Chapter 3 A seat at the table

Arielle took a steadying breath before stepping into the Lancaster family dining hall. Her heels clicked softly against the polished marble, echoing through the room like whispers of her uncertainty. The chandeliers above cast warm light on the impossibly long table, laid with fine china, polished silverware, and crystal glasses that sparkled like judgmental eyes.

Every head turned as she approached.

Damien sat at the far end, his expression unreadable. If he was surprised she actually showed up, he didn't show it. Charles Lancaster, his father, looked up from his wine with mild disinterest, as though she were nothing more than an uninvited guest. Julian Lancaster, Damien's younger brother, leaned back in his chair, offering her a lazy smile of curiosity. And at the head sat Eleanor Lancaster, regal and composed, her sharp eyes following every movement Arielle made.

"Mrs. Lancaster," Eleanor said with poise. "Join us."

The title sent a chill down her spine. She was a wife now, at least in name.

Arielle walked the length of the table and took the empty seat beside Damien. The distance between them felt vast, even as their shoulders nearly brushed.

No reaction. No rash. No discomfort.

Damien's fingers tapped rhythmically against his wineglass. "You're late."

"I came as soon as I got the message," she replied evenly.

Charles grunted. "She's not the one we expected. What did you think would happen when you married a woman no one knows?"

Eleanor raised a hand. "Enough. What's done is done." Her gaze pierced Arielle like a blade. "You've caused quite a stir. The press is already picking apart today's event. And Vanessa's family isn't pleased."

Arielle's mouth went dry. "I didn't choose this."

"No," Eleanor said, voice soft but firm. "But you accepted it. You stood at that altar. You are now one of us. That means you will conduct yourself accordingly."

Damien said nothing. He didn't look at her. Didn't defend her.

Julian, on the other hand, leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Well, at least dinner just got a lot more interesting. I'm Julian, by the way. Damien's better-looking brother."

Arielle gave him a polite smile, unsure if he was mocking her or trying to ease the tension.

"You don't seem like someone who'd willingly marry into a family like this," Julian added. "What's your story?"

Before she could answer, Charles interrupted. "Her story is irrelevant. What matters is how quickly she learns to keep her place."

Arielle's spine stiffened. "I'm not here to cause trouble."

"Good," Charles said. "Then stay quiet."

Julian gave her an apologetic look while Eleanor sipped her wine, as if observing her reactions under a microscope. Damien remained utterly silent, his focus fixed on the flickering candlelight before him.

They began to eat in awkward silence. The food-delicate roasted duck, truffle risotto, and crisp greens-might've been a masterpiece, but it tasted like ash on Arielle's tongue. Every clink of cutlery felt louder than thunder. Every glance felt like a test.

"Tell us," Eleanor said suddenly. "Why do you think Damien had no reaction to your touch?"

Arielle nearly choked on her water. "I... I don't know."

"Not a single welt. Not even redness." Eleanor leaned in slightly. "And yet, every other woman-"

"Enough," Damien interrupted sharply.

The room froze.

Eleanor studied him carefully. "You're protecting her now?"

"I'm not entertaining pointless speculation," he replied coldly.

Julian raised a brow. "Is it pointless? Or are we finally seeing something interesting happen to the great Damien Lancaster?"

Damien's jaw tensed, but he didn't answer.

Arielle cleared her throat. "Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe I'm just... different."

Charles snorted. "That's an understatement."

Arielle bit the inside of her cheek. She could feel their eyes testing her, waiting for her to falter. But she'd endured worse than this. If they thought she'd break this easily, they didn't know her at all.

When dinner finally ended, Eleanor stood. "Tomorrow morning, I expect you to attend the charity gala with Damien."

Arielle blinked. "What?"

"It's a public event. You're his wife. You will attend."

Charles added, "Wear something elegant. And don't speak unless spoken to."

Damien stood as well. "This dinner is over."

He turned on his heel and left without another word.

Julian gave Arielle a wink before strolling out, whistling. Charles followed with a muttered complaint about 'amateurish mistakes' ruining family legacies.

Eleanor lingered behind, her voice lowering as she approached Arielle. "You've been thrown into the lion's den, girl. Survive, and you'll earn your place. Fail, and you'll be devoured."

Then she too disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, leaving Arielle alone in the grand room with cold plates and colder memories.

---

Later that night, Arielle stood in the balcony of her assigned guest room, overlooking the moonlit gardens. The crisp air carried the scent of roses and rain. Her phone buzzed again.

Emily: "You okay?"

Arielle hesitated, then typed: "Alive. Barely. Family dinner was brutal."

Emily: "You always were tough. Call me if you need to run. I'll hide you in my closet."

A small smile tugged at her lips. Emily always knew how to make her laugh.

But as Arielle tucked the phone away and turned to re-enter the room, a figure appeared in the doorway.

Damien.

She froze.

He didn't say anything at first. He stood in the doorway, half-shadowed by moonlight, watching her.

"I thought you were gone for the night," she said quietly.

"I had questions."

He stepped forward, slowly, like a predator circling its prey. She held her ground.

"When exactly did your stepmother decide to throw you into the fire?" he asked.

"This morning. After Cecilia ran."

He nodded once. "And you didn't run."

"I thought about it," she admitted. "But someone had to clean up her mess."

Damien studied her. "Most women would've refused."

"I'm not most women."

"No," he agreed, voice softening just slightly. "You're not."

Arielle's heart thudded.

He took another step closer. The night air thickened. She could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands flexed like he wanted to touch her again just to confirm she wasn't a hallucination.

"I didn't choose this," she said, voice almost a whisper. "But I'm here. And whether you hate me or not, I'm not going to be your doormat."

His brows lifted slightly, surprised by her boldness.

"Good," he said at last. "I don't like cowards."

"Then maybe we'll get along after all."

He didn't smile, but something shifted in his expression. A flicker of curiosity. Of something almost like interest.

He turned to go but paused at the door.

"Wear emerald green tomorrow," he said. "It suits you."

Then he vanished into the hallway, leaving her heart racing and her thoughts in chaos.

---