Chapter 3 3

The dress arrived an hour before dinner.

It was simple. Elegant. Expensive.

Mrs. Helen the head housekeeper laid it carefully on the bed, smoothing the fabric with reverence. "Mr. Blackwood selected this himself," she said gently. "He thought the color would suit you."

I stared at the deep wine-red silk, my chest tightening.

He selected it.

"Please let him know I appreciate it," I said.

Mrs. Carter smiled knowingly. "He'll know."

After she left, I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the dress as best as I could. It fit perfectly-too perfectly. Like it had been tailored with my measurements in mind.

I pushed the thought away.

This was just part of the arrangement.

Nothing more.

Still, my palms were damp as I made my way downstairs. The dining room doors were already open, voices spilling out-polished laughter, controlled tones, the sound of power gathered in one place.

Damien was waiting at the foot of the stairs.

He looked up when he heard my steps.

For a brief second-just one-his composure slipped.

Then it was gone.

"You look appropriate," he said calmly.

Appropriate.

I smiled politely. "Thank you."

He offered his arm.

This time, I didn't hesitate.

The moment we entered the dining room, all conversation stopped.

Every eye turned to me.

The table was long, set with fine china and crystal glasses. Men and women dressed in understated luxury sat in perfect posture, their gazes sharp and assessing.

At the head of the table sat an older man with silver hair and a commanding presence-Damien's grandfather, I assumed. Beside him was a woman with cold eyes and a carefully neutral expression.

Damien's mother.

"So," the older man said, breaking the silence. "This is the wife."

Not my grandson's wife

Not welcome.

Just the wife.

Adrian's hand tightened slightly around mine.

"This is my wife," he corrected calmly. "Her name is Hazel

Hazel.

Hearing my name spoken like that-firm, unapologetic-sent a strange warmth through my chest.

"Hm," his grandfather hummed. "Sit."

We did.

The dinner began smoothly enough. Polite questions. Superficial interest. Thinly veiled scrutiny.

"And what is it that you do, Hazel,?" Damien's mother asked, her tone pleasant but sharp.

"I'm a final-year student," I replied. "Medicine and surgery."

"Ah," she said. "So... not working yet."

"Not yet," I agreed.

Her lips curved slightly. "How ambitious."

I felt the sting but kept my expression composed.

Damien set his cutlery down softly.

"My wife's education is a priority," he said. "She will work when she chooses to."

A pause followed.

"I see," his mother said coolly.

Then-

"Hazel?"

The voice came from across the table.

Female. Smooth. Familiar in a way that made my stomach drop.

I turned slowly.

She was beautiful.

Tall, poised, flawless in a pale blue dress that screamed old money and entitlement. Her smile was warm-but her eyes were sharp with recognition.

"Oh," she said softly. "You really went through with it."

The room went still.

Damien didn't look at her. "Nancy"

Ex-fiancée.

I didn't need anyone to tell me.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Nancy continued, her gaze flicking over me with open curiosity. "But I suppose... contracts can be convincing."

The word hit like a slap.

I opened my mouth-

"She's here because I invited her," Damien said evenly. "And because she's family."

Nancy laughed lightly. "Of course. Forgive me. I'm just surprised you didn't tell me you were replacing me so... quickly."

Replacing.

The air grew heavy.

"Hazel," Lydia said, turning to me with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Did Damien tell you about us?"

I felt every gaze return to me.

"He told me what was necessary," I said carefully.

"Oh?" Nancy tilted her head. "Then you know we were engaged for three years."

Damien finally looked at her.

His expression was calm. Dangerous.

"That was unnecessary," he said.

"Was it?" Nancy asked sweetly. "I think she deserves to know what she married into."

I forced myself to breathe.

"I'm aware this marriage is... unconventional," I said. "But I didn't come here to compete with anyone."

Nancy's smile widened. "Good. Because you'd lose."

Silence crashed down like a wave.

Before I could react, Damien stood.

The sound of his chair scraping against the floor cut through the tension.

"This dinner is over," he said quietly.

His grandfather frowned. "Sit down."

"No," Damien replied. "My wife has been disrespected."

His mother scoffed. "Damien, don't be dramatic."

He turned to her slowly. "If anyone at this table speaks to her that way again, they will no longer have access to me-or my resources."

A sharp intake of breath rippled around the table.

"You wouldn't," his mother said.

"I would," he answered calmly.

Then he looked at me.

"Come."

I stood on shaking legs and took his hand.

As we walked out, Nancy's voice followed us-soft, poisonous.

"You won't last," she said. "Contracts always expire."

Damien didn't stop walking.

But once the doors closed behind us, he spoke-low and certain.

"She doesn't matter."

I looked up at him.

"What happens when the contract ends?" I asked quietly.

He stopped.

Turned.

And for the first time since I met him, his control cracked.

"That," he said, eyes dark, "is not something I intend to let happen."