Monday morning arrived with a hush of cool air and pale sunlight bleeding through the bedroom curtains. I was already awake, seated by the wide bay window of our penthouse, a cup of black coffee cradled in my hands. The city of Velmora yawned and stirred below—steel and glass reflecting a thousand shades of ambition.
The room behind me was still quiet. Maybe Blake had gotten up earlier and left, or maybe he never came to bed at all. That wouldn't surprise me. We hadn't said much to each other since the dinner at the Aldridge estate. But something in the air between us had shifted—not softened exactly, but twisted into a different kind of tension. Not anger. Not attraction. Something more complicated.
The brooch Evelyn had given me still sat on my vanity, untouched since that night in the garden. I hadn't worn it, but I hadn't forgotten it either.
I had meetings lined up for most of the day, and I didn't need more distractions. But as I stared down at the city I'd once sworn to conquer on my own terms, I couldn't help but feel... crowded. Like the space that had once belonged solely to me now pulsed with someone else's shadow.
At 9 a.m. sharp, I was in the elevator, Sarah Smith by my side, tablet in hand.
"Your 10 a.m. with the R&D department has been moved to conference room three," she said briskly. "And Mr. Aldridge's office sent word about confirming attendance at the joint board session Wednesday."
My stomach knotted. I wasn't ready for that.
"Noted," I replied.
Sarah glanced at me. "You sure you want to keep today's schedule packed?"
"I need to stay focused."
She nodded, but her silence was laced with concern.
By noon, I'd sat through three presentations, vetoed two prototype redesigns, and ignored four text messages from Blake.
Yes—he texted. Briefly. Bluntly.
[Blake]: My mother asked if you're free for tea Friday afternoon.
[Blake]: Confirm with Evelyn. She said you'd understand.
No hello. No name. Just obligation wrapped in digital formality.
I didn't reply.
At one point, Sarah leaned in and whispered, "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
Except I wasn't.
By the time I got to the executive lounge for a short break, my head was pounding. I poured myself some water and sat by the window, pretending the skyline could distract me.
Instead, I replayed Evelyn's words.
"You don't have to love this family overnight. But let it grow. Let him grow on you."
Grow? Love?
How could I let anything grow when I was still bracing myself for betrayal?
Because deep down, I didn't trust Blake.
I didn't trust this arrangement.
I didn't trust myself not to fall for a man who looked at me like I was his equal one moment and then ignored me the next.
But worse than mistrust, I feared losing the version of me I had fought to build before this marriage.
After work, I returned home to find Evelyn in the penthouse kitchen, arranging flowers in a crystal vase. She'd let herself in with a spare key, something Blake had insisted on.
"Celine," she greeted warmly. "You look tired. Sit down, I made chamomile."
"I don't drink tea," I said automatically.
"You do now," she replied, handing me a delicate porcelain cup.
I sighed and sat.
She studied me with the same kind of care she gave her roses. "You're not sleeping."
I didn't bother denying it.
"Sometimes," she said gently, "the pressure to prove ourselves is the very thing that keeps us from being seen."
I blinked at her. "What are you trying to say?"
"You're doing everything perfectly. But you don't have to earn your worth here. You already have it."
That silenced me.
We sat in companionable silence as the sun dipped lower, casting a golden wash over the living room. Evelyn didn't press further, and I was grateful for that. Her presence was oddly comforting, like a pause in a song I hadn't realized was too loud.
Later that night, I stepped onto the balcony alone, city lights twinkling like scattered jewels. The wind tugged at my hair. In my hand, I clutched the brooch. Still unworn, still heavy with meaning.
Maybe I didn't need to wear it yet.
But I was no longer ready to give it back either.
I looked down at the quiet streets of Velmora and realized something unnerving—this marriage, this life, wasn't something I could continue to keep at a distance. It was happening. Every day, every quiet moment between meetings and cold glances, it was settling around me like soft silk and iron chains at once.
If I was going to survive it, I had to stop pretending it didn't matter.
Because it did.
And that scared me more than anything else.