The morning sun filtered through the thick velvet curtains, casting a golden hue over the Carlisle estate. Elena stirred slowly in bed, the previous day's events pressing down on her chest like a weight. She blinked a few times, letting the unfamiliar luxury of silk sheets register beneath her fingertips. Even after a few days, she still wasn't used to this new life.
Mrs. Carlisle.
That name didn't sound right in her head, let alone out loud.
A knock echoed through her door before she could process her thoughts fully.
"Yes?" she called out.
The door cracked open and Amelia, the housekeeper, stepped inside with a polite smile. "Mr. Carlisle asked me to inform you that the stylist will arrive in an hour. He mentioned something about preparing you for the gala."
Elena sat up straight, rubbing her forehead. "Right. The gala."
Amelia glanced at the unopened wardrobe. "Would you like help choosing a dress?"
Elena hesitated. "Sure. Thank you."
While Amelia fetched a few designer gowns, Elena rose to her feet, walking slowly toward the full-length mirror on the opposite side of the room. She looked at herself for a long moment.
Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were still heavy with fatigue. Yet, somehow, there was a strength in her gaze that hadn't been there before.
Not because of Leonard. Not because of the title or mansion or the diamond ring that sparkled mockingly on her finger.
But because of Eli.
Everything she did now—every step, every breath—was for him.
"I'll get through this," she whispered to her reflection.
Amelia returned holding two dresses—one crimson, sleek, and dramatic; the other pale champagne, delicate, almost bridal. Elena's eyes widened.
"These… these are for tonight?"
"Yes, ma'am. Mr. Carlisle instructed us to give you full access to his private designer collection."
Elena swallowed hard. "And what does a gala like this entail?"
"A few hundred guests," Amelia replied matter-of-factly. "Business elites, celebrities, shareholders… most of them attend just to see the Carlisles. This will be your official debut."
"My debut?" Elena repeated incredulously.
"Yes, Mrs. Carlisle. You're now one of the most talked-about women in the city. People will want to see the face behind the name—and the child."
Elena's jaw tightened. "Eli isn't attending."
"I understand," Amelia said gently. "Mr. Carlisle already made arrangements. He will stay here under the care of his personal nanny."
Elena exhaled. At least that much was settled.
She glanced between the dresses and pointed at the champagne one. If she had to face the vultures of high society, she might as well look soft enough to disarm them.
"I'll take this one," she said.
Amelia nodded and exited again, leaving Elena to prepare herself for what felt like an ambush.
---
Later that evening, as dusk painted the city in rich hues of purple and gold, Elena stood in the Carlisle mansion's marble foyer, her palms sweating slightly against the beaded clutch in her hand. Her dress hugged her curves gracefully, the neckline modest, the back open just enough to tease without scandal. Her long hair was swept up into a sleek twist, a few tendrils framing her soft features.
When Leonard descended the staircase, he stopped mid-step and simply stared at her.
There was no smile, no compliment.
Just that unreadable expression he wore too often.
"You look…" he began, but the words stalled.
"Like a woman pretending she belongs?" she offered dryly.
He blinked. "I was going to say elegant."
Elena arched a brow. "That almost sounded sincere."
He descended the remaining steps and stood before her. "If this is going to work, we need to at least look the part."
"We're good at pretending," she replied sharply. "Aren't we, Mr. Carlisle?"
He didn't reply. Instead, he extended his arm. "Ready?"
Elena glanced back up the staircase, where she knew Eli was already tucked in for the evening.
"For him," she whispered, slipping her hand into Leonard's.
---
The gala was held at the Carlton Grand, a venue as extravagant as the Carlisle name. Red carpets stretched from the entrance to the ballroom, where chandeliers glittered like frozen fireworks overhead. Cameras flashed the moment Leonard and Elena stepped out of the car.
"Elena, smile," Leonard said under his breath.
She did her best, tilting her head slightly toward him as the paparazzi shouted questions.
"Who's the mystery bride, Leonard?"
"Is it true you have a son?"
"Will there be an official announcement tonight?"
Leonard gave no reply, simply guiding Elena past them and through the entrance where their names were whispered, stared at, and dissected with every step they took.
Inside, a string quartet played softly. Waiters carried champagne on silver trays. And guests—draped in designer clothing and jeweled arrogance—watched Elena with curious eyes.
She felt them peeling back her skin, searching for flaws. For weakness.
She could almost hear their thoughts.
She's too young. Too plain. Where did he find her?
Leonard leaned in. "Ignore them. They're not worth your attention."
"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "You've lived in their world. I just walked into it."
They approached a small group, and Leonard introduced her quickly. Investors. Executives. His assistant, Marcus, hovered nearby, monitoring conversations like a hawk.
Elena kept her smile polite, her answers vague, and her eyes alert.
Then came her.
Gloria Carlisle.
Leonard's mother.
The woman she had dreaded meeting from the very start.
She was graceful, poised, and terrifying. Her hair was swept into a perfect chignon, her pearl necklace screaming old money. When she approached, the crowd parted like waves before a storm.
"Leonard," she said coolly. "You didn't tell me your wife would be attending."
"Mother," Leonard replied, keeping his tone even. "This is Elena."
Elena extended her hand with a tentative smile. "It's nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Carlisle."
Gloria looked her over slowly, eyes lingering on her dress, her posture, her hand.
Then, without shaking it, she said, "We'll see."
The tension could have cracked the chandelier above.
Leonard cleared his throat. "Excuse us, Mother. I have a few more introductions to make."
He steered Elena away quickly.
"She hates me," Elena said as soon as they were out of earshot.
"She hates everyone," Leonard replied. "You'll get used to it."
"I don't want to get used to it," she snapped. "This isn't what I signed up for."
Leonard stopped and turned to face her. "You signed up to protect our son. That's what we're doing."
She glared at him. "You think throwing me into this circus is protecting him?"
He leaned closer, voice low. "I'm giving you power, Elena. This world—these people—they can't hurt you if you stand beside me."
"Power isn't protection," she whispered. "Love is."
They stared at each other for a long, loaded moment.
But before either of them could say more, a familiar voice interrupted them.
"Well, isn't this adorable?"
Elena turned, eyes narrowing as she recognized the smug smirk on the man's face.
Chase Langston.
Leonard's longtime rival.
And the man who had tried—twice—to corner Elena for gossip the last time she was in public with Leonard.
"Didn't think I'd see you again so soon," Chase said to Elena with a mock bow. "You clean up nicely."
Leonard stepped forward, placing himself between them. "Walk away, Chase."
"Oh, relax, Carlisle. I'm just saying hello. Your wife and I had such a lovely conversation at the charity auction last month."
Elena stiffened. "We barely spoke."
Chase grinned. "And yet, you made quite the impression."
Leonard's jaw flexed. "If you so much as look at her again, I'll bury every deal your company has pending."
Chase laughed, raising both hands. "Temper, temper. You'll scare the poor girl."
He winked at Elena and walked off without another word.
Elena's heart pounded. "Who the hell was that?"
"Trouble," Leonard said darkly. "Stay away from him."
"I didn't go to him," she snapped. "He came to me."
Leonard exhaled. "Let's just get through tonight."
---
They stayed for another hour. Elena greeted more people than she could remember, smiled so much her cheeks hurt, and danced once—just once—with Leonard, though neither of them said a word during the song.
By the time they got home, it was past midnight. Elena headed upstairs to check on Eli while Leonard disappeared into his study.
Her son was fast asleep, his tiny fingers clutching his favorite toy bear.
Elena kissed his forehead gently.
"Mommy's doing her best," she whispered. "Even when it doesn't feel like enough."
She turned out the light and closed his door.
As she made her way back to her room, she passed Leonard's study and paused.
The door was slightly open.
Inside, he sat at his desk, suit jacket off, tie loosened, and drink in hand. He looked tired. Not just physically—but in a way that ran deep.
She thought of walking past. Of letting him carry his own burdens.
But something in her stopped.
She stepped inside.
Leonard looked up, startled. "Couldn't sleep?"
"No," she said. "You?"
He took a sip of his drink. "Not tonight."
She crossed the room slowly, then sat in the chair opposite him. "Do you regret it?"
"Regret what?"
"This. Us. The arrangement."
He looked into his glass for a long moment. "I regret what I lost. And what I didn't fight for."
She didn't know what to say to that.
So, she said nothing.
They sat in silence for a while, the air between them heavy with the things neither of them was ready to say.