The invitation arrived in the afternoon.
Not by message. Not by email.
A card was placed on the table where Miralle usually sat to read in the evenings. Thick paper. Neutral colour. A location she didn't recognise and a time that allowed no flexibility.
"Tomorrow," Adrian said, when she showed it to him. "You'll come with me."
"This isn't optional," Miralle said.
"No."
She nodded once. "Who sent it?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately. He took the card, turned it over, and placed it back exactly where it had been.
"Someone who enjoys watching people respond under pressure," he said. "They host events like examinations."
"And I'm the subject."
"You're the variable," Adrian corrected.
Miralle didn't like the difference.
The next evening, she dressed without assistance. She chose something simple from the wardrobe — nothing that looked chosen for her. Adrian noticed, but didn't comment.
The venue was a private residence, not large but deliberate in its design. Too many people for a home. Too few for a public space.
Inside, the atmosphere was conversational, not friendly. Groups formed and dissolved without explanation. People watched from across rooms.
Miralle stayed beside Adrian, close enough to be seen, far enough not to look dependent.
A man approached them first. Older. Comfortable. His gaze moved from Adrian to Miralle and lingered.
"You didn't bring her last time," he said.
"I didn't need to," Adrian replied.
"And now you do?"
Adrian didn't answer.
The man turned to Miralle. "You're quieter than I expected."
"I'm observant," she said.
"That's worse," he replied lightly.
Adrian excused them before the exchange could deepen. They moved on.
Another group. Another set of eyes.
Someone asked where Miralle was from. She answered simply.
Someone asked what she had done before meeting Adrian. She didn't embellish.
"I worked," she said. "I still do."
A pause followed that felt intentional.
"What kind of work?" a woman asked.
"Work that paid," Miralle replied.
The woman smiled thinly. "How practical."
They moved again.
At some point, Adrian stepped away to take a call. He didn't ask Miralle to follow. He didn't tell her to stay.
She remained where she was.
It took less than a minute.
The woman from the restaurant approached her, glass in hand. "You don't seem nervous," she said.
"I am," Miralle replied. "I just don't show it."
"That's either confidence," the woman said, "or inexperience."
"Or privacy," Miralle said.
The woman laughed softly. "You're careful with your words."
"I'm careful with people."
"That suggests you expect them to be unkind."
Miralle considered that. "It suggests I've been right before."
The woman studied her more openly now. "Do you know what people think you are?"
"Yes," Miralle said. "A convenience."
The woman's eyebrows lifted. "And you're comfortable with that?"
"No," Miralle replied. "But comfort isn't the same as choice."
Adrian returned then. He placed a hand lightly at Miralle's back — not possessive, not affectionate. Deliberate.
"We're leaving," he said.
The woman watched them go. Her expression had shifted.
In the car, silence stretched longer than usual.
"They were pushing," Miralle said eventually.
"Yes."
"You let them."
"Yes."
She turned to him. "Was that the point?"
Adrian kept his eyes on the road. "Part of it."
"What was the rest?"
"To see where you bend."
"And?" Miralle asked.
He glanced at her briefly. "You didn't."
She didn't feel relieved. She felt examined.
Back at the house, Miralle went straight to her room. She closed the door and leaned against it, counting breaths until her shoulders lowered.
Her phone vibrated.
A message. Unknown number.
> You handled yourself better than expected.
She stared at the screen.
Another message followed.
> Not everyone does.
She deleted both without replying.
Later, Adrian knocked once and entered.
"You received something," he said.
"Yes."
"Did you respond?"
"No."
"Good."
Miralle crossed her arms. "Is everyone watching all the time?"
"Only when it matters."
"And when does it stop mattering?"
Adrian was quiet for a moment. "When someone else becomes more interesting."
She nodded slowly. "That's not reassuring."
"It's accurate."
She hesitated. "Did I pass?"
Adrian considered her question carefully. "You didn't fail."
"That wasn't what I asked."
He met her gaze. "There's no passing," he said. "There's only staying useful."
Miralle absorbed that.
"Tomorrow," Adrian continued, "things will change."
"How?"
"They'll stop observing," he said. "And start interfering."
Her mouth tightened. "That sounds worse."
"It is."
She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because you deserve to know when the pressure increases."
"And if I can't handle it?"
Adrian's answer was immediate. "Then I'll remove you."
She looked up sharply. "From the situation?"
"Yes."
"That's supposed to be comforting?"
"It's supposed to be honest."
She exhaled slowly. "You keep saying you won't hurt me."
"I won't," Adrian said.
"But you'll let others try."
"Yes."
Miralle nodded once. "Then I need to be better prepared."
"For what?"
"For when they stop being polite."
Adrian watched her for a long moment. Then, quietly, "You're learning faster than I expected."
She didn't smile. "That's because I don't have the option not to."
When he left, Miralle lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling again — not because she was lost, but because she was calculating.
People were applying pressure now.
Which meant she mattered.
And if she mattered, then she could be used.
The question wasn't whether she could endure it.
It was whether she could learn to push back
without anyone noticing when she did.