Victoria Blackwell did not enter the penthouse like a guest. She entered like she owned the air inside it.
The door opened sharply, and she stepped in with the grace of someone who had spent her entire life being watched, admired, and feared. Her heels clicked against the marble floor with a rhythm that made my stomach tighten, each step precise and deliberate. She wore a fitted charcoal coat, diamond earrings that caught the light, and a faint perfume that smelled expensive enough to make me feel underdressed just standing in the same room.
Her gaze swept across the space, then stopped on me.
It was the kind of look that wasn't meant to see you.
It was meant to measure you.
"Lila," she said, her voice smooth and cold. "So we finally meet."
I forced a polite smile. "Mrs. Blackwell."
"Victoria," she corrected. "Use my name. 'Mrs. Blackwell' makes me sound older than I am."
She removed her gloves slowly, one finger at a time, never breaking eye contact. I stood straighter without realizing it, feeling suddenly too small in my own skin.
Adrian placed himself slightly in front of me—not obviously, but enough that Victoria's eyes narrowed at the gesture.
"You're early," he said.
She raised a brow. "I don't believe in being late. And I wanted to speak to your wife before we all become too busy."
His jaw tightened. "About what?"
Victoria smiled, a thin, elegant curve. "Marriage. Family expectations. Public image." Her gaze slid back to me, cool and assessing. "She is new to this world, Adrian. I assumed you would want her prepared."
Prepared.
As if I were a project.
A problem.
A weakness.
Adrian didn't respond, which only made Victoria more confident. She stepped toward me, her eyes studying my face, my hair, the way I held myself.
"You're very… quiet," she said.
"I don't see that as a flaw," I replied gently.
Victoria smiled again, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"In this family, silence is either a shield… or a confession."
The room felt colder.
Marcus, leaning casually against the far wall, muttered under his breath, "Here we go."
Victoria ignored him.
She moved around me slowly, like she was examining a painting she wasn't sure she approved of.
"Evelyn was more polished," she said. "More prepared for a role of this magnitude. People noticed her when she entered a room."
"And people don't notice me?" I asked softly.
Her lips curved. "Not yet."
Adrian stepped forward. "Mother—"
"I'm only stating the truth, darling," Victoria said. "A truth that matters if she is going to stand at your side."
Her words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they were delivered with the confidence of someone who believed she was doing the world a favor by pointing out its shortcomings.
"I'm not trying to replace Evelyn," I said quietly.
Victoria's eyes sharpened with interest. "A wise thing to say out loud. Though some replacements happen whether we intend them or not."
My pulse quickened.
Did she know?
Had she figured it out?
She tilted her head. "Tell me something, Lila. Are you prepared for the responsibility of being a Blackwell?"
"I'm trying," I answered truthfully.
"Trying." Victoria repeated the word like it tasted sour. "In this family, trying is what people do before they fail."
I felt the insult like a blow, but Adrian stepped closer to me, his voice low and dangerously calm.
"That's enough."
Victoria didn't flinch. "I'm helping her."
"You're testing her," he corrected.
"And why shouldn't I?" she asked softly. "We both know the stakes."
Adrian didn't answer. The silence that followed was thick, crackling with tension.
Victoria's expression softened by only a fraction. "Fine. I'll save the rest of my concerns for another day."
Then she stepped closer to me—close enough that I caught the faint scent of her perfume.
"I will give you one piece of advice," she said. "In this family, appearances are survival. If you want the world to believe you belong here, then show them. Stand tall. Speak clearly. And never—ever—look unsure."
Her eyes held mine with icy precision.
"The moment you seem afraid," she finished, "the world will tear you apart."
She turned to leave. Adrian moved to open the door for her, but she paused beside him.
"And Adrian," she added softly, "for your sake, I hope this marriage is exactly what it needs to be."
She left without waiting for an answer.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the penthouse felt too warm, too quiet, too full of the words she didn't say—and the ones she had.
Marcus let out a low whistle. "Well. That went better than expected."
Adrian didn't respond. He walked to the window, staring out at the city, shoulders tense.
I took a careful step toward him. "She doesn't like me."
"That's not what matters," he said.
"Then what does?"
He turned slowly, his expression unreadable but intense.
"What matters," Adrian said, "is that she doesn't suspect anything."
My breath caught.
She didn't know.
At least not yet.
"She will test you," he continued. "She will push you. She will watch everything you do." His eyes lowered to mine. "But she can't know the truth. Not now. Not ever."
My heart pounded. "I understand."
Adrian exhaled slowly, as if relieved—but not completely.
"Come here," he said quietly.
I stepped closer. He reached out and took my chin gently, angling my face upward. His touch wasn't soft, but it wasn't cold either. It was… deliberate. Intense.
"Don't let her see you break," he said. "Not even once."
"I won't," I whispered.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The distance between us felt sharp, electric, dangerous.
Then Adrian released me and stepped back.
Marcus cleared his throat loudly. "Well, that was intimate."
Adrian shot him a look that could have frozen lava.
Marcus smirked. "Relax. I'm only saying what everyone's thinking."
But Adrian wasn't listening. His gaze was still on me, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
Something new.
Something he didn't want to name.
Something he couldn't hide much longer.