Chapter 4 Sit Still, Look Pretty

Three Nights Later

Adrian – POV

I watched her descend the grand staircase that evening with every pair of eyes in the entry hall fixed on her, including mine.

The dress clung to her in all the right ways, dark, sleek, seductive without shouting. Her hair was swept to one side in loose waves, a single diamond earring glinting at her neck. The ornamental wife.

For once, she looked the part. But it wasn't the dress, or the heels, or even the way the black silk kissed her skin when she moved. It was the quiet in her eyes, the steadiness in her spine, the kind of composure people usually forged in fire.

"You'll do," I said gruffly when she reached the bottom step.

She gave me a look, wry, sceptical. "High praise.

I'll try not to faint." I offered my arm. She hesitated only a second before taking it.

That simple contact sent a current through my veins. Her touch was light, careful, like she didn't want to press too hard, but the warmth of her skin burned through the fabric of my jacket like a brand.

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The Rosenthal Estate rose like a temple of old money, resplendent with white stone, endless glass and sprawling terraces drenched in twinkle lights. Exotic cars lined the driveway like a fleet. Uniformed staff ushered guests inside as photographers snapped photographs, lights flashing furiously behind red velvet ropes.

I stepped out of the car and took Adrian's arm because it was expected of me, although neither of us particularly wanted to. His suit was black-on-black, classic, precise, and sharp enough to cut. The only color was the emerald in his cufflinks.

He hadn't spoken much on the ride over. Just small nods, a few clipped answers. He hadn't even commented on the dress Clarisse had poured her soul into.

But his eyes had lingered, I guess that was something.

Inside, the ballroom buzzed with forced laughter, clinking glasses, and orchestral music that nobody really listened to.

My heels sank slightly into the carpet as I moved across the polished floor, scanning a sea of sleek gowns and sculpted cheekbones. Everyone looked perfectly arranged.

I hated it immediately, I knew it was rather cynical of me, but I could think of much better ways to spend my time than walking about in a stifling dress and trying not to trip.

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Adrian - POV

As we entered the ballroom, cameras flashed. Flutes of champagne were offered. Names buzzed like flies in the air.

Adrian Westwood and his mysterious wife.

My arm stayed around Celeste's waist longer than necessary. Maybe to prove a point, maybe because I wanted to.

A woman in midnight blue approached us, dripping in jewels and entitlement.

"Celeste, isn't it?" she said, offering a hand that had never worked a day in its life.

I nodded as I shook it. "Yes. Pleasure."

"I'm Fiona Holloway. And I was almost Adrian's wife."

I blinked.

Fiona turned to Adrian, smiling with the teeth of a predator. "Imagine if I'd said yes back then. I might be in her shoes now."

Adrian's arm tightened ever so slightly around me.

"That's enough from you, Fiona," he said coolly. "Run along, before you embarrass yourself anymore than you already have."

With a withering glare at me, Fiona flounced off into the growing crowd, muttering something unintelligible under her breath.

For a second I didn't move, and neither did he. I'd gathered he was a workaholic and perpetual loner, this was the first I was ever hearing of a jilted almost-wife.

Just when I was deciding whether bringing it up was wise under the circumstances, Adrian turned to speak.

"I have to greet the board," he said beside me. "You'll stay with Ava until I return."

He left before I could respond.

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Ava joined me a moment later, dressed in a stunning black sheath dress with her hair swept to one side. She looked every inch the high-powered handler.

"Don't drink anything someone hands you. Don't comment on anything political. If someone asks a personal question, smile like you didn't hear it."

"I'm beginning to think you enjoy this," I murmured.

She smiled a startling smile in response, flashing sharp white teeth with a wicked glint in her eyes.

"I live for it Mrs. Westwood, plus it pays well." I spotted Marla across the room talking animatedly to the caterers, somehow blending in and standing out all at once in a coral wrap dress with sunflower earrings.

"Aren't stylists supposed to stay behind the scenes?" I asked.

Marla winked when she saw me watching. "She looks like she's enjoying herself."

Ava sighed. "Please don't encourage her."

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I wandered toward the refreshment table, feigning interest in the artfully plated hors d'oeuvres. Some sort of beet tart on puff pastry, a sea of caviar spoons and neglected champagne bottles. I felt like a fish out of water.

I'd only been here a few minutes, but nearly a dozen upper class women had already approached me.

They would go on about how excited they were to finally meet me, how much of a good time we were all having. But even though I did my best to be civil, I could tell they knew what exactly I was, how I did not fit in with the glitz and glamour of their world

They would try, then falter, then leave. Whispering to their friends and giving me suspicious glances.

Thankful that the conversation was over, I would pretend for the umpteenth time to be deeply interested in the contents of the refreshment table.

Like clockwork a new set of women walked past me, as the other ones started to leave. I could feel them watching before I even heard their voices.

Two women in designer gowns lingered a few feet behind me. One wore a dress so tight it seemed glued on.

The other had a diamond necklace that looked like it could pay off my father's debt twice over.

"She hasn't said more than five words to anyone since she walked in," Tight-Dress murmured, not bothering to lower her voice. "Everyone knows rich people are supposed to be a little snobby, but that's a lot, even for me."

Diamond Necklace added with a brittle laugh. "And that ring? God. Looks like something from a bargain estate auction."

"Maybe that's where he found her," Tight-Dress said, her voice syrupy sweet. "A bargain."

Apparently it was the height of comedy, as both women giggled hard behind raised, perfectly manicured fingers.

I just picked up a glass of champagne and took a slow, steady sip.

This was going to be a very long evening.

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"Celeste Whitmore?"

I turned and nearly bumped into a man, maybe in his early thirties. He carried himself like one of those people who were very attractive and had been told as much over and over again, until it became their entire personality. Or maybe I was just being paranoid. Tall, lean, striking, with blond hair just long enough to fall over one eye and sporting a navy blue tuxedo.

"I'm Asher Vale," he said, extending an elegant, long-fingered hand. "Used to work with Adrian before I got bored of finance and started selling overpriced art.

"Ah. So you're in your villain era."

He laughed. "Please. I'm far too charming to be the villain."

"You'd be surprised."

I had just opened my mouth to respond when Adrian appeared suddenly behind me, one possessive hand behind my back.

Asher's grin faltered only slightly. "Westwood," he said. "I was just introducing myself to your... lovely new wife. She's a real looker man, you got lucky."

Adrian's gaze flicked to me, then back to Asher. "Leave." It was quiet, but final.

Asher didn't even try to put up a fight, he simply held up his hands. "Always a pleasure."

He slinked away, scanning the room with his eyes, likely searching for another pretty woman to talk up.

The orchestra shifted into a waltz, and I felt Adrian's gaze sweep toward me once more.

"I suppose we're expected to dance," he murmured.

"I don't know how."

"Good," he said. "Neither do I."

But he led me anyway, one hand at the small of my back, the other guiding mine to his shoulder. Our bodies moved with a kind of broken rhythm, half-step, pause, sway.

I was aware of everything. The curve of his fingers. The sharp scent of his cologne. The way his eyes never left mine.

"You're not what I expected," he said softly. "And what did you expect?"

He didn't answer. He just moved us through the music like we belonged, and for a minute, we did.

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Adrian – POV

The limo was quiet, sleek, and expensive, black leather interior, polished wood panels, and subtle accent lighting that made everything feel like a low-lit interrogation room. A soft divider hummed between us and the driver.

Celeste sat across from me, posture perfect, expression unreadable. Her dress shimmered in the dim light, the green silk hugging her like it had been poured over her bones.

I should've said something earlier. I still didn't know why I hadn't.

"You carried yourself well tonight," I said eventually.

She turned, slow. Cautious.

"What?"

"The way you handled the event. The questions. The eyes."

I hesitated. Then added, "You looked... fine."

She blinked once.

"Fine," she repeated. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

"It wasn't a criticism."

"No, you're right. It wasn't anything."

Her arms crossed as she stared me down.

"Do you know what it's like to be dressed, trained, shoved into a room of wolves, and told to perform for a man who can't be bothered to call you pretty?"

I leaned back, jaw tight.

"That's exactly what you're here for. To dress up and protect my image."

"Oh, I see. So the dress was your idea of armor."

"It worked, didn't it?"

She laughed, a dry, sharp sound.

"And you wonder why people think you're made of ice."

I stared at her. "You think you're the only one in this arrangement making sacrifices?"

She didn't respond, so I pushed.

"You think I enjoy parading around with someone who glares at me like I'm a prison warden? Who can't even pretend to play the part without dripping contempt?"

"That's because I am pretending!" she said, her voice rising.

"And I'm not?"

I looked at her, and for a moment, she wasn't composed. She was furious.

"You're not a prisoner here, Celeste. You're a partner, living a very elevated, privileged life, nothing like the one you had before. Start acting like it."

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Celeste – POV

I had decided I was done with cowering in a corner like a frightened animal. This wasn't a life I'd chosen, so if I had to live in it, I was going to make d*mn sure I didn't disappear inside it.