40 - Business party
Later — Morning Light
Scarlett woke to late-morning sunlight pouring through sheer curtains—gentle, golden, too soft for the heaviness she carried. The marble floor glowed beneath it, the entire suite washed in warmth that didn't reach her bones.
For a moment, she stayed still, cocooned in crisp sheets that whispered luxury but not belonging.
If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend.
Almost.
Eventually she rose, letting the rainfall shower steam around her. Hot water cascaded down her spine, dissolving the remnants of dreams she couldn't grasp. She stayed under the spray until her skin flushed and her thoughts blurred into something numb.
Wrapped in a plush robe, she stepped into the suite.
The scent of fresh coffee lingered.
Lilies on the table perfumed the air.
And Ethan stood by the windows—dark silhouette carved by sunlight, immaculate in his suit, posture straight and controlled.
He didn't turn when she approached, but he felt her presence.
"We have an event today," he said quietly. "Family. You're expected to come."
Expected.
Not wanted.
She swallowed. "What time?"
"Seven. We leave at six-thirty." He slid his phone into his jacket. Only then did he look at her. "Wear something appropriate."
Something in her spine straightened. "I know how to dress, Ethan."
His lips twitched—almost amused, almost softened—but the expression never fully bloomed. It faded as fast as it appeared.
He turned back to the window.
Conversation over.
Twilight — Preparation
The day drifted like fog.
Reading half a chapter.
Staring at the skyline.
Bath water cooling around her.
Silence growing heavier.
By evening, she stood before the mirror in an emerald gown that clung to her like moonlight poured into fabric. Elegant, poised, quietly powerful.
This was the role.
This was the mask.
The door clicked open.
Ethan froze on the threshold.
For a long, suspended second, he didn't move.
His gaze slid down her body—slow, deliberate, unguarded.
Heat drifted beneath her skin.
He swallowed once, barely noticeable.
"Let's go," he said, voice low, roughened.
She walked past him, shoulders brushing. The faintest touch. Barely there.
But it sent a shiver through her.
And his breath hitched.
Just once.
Then the mask rebuilt itself.
She didn't look back.
She couldn't.
She stepped into the waiting evening—
a woman walking into a life that wasn't hers,
with a heart that had begun to awaken
in the wrong direction.
The ballroom shimmered with old-world opulence—crystal chandeliers dripping from intricately carved ceilings, their light scattering in warm golden pools across polished marble floors.
The mingling scents of expensive perfume and fresh blooms clung to the heat of too many bodies in tailored clothes.
Scarlett stepped through the grand entrance, her heels clicking softly against the stone, and felt the weight of the room's gaze settle on her.
This wasn't just a gathering. It was a parade of power—and Ethan Blackwood was its undeniable center.
Before she could fully adjust, Ethan's hand found the small of her back. The touch was firm—neither gentle nor harsh—but it branded her like a silent claim. The warmth seeped through the thin fabric of her dress, a reminder that in this sea of polished predators, she belonged to him.
No sooner had they entered than the crowd converged. Men in sharp suits and women dripping diamonds encircled them like moths to a flame, drawn to Ethan's magnetic pull.
A silver-haired man with a ruddy face pushed through, clapping Ethan on the shoulder with practiced familiarity. "Blackwood. About time."
Ethan's smile was polite but cold, his eyes unreadable. "Harrison."
The man's gaze flicked to Scarlett, lingering with thinly veiled curiosity. "And who might this be?"
Ethan shifted Scarlett closer, his hand sliding down from her back to her waist, drawing her subtly into his side. His voice was low and steady. "My wife."
The single phrase landed like a challenge. Harrison raised his eyebrows, chuckling. "So the rumors are true. Finally tamed, eh?"
Scarlett felt the faint stiffening of Ethan's fingers at her waist—a silent warning sharper than any words. Ethan's smile sharpened, the warmth never reaching his eyes. "Scarlett complements my life. She doesn't tame it."
Harrison laughed uneasily and turned to Scarlett with a forced grin. "Pleasure to meet you."
Scarlett returned a practiced smile, voice cool and steady. "Likewise." Her eyes scanned the room subtly, already calculating what lay beneath the surface.
The evening unfolded in a series of rehearsed exchanges. Each time Ethan introduced her as "my wife," the words branded her anew—possessive and final. His hand remained firm at her waist, fingers flexing when someone's gaze lingered too long.
When an elderly businessman beckoned Ethan away, their eyes met briefly. "I'll be back," Ethan murmured, low enough for only her to hear. His hand lingered a moment longer before he melted into the crowd, commanding attention with every step.
Alone, Scarlett slipped into the relative quiet of a marble column's shadow.
The cool stone pressed against her back was a small comfort as she took a measured sip of fresh orange juice.
She watched Ethan work the room—his presence magnetic, controlled, always scanning, always calculating.
Each gesture was precise, every glance measured, a predator mapping his domain.
Then a shadow fell across her.
"I didn't expect Ethan Blackwood's wife to be this stunning," said a man whose overly styled hair and cheap cologne made her skin crawl. His smile was a predator's leer.
Scarlett stiffened, tightening her grip on the glass. "Thank you," she said, polite but firm.
He stepped closer, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I bet you feel trapped, married to someone as intense as Ethan."
Her jaw clenched. "Excuse me?"
The man's smirk widened, ignoring the warning in her tone. "Come on, you deserve better than him."
Before she could respond, a weight settled on her shoulder—solid, possessive. Ethan's voice cut through the air like a blade. "Sorry, darling, I made you wait."
She turned, startled by the rare softness in his tone. But the dangerous glint in his eyes told a different story.
His arm slid around her shoulders, pulling her close—claiming her, not just publicly but utterly.
The man's confidence drained instantly, replaced by unease. "Ethan," he greeted stiffly.
Ethan's cold blue stare pinned him in place. "Is there business with my wife?"
The man swallowed hard, retreating. Ethan released Scarlett, guiding her away with the firm pressure of his hand at her waist.
As they moved through the ballroom, silence thrummed between them, charged with unspoken tension. Scarlett stole a glance at Ethan—his face a mask, but the taut muscle at his jaw betrayed everything he wouldn't say.
When they reached a shadowed corner near the terrace, Ethan finally loosened his grip. Scarlett faced him, searching his eyes.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," he said coolly, straightening his cuff. "Just making sure you weren't bothered."
"You were possessive."
He met her gaze, voice low, almost a challenge. "Was I?"
Words died between them, swallowed by a sudden electric charge. His faint smirk—a predator's edge—sent a shiver down her spine.
"Come on, wife," he said, voice deliberate. "Let's enjoy the evening."
Scarlett exhaled sharply, surrendering to his lead, more puzzled than ever by the man beside her.