CHAPTER 4

Calista's POV

The heavy oak and wrought-iron doors of the Lancaster family estate swung open, revealing a dining room that looked less like a home and more like a museum exhibit designed to intimidate anyone who didn't come from old money.

Crystal chandeliers cast a cold, blinding light over a mahogany table long enough to host a small army. Surrounding it were the people whose approval Dominic supposedly needed to secure his empire, though judging by the expressions waiting for us, they looked more like a firing squad.

I smoothed down the fabric of the emerald-green silk dress Dominic’s assistant had miraculously rushed to my temporary hotel suite just two hours ago. It was sleek, modest, and expensive—a far cry from the mud-soaked wedding dress I had been wearing when Dominic nearly flattened me with his sedan. But underneath the expensive cloth, my palms were slick with sweat.

Dominic stood beside me, his tall frame radiating a silent, unyielding authority. As if sensing the sudden stiffness in my posture, his hand brushed lightly against the small of my back, his fingers warm against the fabric.

"Just stick to the script," he murmured softly, his head dipping down so only I could hear. "Smile when appropriate, eat your dinner, and let me handle the sharks."

"I don't need anyone to handle sharks for me, Lancaster," I muttered back, lifting my chin a fraction higher. "I grew up dealing with bakers who stole my recipes; a bunch of snobs in designer suits should be easy."

A very faint twitch of amusement crossed the corner of his lips before his face smoothed back into its customary mask of chilly indifference.

"Ah, the prodigal CEO returns," a sharp, venomous voice chimed from the head of the table.

It was Victoria Vance. She was seated right beside an older man with silver hair and severe, hawk-like eyes—Grandfather Lancaster. Victoria’s face was painted with a look of supreme smugness, her sharp gaze raking over me from head to toe like a security scanner at an airport.

"And he brought a stray home with him," Victoria added, letting out a brittle, high-pitched laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "My goodness, Dominic. We heard rumors you panicked after our dinner last night and dragged some unknown woman off the streets to beat the marriage clause. I honestly didn't think you'd actually bring her to family dinner and embarrass us all."

Grandfather Lancaster slammed his heavy silver fork down onto his plate. The sharp clang echoed loudly through the cavernous dining room. He turned his piercing gray eyes—the exact same shade as Dominic’s—straight toward me.

"Explain yourself, Dominic," the old man commanded, his voice like gravel grinding together. "Who is this young woman, and why are you suddenly presenting her as your wife when less than twenty-four hours ago you were unattached?"

Before Dominic could open his mouth to deliver a calculated corporate lie, I stepped half a step forward.

"I am Calista Monroe," I said, my voice steady, clear, and utterly devoid of the trembling fear they were clearly expecting. "And I am Dominic’s wife. We had a quiet, private ceremony because unlike certain people who prefer to broadcast their social climbing for the tabloids, we actually value our privacy."

Victoria’s face twisted into an ugly mask of pure shock and offense. She gripped the stem of her wine glass so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"A private ceremony?" Victoria sneered, leaning forward across the table. "Please. Everyone in high society knows you’re just a nobody, Miss Monroe. I heard through the grapevine that you don't even come from money. You were squatting in some rundown downtown district before Dominic picked you up out of pity. How much is he paying you to play house?"

The silence that fell over the dining room was heavy enough to crush bones. Grandfather Lancaster watched us both with cold, analytical eyes, waiting to see how Dominic would react, or if his fragile corporate setup would crumble right here at the dinner table.

Instead of looking flustered or defensive, I let out a calm, polite little smile. I reached for my own water glass, took a slow, deliberate sip, and set it back down.

"It’s funny you mention money, Victoria," I said, my tone dripping with casual sweetness. "Because at least the money I have is earned through my own hard work, unlike your family trust fund which is currently being used to bail out your father’s failing real estate projects. Or should we talk about the public bankruptcy filings from last quarter?"

Victoria gasped so loudly she nearly choked on her appetizer. Her face flushed a violent, mottled shade of crimson. "How dare you—!"

"Calista is my wife," Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping into a register so dark and cold that the entire room seemed to drop ten degrees. He slid his arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his side in a gesture that looked entirely protective. "She speaks for me, and she speaks the truth. If anyone at this table has a problem with my marriage, you are free to pack your things and leave my estate right now."

Grandfather Lancaster stared at Dominic, then shifted his sharp gaze back to me. For a long, terrifying second, nobody moved. Then, slowly, the old man’s lips twitched upward into the ghost of an approving smirk.

"Spine," Grandfather Lancaster muttered, picking up his wine glass. "You have a spine, girl. Rare trait in people who wander into this family."

Victoria opened her mouth to argue, but the old man raised a single weathered finger, instantly silencing her.

Dominic didn't say another word, but as he lifted his wine glass to take a sip, I caught the unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes. He glanced down at me from behind the rim of his glass, a quiet, genuine smile breaking through his usual cold exterior.