Chapter 8 0008

One could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed Alexander's announcement.

But the first to recover was his stepmother.

She rose slowly from her seat like a queen at court. Elegant, commanding, yet seething beneath her well-maintained exterior. Her raven-black hair, streaked with a whisper of grey, was swept into a sleek chignon, but no amount of sophistication could disguise the venom in her blur eyes as they raked over me.

Her voice dripped with disdain.

"If this is some kind of joke, Alex, I suggest you end it immediately."

Then her gaze sliced back to me cold and dissecting.

"We all know Beatrice left you long ago. What did you do this time? Blackmail her into coming back? Threaten her?"

I stiffened, my heartbeat thudding against my ribs.

"And let's not pretend," she continued with an acidic smile, "that your aversion to commitment and your habit of replacing women like you change your suits is a secret."

Her gaze traveled slowly over me again, like a scalpel.

"Where did you find her? A mental hospital?"

The insult scorched me. Fury surged through my veins.

Before I could stop myself, I snapped, "I'm not a child. And I'm not Alexander's mistress. I'm his wife and I'd appreciate it if you remembered that."

Gratia's scarlet lips curled into a sneer.

"You insolent little hussy. You haven't changed one bit. Still money-hungry. Still manipulative. What are you here for this time? A title? A trust fund?"

"That's enough." Alexander's voice cracked through the air, his arm tightening around my waist protectively. "Gratia."

So that was her name. Gratia.

"Believe it or not," he continued icily, "Beatrice is my wife. If you want documentation, I'll have it delivered to your room."

Gratia gave a bitter laugh. "Of course. You only dragged her back because of the will. This has nothing to do with love and everything to do with keeping me from what rightfully belongs to my son."

She glared at him.

"She left you, Alex. Now you expect us to believe she returned willingly? This is a farce."

"Mother," came a cool voice from the corner.

The man lounging beside his pregnant wife rose smoothly. Tall, refined, effortlessly poised he looked like a model from a luxury campaign.

So this was Alexander's stepbrother.

"Let's not turn this into a soap opera," he said smoothly. "This is shocking, yes, but the least we can do is offer Alex and Beatrice.... our congratulations."

He turned toward me, eyes assessing. "Lovely to see you again, Beatrice."

I forced a smile. His words were calm, but there was something calculating behind his gaze.

Gratia gave a reluctant nod, her tone clipped.

"Congratulations," she said, though it sounded more like a veiled threat than a greeting.

My mind spun.

Everyone kept calling me Beatrice.

As Gratia turned toward Drew, I stood frozen, my pulse roaring in my ears, unease prickling down my spine.

The rest of the evening passed like a strange performance. The air was heavy with tension, every word measured, every smile tight.

Of the trio, I found myself gravitating toward Nadia Drew's wife. She was delicate, almost porcelain-like in her gentleness, with soft brown eyes and a voice barely above a whisper. She seemed sweet... and terribly sad. Overshadowed. Like a bird trapped in a golden cage.

Later, on our way to the dining hall, Gratia suddenly stopped. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she spun around.

"What is Beatrice doing here?" she hissed, her voice sharp and cold.

Her glare narrowed on Alexander. "This was your idea, wasn't it?"

"Actually," I said before he could speak, stepping forward with a calm I didn't feel, "it was mine."

Her head snapped toward me again, eyes burning. I could almost feel her rage clawing up my skin.

"You will see to it that you stay far from me at the dinner table," she said with clenched teeth.

Alexander's voice was low but cutting.

"My wife will sit wherever she pleases. If that's a problem, you're free to dine in your room."

His hand found mine, firm and grounding.

Their eyes locked in a silent, fiery duel. But Gratia said nothing. Pride, it seemed, had tethered her tongue... for now.

Dinner was a masterclass in tension. Forks scraped plates. Glasses clinked. Words were scarce and sharp.

Then came Gratia's next strike.

"So... tell me, Beatrice. Why did you leave in the first place?"

Her voice was honey-laced poison.

My breath caught in my throat.

But Alexander didn't miss a beat. "Believe it or not," he said smoothly, handing her a glass of wine, "your arrival has, unfortunately, interrupted our honeymoon."

I glanced at him, startled.

Honeymoon?

"We remarried only weeks ago," he added, slipping his fingers beneath my collar in a brazen, intimate gesture that sent heat rushing to my cheeks.

Gratia scoffed. "How romantic."

Alexander leaned closer, whispering, "You blush charmingly. But ignore her. She thrives on chaos."

"Coming from someone as crude as you," Gratia snapped, "I'll take that as a compliment."

Drew, for once, cut in.

"Mother, let's not pretend this family has ever known peace."

My eyes flicked toward him. So he speaks?

"Shut up, Drew," Gratia snapped.

"Sorry, Mother." He sank back with a small shrug.

Alexander's voice turned icy. "What are you, Drew? A man or a rat?"

Gratia's voice snapped like a whip.

"He knows which side his bread is buttered on. Something you've never understood."

Alexander's jaw clenched. "And that's what eats at you. I've never needed you and I never will."

Her fury flared. "I should've thrown you out the day I married your father!"

Alexander merely sipped his wine. "Too bad he had more sense than you ever gave him credit for."

I tried to defuse the storm. "Perhaps I should make coffee," I said, rising.

"Excellent idea," Alexander said dryly. "Make it strong. Gratia's going to need it."

I turned to Nadia. "Would you like to join me?"

She began to rise, but Gratia's voice rang sharp.

"Nadia stays. She's not supposed to be standing for long."

I raised a brow. "There are chairs in the kitchen, aren't there?"

"Yes," Gratia replied icily, "uncomfortable ones. Completely unfit for someone in her condition."

Nadia's eyes met mine apologetic and resigned.

I didn't press. I just turned and walked to the kitchen, desperately needing space... from their stressing presence.

When I returned with the coffee tray, the war had resumed. Accusations flew like daggers.

Eventually, Alexander stood, voice cool and clipped.

"This is going nowhere. Gratia, retire for the night."

"You're insufferable," she spat.

"And you're boring," he replied flatly. "Drew, escort your mother."

Gratia rose, her spine rigid. "You forget whose house this is."

"It's mine too," Alexander countered. "And it will remain so for as long as I choose."

Drew stood reluctantly. "Come on, Mother."

Gratia finally relented. "Nadia needs rest."

The trio left, the door clicking shut behind them.

Alexander turned to the cabinet. "I need a drink."

"So do I," I muttered.

He handed me a glass of red. "Wine is lethal at your age."

"Don't tempt me," I said dryly.

But my heart still thudded with unease. The question that had haunted me all night pressed hard against my lips.

"Why didn't you tell me they were coming? Why didn't you tell me... about Beatrice?"

Alexander's face darkened.

"Not now," he said sharply, eyes flicking toward the hallway. "They might still be listening."

"But-"

He crossed the room in a heartbeat. His glass crashed against the floor. His hands gripped my shoulders with quiet urgency.

"You don't say things like that when they're near," he growled. "If Gratia finds out you're not Beatrice... everything falls apart."

My heart stopped.

"You never told me I was meant to become her."

"I didn't want to," he muttered, jaw tight. "Because I knew the moment you realized it-you'd run."

I stared at him, voice barely a whisper.

"I'm not her, Alexander."

"No," he said softly, "but you're close enough."

"I... I-"

"Stop it," he snapped again, his voice shaking now. "Don't cry. I hate tears."

But they were already burning behind my eyes.

I was pretending to be a dead woman!!.