A House Built On Judgement

SOME DOORS OPEN ONLY TO REMIND YOU THAT YOU ARE BEING MEASURED;

Inside, dinner has already begin.

Mrs Helena Blackwood sit at the head of the table, posture straight, expression sharp. Conversation restrained, voice low, manner strict.

The door opens and I enter.

Silence follows me.

My dress is black, structured, elegant - neither revealing nor modesty, but powerful. My heels clicks softly against the marble floor. My posture is unbending.

I walk as though the room belongs to me. Mrs Blackwood's eyes narrows immediately.

“You are late,” she said coldly.

I incline my head slightly. “Thank you for your patience.”

Not an apology.

A murmur ripples through the table and Marcus stiffens beside his father.

Mrs Blackwood's gaze drops to my dress. “We value modesty in this house.”

“So do I,” I reply calmly.

“Then why dress like you're attending the British fashion week?”

I smile faintly. “Because I respect the importance of being remembered.”

Mrs Blackwood's lips thin. “Sit,” she said sharply.

I did… Gracefully.

…..

Mrs Blackwood looks as I remember from my first life - elegant, cold, and unreasonablely righteous. A woman whose gentle smile could hide a blade sharper than most enemies.

Her eyes scans me. “So,” Mrs Blackwood said slowly, lifting her champagne flute. “You're the girl Marcus insist on keeping close.”

I smile politely.

“I wouldn't say that Mrs Blackwood. Marcus is a very independent man.”

Mrs Blackwood let out a quiet chuckle. “You speak well.”

I lower my eyes modestly, looking almost shy.

The maid pours wine in my glass and silence stretch in the table then Mrs Blackwood leans back in her chair, studying me more carefully.

“You were shot recently, weren't you?” She ask casually, putting a fork-full of roasted red pepper and shallots in her mouth.

My finger pause briefly on the champagne flute.

“Yes,” I said softly.

“Yet you still came here.”

I lift my gaze, my expression calm and innocent. “I didn't want to be rude.”

Mrs Blackwood's lips curves faintly. For a moment, neither of us speak.

I cross my leg, my eyes meeting everyone in the table. The twelve dinning chairs filled with family members. I see Marcus across the table, he smiles at me, making a lip-sign : “Am glad you came.”

I smile faintly and reply: “Of course “

“Do you attend church regularly?” Mrs Blackwood's said turning to me.

I met her gaze evenly. “I attend responsibilities regularly.”

A pause. The twenty four eyes in the table were all on me.

“That is not what I asked.” 

“It is what I answer,” I reply politely.

Marcus shifts uncomfortable.

“And how do you plan to support my son.” Mrs Blackwood ask.

“I don't plan to,” I said. “I plan to stand beside him - if he earns it.”

A sharp intake of breath travels around the table.

Mrs Blackwood stares. “A woman's role -”

“ - is chosen,” I finish gently. “Not assigned.”

Mrs Blackwood's face flush. “You are very confident,” she said tightly.

“I learnt from the best, Mrs Blackwood.” I reply.

…..

Mrs blackwood suddenly push a small velvet box across the table.

“For you,” she said.

I stare at the box. My heart didn't move, in my first life this exact box had ruined me but now I only smile sweetly.

“You're too kind, Mrs Blackwood.”

“Open it.”

I slowly lift the lid.

Inside is a delicate diamond bracelet. It must have cost a fortune, probably from the money Marcus ask from me regularly.

The bracelet is beauty. Deadly. I gently take it out. 

Everyone in the table watches closely.

“Put it on,” Mrs Blackwood said.

I hesitate for only a fraction of a second before sliding the bracelet into my wrist.

It click shut.

Perfect fit.

Mrs Blackwood's smile deepens.

“You know,” she said calmly. “That bracelet has a habit of finding it's way into the wrist of women who don't last long around my son's. That includes Marcus too.”

I blink softly, as if surprise. “Oh?”

Mrs Blackwood leans forward. “So tell me Amanda…” her voice drops slightly. ” Why are you confident you'll be different?”

I look down at the bracelet in my wrist. Then slowly - Very slowly - I reach up and remove it again. The tiny click of the clasp echoes in the silent room.

I place the bracelet gently back inside the velvet box and push it across the table towards Mrs Blackwood.

My smile remains soft. Polite. Innocent. But my eyes are ice.

“I'm not different, Mrs Blackwood.” I stand up calmly. “I'm worse.”

Everyone in the table freezes - from Marcus brothers, to his sister inlaws, including Marcus himself.

Marcus father coughs lightly.

For the first time - Mrs Blackwood's smile disappears. I turn to leave, but just as I reach the door, Mrs Blackwood speaks again.

Her voice cold now. “Careful, Amanda.”

I pause.

Mrs Blackwood continues slowly - “ Women who challenge the Blackwood family usually disappear.”

I turn slightly.

My expression still calm - still sweet.

“Then I suppose,” I said quietly, “This will be the first time the Blackwood family disappears instead.”