Chapter 3 3

Emilia's room was in the far wing of the mansion, as far from Alessandro's quarters as possible, almost as if he couldn't stand the idea of even breathing the same air as her. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, closing her eyes. Her chest felt tight, her breathing shallow as she absorbed the weight of the night to come. The gala. His family.

How would they look at her? The woman forced into Alessandro's life, paraded around like an afterthought, a means to an end.

She moved to the dressing table, her hands gripping its edge as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection seemed like a stranger-eyes shadowed by fatigue, lips pressed into a firm line. She looked smaller somehow, the once-bright spark of herself buried beneath layers of duty and resentment.

There was a knock at the door, and her heart skipped. She opened it cautiously, half-expecting to see Alessandro there, ready to demand something else of her. Instead, an older woman with silver-streaked hair and a warm, gentle smile greeted her.

"Mrs. DiLaurentis?" she said softly, with an air of deference Emilia wasn't used to.

"Please, call me Emilia," she replied, trying to return the smile, though her voice felt hollow.

The woman nodded. "I'm Greta, one of the household staff. Mr. DiLaurentis requested that I assist you in selecting something for the gala tomorrow."

Of course, she thought bitterly. Even her attire was something he had to control. But Greta seemed kind, and Emilia knew better than to lash out at the help.

"Thank you, Greta," Emilia replied, stepping aside to let her in. "But it's really not necessary. I can manage."

Greta's gaze softened, a hint of sympathy in her eyes. "I know, ma'am. But I would be honored to help. We could look through the wardrobe together, if you'd like?"

Something in Greta's tone reached through Emilia's defenses, softening the hardness she'd built up all day. She found herself nodding, surprised by her own willingness to accept help.

The two of them moved to the enormous walk-in closet attached to her room, filled with gowns and dresses she'd barely worn since her arrival. Greta's hands skimmed over the fabrics, her eye for detail sharp and decisive as she pulled out a sleek, dark emerald gown.

"This one," Greta said confidently, holding it up. "It would suit you beautifully. The color brings out your eyes."

Emilia reached out to touch the fabric, marveling at its softness, but her heart sank a little. "I don't know. I'm not sure Alessandro would... approve."

Greta's expression softened further. "Forgive me for speaking out of turn, ma'am, but sometimes men don't know what they need until they see it. I think you should wear what makes you feel... yourself."

Emilia's fingers lingered on the gown, her mind spinning. She couldn't remember the last time she'd dressed for herself, chosen something simply because it felt right. Every choice since marrying Alessandro had been dictated by him-what he wanted, what would please him, or at the very least, not displease him. But Greta's quiet encouragement stirred something rebellious within her, a small urge to reclaim a piece of herself.

"I think I'll wear it," Emilia said finally, a faint, determined smile playing on her lips.

Greta's face brightened, and she carefully draped the gown across the vanity chair, smoothing it with gentle hands. "I'll be here tomorrow to help you prepare, if you'd like."

"I'd appreciate that," Emilia replied, grateful for the older woman's warmth and understanding.

Greta gave a small, approving nod before leaving the room, and Emilia sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the gown, her mind swirling with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Tomorrow would be a test. She would be stepping into Alessandro's world, facing his family and, undoubtedly, the watchful eyes of his grandfather. She'd never met the man, but she had heard whispers of his ruthless nature-how he was the true architect of the DiLaurentis empire, and how he had demanded this marriage to secure a lineage and safeguard the family legacy. She wondered what he would think of her, this outsider, this unwanted addition to his carefully curated dynasty.

But as night fell and the hours crept by, her determination grew. Tomorrow, she would go as herself, dressed in the emerald gown that made her feel something close to confidence. She would face Alessandro's world on her own terms, and perhaps, in doing so, reclaim a piece of the person she'd been before.

The day of the gala dawned bright and clear, the morning sun casting a golden glow over the mansion's vast, manicured gardens. By the time evening approached, Emilia's nerves had sharpened into a tense readiness. She'd dressed in the emerald gown, its fabric hugging her frame in a way that felt both powerful and vulnerable. Greta had styled her hair in soft waves, allowing it to frame her face and cascade over her shoulders, adding a touch of elegance she hoped would give her strength.

As she descended the grand staircase to meet Alessandro in the foyer, she caught sight of him waiting at the bottom, dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. His presence was imposing, his expression unreadable as he glanced up and saw her. For a brief moment, something flickered in his gaze-an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"You're... ready," he said, his tone neutral but his eyes lingering on her just a moment too long.

"Yes," she replied, steadying herself against the surge of adrenaline in her veins. "You said you wanted me to look appropriate."

He nodded, his gaze still fixed on her with that inscrutable look. "And you do."

She fought back a flush of satisfaction, reminding herself that his approval wasn't what mattered tonight. She was here for herself, to face this ordeal with as much dignity as she could muster.

They drove in silence, the tension between them thick and unyielding. When they arrived at the DiLaurentis estate-a sprawling, opulent mansion surrounded by acres of perfectly manicured gardens-her heart hammered with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Alessandro led her inside without a word, his hand barely touching her back as they walked through the grand entrance hall and into the ballroom where the gala was being held.

The room was a glittering spectacle, filled with the city's elite-powerful businessmen, politicians, and socialites all dressed in their finest. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the scene. Emilia felt every eye in the room turn toward them as they entered, a wave of murmurs following in their wake. She could feel the weight of their curiosity, their judgment, as they took in the sight of Alessandro's unknown wife.

Alessandro barely acknowledged her presence, his attention already drawn toward a group of men near the bar. He gave her a brief glance, as if to say stay out of my way, before he left her standing alone at the edge of the crowd.

Emilia took a deep breath, steadying herself. She would not let his dismissal rattle her. She was here, and she would hold her head high.

"Ah, Mrs. DiLaurentis," a voice said from behind her, smooth and darkly amused. She turned to see an older man with sharp features and a piercing gaze studying her with interest.

"Yes?" she replied cautiously, her guard immediately going up.

The man smiled, a touch of mockery in his eyes. "I'm Luca DiLaurentis. Alessandro's grandfather."

Emilia's heart skipped, and she quickly composed herself, nodding politely. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. DiLaurentis."

"Is it?" He gave her a slow, appraising look, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I wonder. You must be quite aware of how... unexpected your presence is in this family."

Her cheeks flushed, but she forced herself to meet his gaze with a calm expression. "Unexpected, yes. But I'm here nonetheless."

He raised an eyebrow, a faint hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "I see. Perhaps there's more steel in you than I expected."

She held his gaze, determined not to let him see her discomfort. "I may not have been born into this family, but I am a part of it now. Whether that's welcome or not."

Luca gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. "Interesting. Very well, then. We shall see how you manage to fit into this... arrangement."

As he walked away, she felt a rush of relief mixed with a renewed sense of determination. She hadn't backed down, hadn't let his veiled criticism shake her. But as she glanced across the room and saw Alessandro watching her, his expression dark and unreadable, she felt a fresh wave of apprehension.

The evening wore on, a series of polite introductions and thinly veiled scrutiny as she navigated the crowd, fielding questions and forced smiles. Alessandro kept his distance, watching her from afar, and though she'd expected it, the coldness still stung. At one point, she caught a glimpse of Vanessa across the room, her sharp gaze directed toward Emilia with a look of open disdain.

It was nearly midnight when she finally found a quiet corner of the ballroom, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and allowing herself a moment to breathe.