Chapter 6

The dining room at the ancestral Thorne Estate in Aethelgard was designed to intimidate. High vaulted ceilings, medieval tapestries, and a table long enough to require guests to raise their voices.

Evelyn sat at Alistair’s right hand, wearing a high-collared, long-sleeved silk gown of ivory white. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, flawless bun. She looked every bit the elegant, silent aristocratic wife Alistair demanded.

Across the table, Victoria Thorne watched her with eyes like an adder.

"I must say, Alistair," Victoria said, delicately cutting her venison, "the market response to your sudden marriage has been... volatile. The infrastructure stability index dropped two points this week. The board is curious if this sudden domestic focus is distracting you from the Genoa port negotiations."

"The Genoa negotiations are concluded, Victoria," Alistair said, his tone perfectly smooth, not even looking up from his plate. "The Rossano Syndicate has cleared the berths. Thorne Global’s volume will double by next month."

Julian Thorne, sitting next to his mother, let out a sharp, mocking chuckle. "Fascinating. And tell me, sister-in-law," he said, leaning forward, his eyes locking onto Evelyn with a predatory intensity, "how do you find the transition from the grease traps of Oakhaven to the high cliffs of Aethelgard? It must be exhausting trying to remember which fork to use."

Alistair’s hand tightened around his wine glass, the stem creaking slightly under his grip.

But before Alistair could intervene, Evelyn set her fork down with a soft, perfectly controlled click. She looked directly at Julian, her ice-blue eyes wide and remarkably serene.

"The forks are quite simple, Julian," Evelyn said, her voice carrying a calm, melodic resonance that surprised everyone at the table. "Though I find the corporate governance structure of your personal holding company much more interesting. I noticed in the public registry this morning that your luxury car import firm lost fourteen percent of its capital valuation due to improper maritime customs filing last quarter. If you need assistance understanding regulatory logistics, my father’s old shop used to handle baseline transport logistics quite efficiently. I’d be happy to explain it to you."

Julian’s face flushed a violent, dark red. He slammed his glass down, spilling red wine onto the linen cloth. "You arrogant little—"

"Julian," Alistair interrupted, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly low, authoritative rumble that instantly silenced the room. "Control yourself. You're embarrassing my wife."

Victoria narrowed her eyes, staring at Evelyn as if seeing her for the very first time. The meek girl from the slums wasn't meek at all. There was a sharp, dangerous intellect hidden behind that quiet face, and Victoria didn't like variables she couldn't predict.

"How lovely," Victoria murmured, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. "A wife who reads the financial registries. Let's hope your future contributions to this family are just as... robust, Evelyn."

As the dinner concluded and Alistair led Evelyn toward the car, he didn't let go of her arm. His grip was tight, almost possessive.

"You shouldn't have provoked Julian," Alistair said as the armored sedan pulled away from the gates. His eyes were dark, staring at her in the dim light of the interior. "He is unstable."

"He insulted my father," Evelyn said simply, her face turned toward the window, watching the rain-slicked trees flash by. "I don't allow people to insult my family, Alistair. Not even yours."

Alistair didn't reply, but his gaze remained fixed on her profile for the entire ride back to Solaria. There was something changing in her—a coldness that mirrored his own, a sharp, diamond-hard edge that hadn't been there when he bought her. It fascinated him, and for the first time since the marriage began, it made him uneasy.