3. Mother-in-Law’s Greeting

Gian didn’t answer. Only a long, heavy silence filled the room, swallowing whatever courage Aurelia had left. She shut her eyes, desperately hoping for an explanation—anything. But all she heard was the faint rustle of fabric as Gian shifted on the sofa.

Minutes passed before a voice finally broke through the stillness. Soft, low, almost too quiet to hear.

“There are too many old wounds. You don’t need to know everything tonight.”

And then, nothing. Just the ticking of the clock.

Rain poured hard as the black car stopped in front of the tall iron gates. Aurelia stared at the grand three-story European-style mansion beyond it, Gian’s family home. The place that, for better or worse, was about to become hers too. Yet no warmth rose in her chest. Only a coldness that seeped deeper than the weather itself.

“This… is the main family house?” she asked softly, taking in the imposing facade that radiated power and isolation.

Gian simply nodded. No words.

The gates opened automatically. The car rolled down a stone path, the scent of rain thick in the air.

Someone hurried out with an umbrella, holding it open as Aurelia stepped out. She felt the chill crawl through the thin fabric of her dress. Her shoes landed on the wet gravel, and she drew in a slow breath. The house felt too quiet, unnervingly quiet.

Inside, the smell of aged wood and expensive room fragrances greeted her. A woman stood in the middle of the hallway upright, composed, cold. Her eyes were sharp. Madam Lestari.

“Welcome,” she said curtly. Her tone sliced like a thin blade.

The older woman’s gaze traveled from Aurelia’s head to her toes. Her lips twitched, not into a smile, but into something closer to judgment.

“I had hoped Gian would bring Devina home. But it seems fate had other plans.”

The words were calm, almost casual yet they hit Aurelia like a punch to the ribs.

She lowered her head. “I’ll do my best, Ma’am.”

“You’d better. Gian doesn’t tolerate chaos.”

Without another word, Madam Lestari turned toward the staircase. Aurelia followed quietly. Gian had vanished somewhere else. Only the rain outside accompanied her steps.

On the second floor, they stopped in front of a large bedroom.

“This is your room. Don’t expect a maid to help you. I don’t encourage that for… personal matters.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And one more thing,” she added sharply as she turned back, “don’t think that being a wife makes you part of this family. I haven’t forgotten that you weren’t the first choice.”

Aurelia nodded, swallowing the sting spreading in her chest. “I understand.”

The door shut behind her, leaving Aurelia alone in a room far too large for the way she felt. High ceilings, luxurious furniture, a glittering crystal chandelier, none of it belonged to her. Everything felt like props on a stage.

She exhaled slowly, then began unpacking her suitcase. Folding clothes into the wardrobe. Straightening the bed. Putting toiletries in place. All done in silence, surrounded by a life she didn't recognize.

By late afternoon, she gathered enough courage to head to the kitchen. She wanted to do something, help, blend in, prove she wasn’t entirely useless.

A maid looked startled when Aurelia picked up a knife.

“Ma’am, you don’t have to do this. We always handle the cooking.”

“It’s fine. I want to contribute,” Aurelia replied with a nervous smile.

The maid hesitated, but eventually stepped back. Aurelia grabbed ingredients, though her heart was racing. She had no idea what she was doing.

Fifteen minutes later, the kitchen looked like a battlefield. Oil sputtered from the pan, onions burned to a crisp, water boiled over the pot, and flour dusted the countertop like snow.

“Oh no… why is everything falling apart…” Aurelia whispered frantically.

The click of high heels echoed toward the doorway. Madam Lestari appeared, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over the disaster zone.

“I assumed you had at least some basic household skills. Apparently… not.”

Aurelia winced, her face flushing.

“Devina always kept this kitchen immaculate. Even the maids learned from her. She knew how to chop, prepare, plate. Not… whatever this is.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am… I only wanted to help,” Aurelia murmured.

“If you don’t know how, don’t pretend you do. This is the Alvaro family’s main household, not a practice kitchen.”

Aurelia bowed her head. She had no defense. But her eyes still held a faint spark—she refused to give up.

Then heavy footsteps approached from the back hallway.

Gian appeared, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled up. His eyes swept the kitchen burnt onions, rising steam, total chaos.

He looked at Aurelia briefly, then at his mother whose displeasure was practically radiating.

“What happened here?” he asked, his voice calm but edged.

Madam Lestari immediately seized the opening.

“Your wife tried to cook, and look at the result. The kitchen is a wreck. There could’ve been a fire if I hadn’t arrived in time.”

Aurelia closed her eyes for a moment. Whatever Gian said next would either crush her… or reveal something unexpected.

But to her surprise, Gian didn’t answer right away.

He looked at his mother with a gaze impossible to decipher.

Then he shifted his eyes back to Aurelia standing awkwardly amidst the chaos.