CHAPTER 07

𝐏𝐎𝐕 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐀

The invitation arrived two days ago.

Thick paper, elegant lettering, and an embossed seal. A traditional mafia charity event—one of those where no one goes to help but to see and be seen.

No one asked if I wanted to go.

No one asked if I was okay.

They simply informed me that my presence was mandatory.

“Many important names will be there,” my mother said as she adjusted a necklace around my neck.

We never truly had a close relationship. But after my marriage was announced, she started trying. A belated closeness.

Remorse, perhaps.

I don’t know.

And to me, it no longer made any difference.

I took a deep breath, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

The dress, of course, hadn’t been chosen by me. Black. Again. Too tight to be comfortable, outlining curves I would rather hide. Every detail seemed calculated to expose without appearing vulgar.

When I finished getting ready, I looked at myself one last time and recognized the same feeling I’d had for days:

I looked ready to be displayed.

And that was exactly what I was.

When we went downstairs, my father was already waiting.

Since the last time he hit me—four days ago—I hadn’t seen him. I had been “punished.” Confined to my room. Meals brought upstairs.

He believed that was punishment.

He had no idea it was a relief.

Likewise, he assessed me quickly.

“You look appropriate,” he said. “Remember to smile and stay quiet. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.”

I forced a smile and nodded.

(…)

The ballroom was full when we arrived.

Enormous chandeliers. Low music. Crystal glasses. Men in expensive suits and women with rehearsed smiles. Everything is impeccable. Everything is fake.

The moment we stepped inside, I felt it.

The stares.

They didn’t come all at once. They came in waves. First curiosity. Then recognition. Finally, appraisal.

“That’s her…”

“So young…”

“He made an excellent deal.”

Deal.

The word followed me, even when it wasn’t spoken out loud.

I walked between my parents. My father is proud. My mother, silent, with the perfect posture of someone who learned not to exist too much. She clutched her purse tightly, as if it anchored her.

I, on the other hand, felt exposed.

Every step felt like an invitation for them to look closer.

The comments came disguised as compliments.

My father stepped away to greet someone, and I stayed beside my mother, surrounded by a few women.

“Your skin is beautiful. Like a doll’s,” one of them said.

I smiled politely.

“Thank you.”

“And that body… impressive,” another commented, looking me up and down.

“Such fertility is a blessing,” a third added.

Fertility.

My stomach turned.

I wasn’t introduced by my name.

I was introduced by what I represented.

“The future wife.”

“The bride.”

“The girl.”

Girl.

The men stared without making any effort to hide it. The women looked at me with a mixture of envy and pity. Some smiled as if it were an achievement. Others looked away, as if they already knew how the story would end.

I maintained my posture. Shoulders back. Breathing controlled.

Inside, everything was screaming.

"Excuse me," said my mother, smiling. She took my hand and led us away. Perhaps she had noticed my discomfort with that word.

Fertility.

We reached my father just as an older man approached.

"Congratulations on the agreement," he said, shaking my father's hand. "She is... impressive."

His gaze slowly scanned my body.

"Thank you," I said before my father could respond.

He smiled, surprised.

"Polite," he commented. "Dom likes that."

My father nodded, satisfied.

I stepped a few paces away, pretending to examine one of the donation tables. I needed air. Likewise, I needed space.

That was when I felt something different.

Not a gaze that weighed.

A gaze that burned.

Not like the others.

Not invasive.

Not appraising.

Different.

It wasn’t a look that undressed me. Didn’t measure me. Didn’t compare me.

It pierced me.

My body reacted before I understood. A strange heat climbed the back of my neck. My breath faltered for a second.

I turned my head.

Nothing.

I kept walking, trying to ignore it. But the gaze returned. Fixed. Silent. It didn’t undress me—it held me.

I searched again.

My body reacted before my mind. A shiver ran down my spine. My stomach warmed in a way that didn’t make sense. My heart sped up for no clear reason.

I turned again.

Nothing.

And yet, I felt it.

As if someone truly saw me.

I took a few steps to the side, following instinct. The gaze didn’t leave me. On the contrary—it grew more intense. More present.

My body tensed.

Warm.

“Helena.”

My father’s voice called me, breaking the moment.

“Come greet the counselor.”

I took a deep breath and obeyed.

As I walked back, I felt the gaze follow me. Steady. Silent. Too respectful for that place.

When I turned again, I saw only a silhouette at the back of the ballroom. A tall man in a dark suit, leaning near a column. His face was partially hidden by shadow.

Our eyes almost met.

Almost.

Someone passed between us, blocking my view.

“Where is your head?” my father asked quietly. “Don’t get distracted.”

I nodded.

But it was too late.

The sensation didn’t fade.

For the rest of the night, the comments continued.

“A young womb guarantees strong heirs.”

“Many would give anything for this place.”

“Sixty isn’t old when you have power.”

I smiled when required. Stayed silent when expected. Endured hands that lingered too close, inappropriate compliments, and questions disguised as interest.

But through all of it, that gaze returned.

Always distant.

Always present.

Never invasive.

He didn’t touch me.

And maybe that was why he unsettled me the most.

When the event finally ended and we got into the car to go home, I felt a fatigue that wasn’t physical.

It was the exhaustion of someone who had been watched like an object all night.

My father looked satisfied.

“It was a good presentation,” he said. “Everyone approved.”

Presentation.

I looked out the window, watching the city lights blur past.

I didn’t answer.

Likewise, I didn’t need to.

I was tired of trying to be heard.

So for now,

I would stay quiet.