CHAPTER ELEVEN

Arianna’s POV

The clink of silverware against porcelain echoed through the grand dining room, but I barely tasted the roast on my plate. Evan's mother, Helena, was the only one doing most of the talking, charming, radiant, and frighteningly perceptive. She reminded me of one of those poised matriarchs from an old movie, where the elegance masked a sharp wit.

"So, Arianna," she said, sipping her wine, "how did you and Evan first meet? He was so secretive about it over the phone."

I forced a smile and glanced at Evan, who didn’t even blink. Of course. He wanted to see how well I could lie.

"We met at a charity event," I said smoothly, swirling the wine in my glass to avoid looking directly at her. "He spilled champagne on my dress and didn't apologize until days later."

Helena laughed. "Sounds like him. Terrible with first impressions, isn’t he?"

Evan's father, Richard, sat at the head of the table, watching us with sharp eyes that missed nothing. Unlike his wife, he didn't smile. He barely moved.

"And how long were you two together before deciding to marry?"

There it was. The real question, hidden beneath pleasantries.

"Six months," Evan replied, his voice calm, casual. "It was quick, but when you know, you know."

Richard let out a grunt, clearly unimpressed.

"Most quick decisions end in regret," he said, slicing through his meat with surgical precision. "But who am I to question love?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Helena reached across the table and gently touched my hand. "Don’t mind him, darling. He doesn’t believe anything unless it comes with a signed affidavit."

Evan chuckled under his breath, and I took that as my cue to change the subject.

"Your home is stunning, Helena. I love how warm and inviting it feels."

Helena beamed. "Thank you, dear. I believe homes should reflect the love in them. Evan never brought anyone here before. You're the first."

I stiffened. That felt... personal. Too personal.

"Well," I murmured, taking a long sip of wine, "I'm honored."

However, dinner passed in a haze of small talk, wine refills, and the slow realization that Evan’s family was far more complicated than I’d imagined. If I thought he was a mystery, his parents were a locked vault with the key thrown into the ocean.

Once the plates were cleared and dessert declined, Helena stood.

"You two must be exhausted from the flight. Get some rest, hmm? Breakfast is at eight sharp."

With that, Evan helped me up like the dutiful husband he was pretending to be. The second we were upstairs and inside the room, his hand dropped from mine like it had burned him.

"You did well," he said gruffly, heading for the minibar.

"Well? That's all I get?" I scoffed. "Your mother basically declared me the daughter-in-law of the year."

He poured himself a glass of whiskey. "She likes you. Too much, maybe."

I crossed my arms. "Does that bother you?"

He took a long sip before turning to face me. "It complicates things. She’ll expect more from you now."

"Like giving you an heir?" I snapped before I could stop myself.

His jaw tensed. "Don't start. Not here."

I stepped closer, emboldened by the wine and the fire in my gut. "Why not? Because mommy might overhear that her perfect son trapped a woman into a marriage contract like a medieval lord?"

He set the glass down with a sharp clink. "Keep your voice down."

"Or what? You'll annul the marriage and set me free? Oh, wait—you can't."

For a second, I saw it. A flicker of guilt. Or maybe it was just exhaustion.

"Go to bed, Arianna," he said, voice low.

"Not until you tell me why your father looked at me like I was a puzzle he already solved."

His lips thinned. "Because he doesn’t trust anyone. Least of all me."

That caught me off guard as I could feel there was pain beneath his words, buried deep.

And before I could press further, he walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

I lay on the bed, staring at the intricate ceiling moldings, thoughts swirling like a storm. I wasn’t just in this house to survive a fake marriage. I was beginning to realize I’d stumbled into something darker. And Evan wasn’t just arrogant and controlling; he was hiding something.

****

Later that night, I woke to muffled voices through the cracked door of the balcony. I crept toward it silently, slipping it open just enough to hear.

"She can't find out," Richard was saying. "It will ruin everything."

"I'm aware," Evan replied.

"Then handle it. Or I will."

Immediately, a chill crawled down my spine. Handle what?

"She's not as naive as you think," Evan said quietly.

"All the more reason to be careful. She's already asking questions. If this blows up, you'll regret ever dragging her into this."

Then, I backed away from the door, heart thudding against my ribs.

What the hell was going on? I wondered, and whatever it was, I was done being a pawn.

It was time to find the truth—and maybe, finally, win this game.