretion, let's just say I have the full, documented financial history of every company Zavian has ever acquired in my professional archive. Discretion is less of a virtue, and more of a mutually assured compliance agreement."
Thane's slick smile vanished. Zavian stared at Ella, his eyes widening in a brief flash of surprise and something dangerously close to admiration. She hadn't just defended him; she had issued a threat using his own language of control.
"Ah," Thane sputtered. "A professional. Charming."
Later in the evening, while Zavian was cornered by investors, Ella excused herself to refresh her drink. She overheard a conversation between two of Zavian's most senior associates concerning a recent acquisition.
"Lennox is brutal. He restructured that entire energy sector in six weeks," one whispered.
"Brutal? He liquidated the entire regional division. Thousands of people out of work," the other corrected, glancing nervously towards Zavian. "The severance packages were minimal, but the return on investment is astronomical. It's why he's winning."
The conversation hit Ella hard. She had seen the numbers—the astronomical profits and the minimized costs. She hadn't connected those numbers to thousands of actual people suddenly without jobs. Zavian's ruthless efficiency wasn't just a professional stance; it was a moral void. Her hatred for him felt fully justified in that moment.
When Zavian returned, his smile was gone. "Thane left abruptly. You seem to have made an impression," he murmured, pulling her close again. "You should not speak to my rivals like that."
"I was maintaining the facade," Ella replied, her voice cold. "A fiercely loyal wife defends her husband's assets, even his reputation. I simply used the most persuasive language you understand—leverage."
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "You enjoy defying me," he stated, not as a question, but as a conclusion. "It's reckless, Ella."
"It's a necessary release," she hissed back, hating the overwhelming intimacy of his proximity. "The silence of your house, the rigidity of your schedule, the casual cruelty of your business—it's suffocating. I calculate that a small amount of verbal defiance is essential for my mental stability, which, as Trustee, is also one of your key metrics."
He didn't argue. He only looked at her—the fire of resentment in her gray eyes battling the cold calculation in his own. The tension was palpable, electric, and utterly inappropriate for a public display of affection. He slowly lowered his head and paused, the gesture so intimate that Ella's breath hitched. Instead of a kiss, his lips brushed her ear.
"Let's go home, wife," he whispered, the possessive title acting like a brand. "The mission is complete."
Ella realized that while she was professionally successful in the public display, she had utterly failed in her internal mission to maintain emotional distance. The closer she got to Zavian's orbit, the more dangerous the physical and emotional gravitational pull became.