Elle's Pov
The clinking of silverware fills the room. I sit straight, hands in my lap, wishing the chandelier above would kindly stop pretending it's a spotlight and trying not to fidget. Damian is beside me, rigid and unreadable. Across the table, family members in suits stare as if I'm a line of text in a bad contract. At the head, a man I recognize immediately. Uncle Harrison.
On the drive here, Damian's warning was blunt. "He knows your weak spots. Don't give him anything."
Harrison's gaze sweeps over me. He's not looking at a person, he's looking at a liability. I take a quiet breath. Smile, look like you belong.
Dinner has been going on for… how long? Ten minutes? Thirty? Time stretch when strangers in power studies you like a book.
The car ride had been mostly silent after Damian's long lecture about his family. Every exhale felt like it carried his gaze or maybe it was just me imagining it. When he finally muttered, "Try to behave," I couldn't help but smirk. "No promises."
Now, sitting here, I almost regret it. Almost.
Harrison breaks the quiet. "So, this is the fiancée."
His tone is sharp, demanding blood.
"Yes," Damian says smoothly, voice crisp, carrying a weight that tightens the air. "Marielle Morgan."
Harrison's eyes lingers on my dress. "Hmm. Not what I was expecting."
I tilt my head, keeping my expression light. "Well, that's the nicest thing I've heard all day."
A few people at the table chuckle. Harrison doesn't. He leans back, swirling his wine slowly. "Tell me, Elle, what exactly do you do? Aside from… keeping my nephew entertained."
The smile freezes on my lips. I blink once, twice, making sure I heard him right. The forks pause mid-air. The disrespect is so loud it rings. Did this man just...
"I'm sorry, what?"
"It's a simple question." He smirks. "Don't tell me small talk isn't your thing."
"Watch your mouth," Damian cuts in before I can even respond.
"It was just a question, son," Harrison says, feigning innocence. "No need to snap."
"Then ask it without the disrespect," Damian shoots back, his tone sharp enough to make the server flinch.
The silence that follows is thick. A woman coughs softly, another pretends to reach for water. I can almost hear the tension snapping between them like a live wire. I catch a flicker of amusement in one of the cousin's eyes, apparently this isn't new.
I breathe out slowly. This man is trying to provoke us. Fine.
Two can play.
I reach over, lightly tapping Damian's arm. I feel the vibration of his anger through his sleeve. "It's alright," I say, looking at Harrison. "If I had a nephew who looked this good and made this much money, I'd be suspicious too. But I can answer for myself."
Harrison narrows his eyes, a flicker of amusement in his sharp gaze. "Oh? Do tell."
"I write," I say. ""My latest book, Silent Hearts, did well last year. You might have seen it on the bestseller lists."
A low murmur spreads across the table. I notice a few jaws tighten. Even Damian stiffen beside me. He had no idea.
"A writer, huh?" Harrison's smirk thins. "And here I thought you were just another girl with… hobbies."
A girl across the table leans forward, her eyes wide as she taps at her phone under the table. "Wait… you're Elm? The Elm?"
I nod. "It's a pen name. I care about the work, Mr. Harrison, not the spotlight. Though I suppose sitting at this table makes the spotlight hard to avoid."
"And yet, here you are, sitting at my table, enjoying the attention?"
"Not that kind of attention," I say, meeting his gaze. "This one's by choice."
The reactions are priceless. Whispers ripple across the table. Even Damian's eyes widen slightly, he never knew, never expected this side of me. I'm sure the realization hits him hard: I'm not what he thought. I'm more than just a pretty face or a distraction.
I sit back, letting it all sink in, keeping my smile steady. I've answered without flinching, without giving anyone, even Damian the satisfaction of underestimating me.
"Quite a tongue you have, Ms. Morgan," Harrison says.
I raise my glass, tapping it gently against the air in his direction. "Only when provoked."
The tension finally cracks. Laughter ripples around the table. Even Damian's aunt hides a smile. Damian doesn't laugh, but he looks at me with something new. Not ice. Curiosity... I think.
By dessert, the air is looser. I'm mid sip when a soft voice pipes up from behind Harrison.
"Uncle Damian?"
We all turn. A little girl, maybe six, peeks shyly from behind Harrison's chair. Her curls bounce as she steps forward, clutching a stuffed bunny.
Damian's face softens instantly. "Zoe," he says, gently.
She smiles, then she spots me. As she steps forward toward us, her glass tips, spilling juice across the tablecloth. Everyone gasps as if she's committed a crime. Harrison's face darkens.
I move immediately, before he speaks. "It's okay," I say, dabbing the spill on her cloth with my napkin. "Trust me, I spill things all the time. Usually right before I try to impress someone important."
Zoe giggles. I dab at the spill again and give her a wink. "See? No harm done. We're both disasters."
Zoe beams. "You're really pretty."
"And you're trouble," I grin. "My kind of girl."
When I sit back down, Damian is watching me. He looks human for the first time tonight.
*****
The car ride home is quiet. I glance out the window, watching the city lights stretch and shimmer. "You didn't have to go full mafia boss on your uncle." I say, still watching the lights.
"He disrespected a guest in his house."
"I can handle myself Damian."
He turns his head slightly. "You'd rather I let him insult you?"
"I already handled it," I shrug. "You don't need to fight for me."
He exhales, slowly. "You talk too much."
The silence after feels charged… but not in a bad way. Something warm simmers under the tension, but neither of us says anything.
When he pulls up to my apartment, I step out, but linger by the door.
"Don't forget," I say, leaning lightly against the frame. "Your end of the bargain."
He blinks. "Bargain? Oh… right. I'll text you the address for tomorrow. Contract will be drawn tonight."
"And…?"
"Your foundation will get it's support."
"And…?"
He rolls his eyes. "I'll attend your event. With my 'rich friends'."
"Good," I say. "Let's keep it clean."
I don't wait for a goodbye. I walk inside, leaving him in the idling car. I've given him the truth about who I am, but I've also given him the bill.
In this game, I'm done playing defense.