Emma
In the event that there's one thing I've learned in my brief time frame as Mrs. Ethan Grayson, it's this: appearances mean the world.
The gala is going all out, an ocean of originator outfits and costly suits twirling under sparkling crystal chandeliers. The room murmurs with the low mumble of courteous discussion, accentuated by a periodic burst of chuckling. It's a world I don't have a place with, however one I'm compelled to occupy.
Ethan is the ideal host, his presence attractive as he moves through the crowd effortlessly. His hand lays gently on my back, a motion that looks defensive but feels more like a chain.
"No doubt about it," he mumbles, his lips scarcely moving.
"Gratitude for the motivational speech," I answer, forcing a smile to serve the spectators.
He laughs delicately, the sound low and determined. "Keep in mind, Emma, there's no need to focus on what they see. It's about what they believe."
His words send a chill down my spine.
The first half of the evening passes in a blur of introductions and small talk. Ethan introduces me to everyone who matters, his voice smooth and confident as he explains our "love story."
"She's the reason I've finally found balance," he tells one couple, his hand tightening on mine.
"Marriage suits you, Ethan," the woman replies with a warm smile.
I smile back, the lie heavy on my tongue.
It isn't until I spot Vivienne across the room that the tension in my chest tightens into a knot. She's speaking to a small group of people, her laugh cutting through the hum of conversation like a blade. Her gaze flicks to me, and her red lips curve into a knowing smirk.
"Here we go," I mutter under my breath.
Ethan follows my gaze, his expression hardening. "Stay close."
His words aren't a suggestion—they're a command.
Vivienne makes her move halfway through the evening, gliding toward us with the confidence of a woman who knows exactly how much chaos she can cause.
"Ethan," she purrs, her smile sharp. "I was wondering when I'd get a moment with you."
Ethan's jaw tightens, but his expression remains neutral. "Vivienne."
Her gaze shifts to me, her smile widening. "And Emma. You look…radiant."
"Thank you," I reply, my voice steady despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "You look lovely as well."
Vivienne tilts her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I suppose Ethan's taste has always been impeccable. Though, I must admit, it's surprising to see him settle down so quickly. He's never been the…domestic type."
The jab is subtle, but it hits its mark. My cheeks flush, and I glance at Ethan, hoping he'll step in.
He does, but not in the way I expect.
"You're right, Vivienne," he says, his tone cold and calculated. "Domesticity was never my strong suit. But then again, neither was tolerating shallow company."
The smile freezes on Vivienne's face, her eyes flashing with anger.
"Excuse me?" she says, her voice low and dangerous.
"You heard me," Ethan replies, his voice steady. "Perhaps it's time you found someone else to entertain with your…wit."
A few people nearby pause their conversations, their gazes darting toward us. Vivienne's expression tightens, but she recovers quickly, her smile returning like a weapon.
"Well, it seems marriage has made you bold, Ethan," she says, her voice sweet but edged. "I only hope it doesn't make you reckless."
Her words are a test, and briefly, the strain between them pops like a live wire.
The remainder of the evening is terrible. Vivienne's splitting shot waits in the air, her words like a foreboding shadow over the gala. Ethan's grasp on my waist feels heavier, his presence more choking than defensive.
I attempt to zero in on the small talk, the unending stream of faces and names I won't ever recollect, however my mind continues to return again to Ethan's words. He shielded me, indeed, but his tone was chilly, determined — more about stating predominance than really safeguarding me.
What sort of man have I married?
The ride home is quiet, the air between us thick with implicit words. Ethan gazes through the window, his appearance ambiguous, while I sit unbending alongside him, my thoughts hustling.
"What was that back there?" I finally ask, unable to keep the question bottled up any longer.
Ethan turns to me, his dark eyes narrowing. "What was what?"
"Vivienne," I say, my voice sharper than I intend. "You didn't just defend me—you humiliated her. What's your history with her, Ethan?"
He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "Vivienne is…complicated."
"That is not a response," I snap.
"It's the main response you will get," he answers, his tone cold.
Disappointment rises over, and I glare at him. "For what reason can't you at any point come clean with me? On the off chance that you believe I should assume this role, Ethan, I want to understand what I'm facing."
His look solidifies, the walls around him ramming into place. "You don't have to know anything, Emma. Your responsibility is to grin, gesture, and play the role. That's it."
His words sting, but I did not allow him to see it.
Ethan
Emma's displeasure resembles a fire, consuming more smoking than I anticipated. I can see it in the arrangement of her jaw, the manner in which her hands grip into clench hands at her sides. She's not used to being kept in the dark, and it's unmistakable she will not acknowledge it unobtrusively.
Be that as it may, this isn't her battle.
Vivienne's words replay to me in my mind , her not so subtle provocations a sign of how dangerous she can be. She knows excessively, has seen excessively.
Furthermore, presently, she's involving Emma as a pawn in her game.
I can't allow that to occur.
When we arrive at the penthouse, Emma is essentially vibrating with frustration. She storms inside, kicking off her heels with more power than needed.
"Emma — " I start, but she cuts me off.
"No," she snaps, spinning to face me. "You don't get to brush this off, Ethan. Not this time."
Her defiance would be admirable if it weren't so infuriating. "What do you want me to say, Emma? That Vivienne and I have history? Fine. We do. But it's in the past. It has nothing to do with you."
She laughs bitterly, the sound cutting through me. "Nothing to do with me? She spent the entire night trying to tear me down, and you think it has nothing to do with me?"
"She's testing you," I say, my voice low.
"Why?" Emma demands, her eyes blazing.
"Since she knows you are not like the others," I answer before I can stop myself.
The words linger palpably, weighty with suggestion.
Emma's appearance relax marginally, her outrage giving way to confusion. "What's the significance here?"
I make a stride nearer, my look locking onto hers. "It implies she sees what I see. Somebody who doesn't have a place in this world, yet will not withdraw. Somebody who can't be controlled."
Her breath hitches, and briefly, the fire in her eyes diminishes. However at that point she shakes her head, her determination solidifying.
"I don't know what game you're playing, Ethan," she says, her voice trembling. "But I won't let Vivienne—or you—break me."
Her words hit harder than I expect, and I find myself at a loss for how to respond.
Emma turns away, her shoulders squared as she walks toward the bedroom. But before she disappears, she glances back at me, her voice cutting through the silence.
"Good night, Ethan. I hope your secrets are worth the cost."
Her words echo in my mind long after she's gone, a reminder that the walls I've built around myself may not be as impenetrable as I thought.