Clarissa's question hung in the air, sharp and venomous like the tip of a dagger. Around them, conversations quieted. Several pairs of curious eyes were now fixed on them, anticipating the drama. Ethan felt Elena's hand on his arm tremble slightly. He glanced at his wife. Elena's face was pale, her polite smile frozen, and in her eyes was the panic of a deer caught in headlights.
In a split second, a cold, lethal wave of anger surged through Ethan. He recognized this tactic. It was a cruel social power play, designed to belittle and isolate. Clarissa wasn't just attacking Elena; she was attacking Ethan's choice, attacking the Riels name by implying their marriage was a sordid transaction with a "secret."
He could have ignored it, could have pulled Elena away and shown his disdain with silence. But when he saw the panic in Elena's eyes, something else took over. Something older, more primitive. A protective instinct.
With a movement that felt slow and deliberate, Ethan released his hand from Elena's elbow, then slid it possessively around his wife's waist, pulling her body flush against his side. He felt Elena jolt in surprise at the sudden move.
Ethan looked directly into Clarissa's eyes, a thin, cold smile touched his lips. "A secret?" he repeated, his voice calm yet reverberating in the awkward silence.
He paused for a beat, letting the tension build.
"There's no secret, Clarissa. It's just that not everyone is lucky enough to marry their childhood best friend."
The words were a brilliant lie. A false narrative he had created on the spot. But the lie sounded so romantic, so perfect, that it instantly dismantled all of Clarissa's venomous accusations. The faces of some guests around them softened; a few women even shot them envious glances.
Clarissa's face tightened, her smile faltering slightly. She hadn't expected such a subtle counter-attack.
But Ethan wasn't finished. His smile didn't change, but his eyes sharpened. "In fact, I'm the one who's curious," he continued in a dangerously light, conversational tone. "What's your secret to looking so... relaxed, after Vancorp lost fifteen percent of its value last quarter? I hear the board of directors is getting restless."
The blow was a direct hit. Ethan had just turned a feminine social jab into a brutal public business strike. He had reminded Clarissa—and everyone listening—who held the real power in the room.
The color instantly drained from Clarissa's face. Her smile vanished, replaced by a look of shocked humiliation. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
"If you'll excuse us," Ethan said, no longer wasting his time on the woman. He gave a polite nod to the other guests, then with his arm still wrapped firmly around Elena's waist, he guided his wife away from the crowd, toward a quieter balcony.
Once they were outside, under the soft moonlight, Ethan finally felt that Elena was still trembling slightly. He released his hold, giving her space. He braced himself for rejection, for her anger at him for fabricating a story about them.
But when he looked at Elena, she didn't look angry. She was just staring at Ethan, her beautiful eyes wide. The expression on her face was something Ethan had never seen before. Not hatred, nor fear, nor indifference.
It was awe, mixed with utter confusion.
As if, for the very first time, Elena was truly seeing the man standing before her. And she didn't recognize him at all.