The Wife shall appear at all public functions, social events, and corporate galas as the lawful spouse of Mr. Graves, projecting dignity, loyalty, and unity.
A chime rang throughout the mansion, summoning a flurry of activity from the staff as they made last-minute preparations for the guests to arrive.
Syrena glanced at the mirror one last time, smoothing the dark blue silk gown laid out for her by her maid. The neckline was elegant and round but modest, the hem pooling at her ankles in waves. At her throat, she wore a single white square diamond necklace that glittered as the light reflected off it, paired with diamond earrings to match. The jewellery had been sent to her room in a velvet box by one of the maids, "a gift, madam from Mr. Graves," she had said before placing it carefully on her dressing table.
As she stepped out into the corridor, she was escorted by a maid down the winding staircase to the great dining hall. Thevaulted ceiling arched overhead, carved with frescoes of winged lions and storm-tossed seas. A chandelier heavy with crystal rained light over a table long enough to seat thirty people. Silverware gleamed; candles flickered in tall holders; and the air smelled faintly of wine and polished wood.
Guests began to gather at the table as men wore tailored suits and the women were dressed in lavish gowns that whispered wealth and power. Their laughter rang soft, like glass tinkling. Some eyed her with open curiosity as she entered, while others were too engrossed in their conversations to take note of her. All eyes turned to Alexander the moment he appeared at the far end of the hall.
He was dressed handsomely in a silver coat and black bow suit, his silver cufflinks catching the light, when he offered his arm to her. She hesitated briefly before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. His palm was warm; his grip, firm.
The murmurs rose like a tide. She caught phrases whispered "the new bride," "unexpected move," "bold choice" but no one spoke directly to her yet.
Alexander leaned closer, his lips near her ear without quite touching. "Remember what I told you, no one here matters. You adore me," he murmured, a little smug.
She gave him a small, cool smile. "I'll remember. But I'm not here to be invisible."
Amusement flickered in his eyes, and then the mask returned. "I would never have suggested you remain so."
The butler struck a small gong, and the guests moved to take their seats. Alexander guided her to the head of the table where two chairs stood apart from the others — his and hers. As she sat, a hush swept over the room. Servants poured wine into crystal glasses, the dark red liquid catching the candlelight, looking like rubies in the glasses.
Alexander rose, glass in hand. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice low but carrying loud and clear. "You've come to discuss matters of import, but first, allow me to introduce the woman who now shares my house and my name, yes, my wife. Syrena Graves."
Dozens of eyes pinned her at once. She felt the weight of every glance, the silent measuring, the faint smile of friendliness on some mouths, contempt on others. The memory of Elianna's words steadied her like a hand at her back: You are not going to vanish inside some mansion.
Syrena rose, lifting her own glass. "A pleasure," she said, her voice clear and steady. "I hope this evening proves fruitful for everyone."
Alexander's smile was a slow, deliberate curve. "Fruitful indeed," he said, and gestured for the first course to be served.
As silver covers were whisked away and conversation resumed in low, strategic murmurs, Syrena felt Alexander's gaze slide to her again, a silent question in his eyes: Are you ready for this world?
She held his gaze, chin lifted, and for the first time that day she didn't feel like a pawn in someone else's game. She was, in fact, a player.
The first course was laid before them, a thick soup served in porcelain so fine the light shone reflecting of the edges.
The woman across the table, with her sleek hair coiled high, emerald earrings glittering, leaned forward with a smile that didn't touch her eyes."So this is the new Mrs. Graves. You're lovelier than I expected. Alexander always did have… interesting taste."
A ripple of amusement passed down the table. Syrena returned the smile, though hers was softer.
"Then I'm relieved to have surpassed expectations. It makes introductions so much more pleasant." Syrena answered with what she hoped was a polite reply.
The woman blinked, her painted lips parting slightly before she laughed and lifted her glass. Others chuckled with her, but Syrena could feel the subtle shift: interest, appraisal, the faintest spark of respect.
Another guest, an older man with a voice like gravel, spoke without lifting his gaze from his plate."And what experience do you bring, Mrs. Graves? The circles you enter now are… not forgiving."
A quiet challenge. Alexander's hand tightened ever so slightly around his wineglass, but he didn't intervene. He was watching her.
Syrena placed her spoon down with deliberate grace."I imagine forgiveness is a rare commodity where power is concerned. What I bring is the ability to stand where I am without apology."
A murmur ran through the table. Some smiled; others narrowed their eyes. Alexander's lips curved faintly, though he said nothing, letting her words hang like a drawn blade.
The courses came and went, roasted quail with honey glaze, poached pears steeped in wine but each dish seemed secondary to the unspoken duel of glances and words. Women whispered behind jewelled fingers; men observed with the cool detachment, weighing the odds.
Further down, a younger voice chimed in. Lady Helena, barely older than Syrena herself, leaned toward her companion but spoke just loud enough to carry."Pretty, yes. But I do hope she knows how to host, or Alexander will be quite bored. Men of his standing need… stimulation."
Laughter bubbled around her like poison champagne.
Syrena's spoon touched the porcelain rim as she set it down, the sound delicate but commanding attention. Her voice carried, calm and clear."Forgive me, Lady Helena. I wasn't aware marriage was meant to be a circus performance. Rest assured, I leave juggling tricks to clowns."
A few muffled snickers broke the tension. Helena's painted lips parted in indignation, but she caught the look Alexander gave her cold, razor-edged and she quickly busied herself with her wine.
Syrena felt Alexander's gaze slide to her then, unreadable but intent. He was letting her play her hand, testing whether she could withstand the subtle war of the table.
Lady Morvain struck again, her tone sweet as poisoned fruit."Tell me, Syrena, what is it like stepping into such… lofty company? Most women spend years cultivating connections before they are welcomed to a table such as this."
It was a blade dressed as a compliment.
Syrena sipped her wine before replying, her pulse steady now."Lofty company doesn't daunt me, Lady Morvain. After all, even the highest table requires chairs and I intend to keep my seat."
The older woman's smile faltered. A hush followed, then scattered chuckles, this time less at Syrena and more with her.
The rest of the meal flowed in that uneasy balance whispers like smoke, Alexander's silence like a judge's gavel. By the time dessert came, which was a fruit salad, Syrena realized she was no longer merely an object of curiosity. She had shifted the balance. They were testing her still, but carefully now, wary of being cut by her tongue.
When the final toast was raised, Alexander set his hand lightly over hers on the tablecloth. For the watching guests, it was a gesture of ownership. But for Syrena, feeling the faint pressure of his touch, it was something else.
Recognition.