Later, a crisp, impersonal call from Brenda Alexander confirmed her fate: pick up at 6 PM. Dinner at Sterling Estate. The words hung in the air, a formal summons to a life Clarie still hadn't fully accepted. She hesitated, her gaze falling upon the gown laid out for her.
Miley, her hands gentle and practiced, helped her dress, pinning Clarie's long chestnut hair into soft, elegant waves that framed her face. "You look beautiful," Miley whispered with a timid smile, her eyes reflecting genuine admiration.
Clarie's reflection in the ornate mirror showed a woman wrapped in deep emerald silk, the fabric shimmering like liquid moonlight against her skin. The dress cinched at the waist, emphasizing her slender frame, while her shoulders remained elegantly bare. The gown fit perfectly, a second skin of expensive fabric. Yet, as she stared at the sophisticated stranger staring back, she still felt like she was wearing someone else's life, playing a part in a grand, unfamiliar play.
Downstairs, the hum of an idling engine announced Alexander's presence. He was already waiting in his sleek, dark car, a silent, imposing shadow against the twilight. Inside the opulent vehicle, the atmosphere was thick with silence, broken only by the low murmur of Alexander's voice on his phone. He spoke in hushed, authoritative tones, his attention entirely consumed by the call. After a moment, he ended the conversation, his fingers deftly putting the device away.
He turned to Clarie, his gaze sharp and unwavering. "Chin up. Shoulders back. And smile." His voice was devoid of warmth, a command rather than an encouragement. Clarie flinched internally, meeting his eyes across the cavernous space of the car.
"Why are you acting so scared? Whatever you are. You are Mrs. Alexander Sterling." The words, though delivered with a brutal bluntness, held an underlying demand for composure. He snapped, the sound echoing in the confined space.
Clarie swallowed dryly, her throat suddenly parched. She remained silent, her fingers clenching the emerald silk of her dress, a porcelain figure attempting to maintain her composure.
The Sterling Estate, an architectural marvel, truly came alive as night descended. Crystal chandeliers, sparkling like captured starlight, shimmered from the lofty ceilings of the great hall. Soft orchestral music, a classical melody of refined elegance, echoed through the vast space, lending an almost ethereal quality to the air.
Tonight was one of the family's formal dinners, a glittering assembly of the city's elite. Clarie stood amidst it all, a silent, exquisite statue, feeling utterly out of place.
She offered a polite greeting to the few acquaintances who approached, receiving only a curt nod in return—no genuine smiles, no warm compliments, just the barest acknowledgment. She stood silently beside Alexander, a porcelain figure in a gallery of people who only smiled with their mouths, their eyes remaining cold and calculating.
"I want you to meet Mr. Grayson and his wife," Caleb's mother, Eleanor, said with forced enthusiasm, her perfect smile unwavering as she gestured toward a distinguished couple nearing their sixties.
Clarie forced a tight smile in return, curtsied politely, and exchanged the usual vapid pleasantries, her hand feeling strangely warm and out of place against the older woman's cool, manicured one.
"She's quiet," Mrs. Grayson remarked after a few moments, her tone carrying a hint of judgment.
"She observes," Alexander responded curtly, his eyes flicking to Clarie for a brief, assessing second before turning back to the conversation, effectively dismissing the comment. The terse exchange made Clarie tense, the stifling atmosphere of the room pressing down on her.
Clarie remained mostly silent throughout the dinner. She ate little, merely pushing delicate morsels around her plate, laughed politely when it was expected, and offered brief, measured answers only when directly spoken to. She watched, a distant observer, as the guests passed compliments between themselves like carefully played cards in a high-stakes game, none of which ever reached her, feeling like an invisible wall surrounded her.
Across the sprawling dining room, the sharp, almost brittle laughter of Delilah, Alexander's cousin, rang out like crystal shattering against marble. She leaned too close to one of the younger men—Zane Harrington, the notoriously charming and dangerous son of an oil magnate, infamous for his wandering eyes and predatory charm. Clarie, acutely aware of her surroundings, noticed his gaze drifting toward her more than once, a slow, appraising look that made her skin crawl.
Later, as the formal dinner dissolved into more relaxed conversations over wine and brandy, Clarie seized her chance. She slipped away, her heels echoing softly on the polished marble of the corridor, desperately needing a moment of stillness, a reprieve from the suffocating pretense. The vast halls felt colder now, stripped of the forced warmth of company.
She had almost reached the wide, open veranda when she heard footsteps behind her, light but deliberate.
"You're too delicate to hide alone in hallways."
She turned slowly, her heart giving a small lurch.
It was Zane. He leaned against the wall, a half-empty wine glass in one hand, his expensive tie slightly loosened. A practiced, dangerous charm radiated from him.
"I wasn't hiding," Clarie replied, her voice cool and steady, though her pulse hammered against her ribs.
Zane's smirk was laced with amusement. "You're Alexander's wife. But you don't look like someone who belongs in his world."
Clarie's hands clenched imperceptibly at her sides. "Maybe I don't. But I'm not looking for approval."
Zane knew Clarie, not as Mrs. Alexander Sterling, but as the spirited high school mate who had been surprisingly close to him. They had shared whispered secrets and laughter, a bond forged in a time before titles and fortunes complicated everything. It had been obvious to Clarie then, though unspoken, that Zane held a deeper feeling for her, a yearning that she had always, carefully, kept at a distance, knowing their worlds were fundamentally different. Their friendship had fractured sharply when Zane's mother, a woman of formidable influence, had subtly warned Clarie away, making it painfully clear where she stood in their rigid social hierarchy. Zane had known, and his heartfelt apology had only twisted the knife of awkwardness, leading to their painful distancing. Later, when he'd heard from Clarie's cousin that she had married Alexander—not her stepsister, his heart had shattered, a bitter irony to his earlier pursuits.
He stepped closer now, his eyes intense. "Maybe you're looking for something else."
Before she could respond, a sharp, cutting voice sliced through the air, instantly chilling the atmosphere.
"Is there a problem?"
Alexander. His presence was like a sudden, undeniable shift in atmospheric pressure, commanding attention and dissolving all triviality. Zane straightened immediately, the casual flirtation draining from his posture, replaced by a guarded formality.
"Just saying hello," Zane said, raising both hands mockingly in a gesture of surrender. Alexander simply stared him down, his expression unreadable, his gaze fixed and unwavering.
Zane chuckled, a hollow sound, but nodded curtly and walked away, tossing Clarie a final, lingering smirk over his shoulder that promised unspoken trouble.
Alexander turned his gaze to Clarie, his eyes colder than the night breeze that rustled the distant leaves. "Do you know him?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
"Friend," she replied simply, hoping the single word would suffice.
"What kind of friend?" he snapped, his voice sharp with suspicion.
Clarie blinked, taken aback by the aggression in his question. Before she could form an answer, he continued, his tone laced with accusation, "You couldn't even get through the dinner."
Clarie observed his face, searching for any hint of understanding, bracing herself for the inevitable anger. "I needed air," she stated, her voice surprisingly steady.
"Or attention?" he shot back, the words like a physical blow.
The accusation stung, sharp and unwarranted. Clarie flinched, her composure cracking.
"You think I want his attention?" she said, her voice trembling now, laced with a raw indignation she rarely allowed herself to show.
Alexander's jaw tightened, a muscle clenching beneath his skin, but he said nothing more, only fixing her with a scrutinizing gaze. "Or what?"
"Don't worry," she added, the bitterness rising in her throat, a wave of despair washing over her. "I know exactly how replaceable I am in this house."
With that, she turned abruptly, her emerald silk swirling around her, and walked toward the veranda, her breath unsteady, her heart hammering against her ribs. She needed space—space from him, from the suffocating pretense of their cold marriage, from a house that felt less like a home and more like a gilded cage with each passing day.
She stood under the vast, indifferent blanket of stars, letting the cool night air soothe her feverish skin. For a long, silent moment, she didn't hear footsteps. Until she did.
"Just stay away from any influential guy. I don't want rumors." Alexander's voice, surprisingly quiet, cut through the stillness from behind her.
Clarie turned back slowly, confusion etched on her face. "What does that mean?"
Alexander took his hand from his pocket, his posture rigid. "You don't know what I mean?" he asked, his tone laced with a sardonic edge. He then walked forward, taking a few steps closer to her, his gaze intense.
Something shifted within Clarie. A wave of frustration, sharp and sudden, overwhelmed her. She hadn't asked for any of this.
"I didn't ask to be here," she stated, her voice low but firm, the unspoken accusation hanging heavily between them.
Alexander stopped his steps, his back still partially turned to her. Silence fell, thick and fraught with unspoken words. Then, he turned fully, his sharp eyes glinting in the faint light, a look of annoyance twisting his features. A dry, humorless chuckle escaped him. "You can do whatever you want. Just… stay away from men like Zane."
Clarie stood there, her fists clenching tightly at her sides, watching him. The bitter taste of his words lingered. She returned to the great hall, the music and chatter now feeling like a distant, distorted hum. She sat silently, her gaze sweeping across the room. She noticed the eyes of Alexander's other cousins, especially his closest cousin, Delilah, splitting on her, sharp and knowing.
Alexander was now engrossed in conversation with his mother and several board members. His dark gray tux fit him like a second skin, a testament to his imposing presence, and his cold expression hadn't softened a bit as his eyes, even from across the crowded room, occasionally landed on her, reminding her of the invisible chains that bound her to his world. Clarie straightened her body slightly, rising from her seat, and began walking toward the bar, needing something, anything, to distract her from the unfamiliar, suffocating weight of the evening.