Lucien found himself fighting back something that might have been pride. His wife had just challenged his mother with perfect politeness and unshakeable composure. Elizabeth looked like she had been expecting a different response entirely.
"Very well," Elizabeth said after a moment, and there was grudging respect in her tone. "We'll start with the basics of navigating charity events and work your way up to more complex social situations."
"I would appreciate that guidance," Lior replied graciously.
For the remainder of the dinner, the conversation turned to safer topics, but Lucien continued to observe the dynamics at the table with growing interest. His shy little woman had steel beneath her soft exterior, and watching her hold her own against his mother's subtle attacks was arousing in a way he hadn't expected.
She was stronger than she appeared, this wife of his. Stronger than she knew.
As the evening wound down and they prepared to leave, Adrian pulled Lior aside in the front hall.
"You did brilliantly tonight," he said warmly. "Mother's tough, but she respects backbone. You passed the first test."
"There are more tests?" Lior asked with mock horror.
"Always," Adrian grinned. "But don't worry. You're clearly smarter than the rest of us. You'll figure it out."
From across the hall, Lucien watched his brother's easy affection toward his wife and felt that twist in his chest again.
Time to go home.
As their car pulled away from the estate, Lior finally allowed herself to relax against the leather seats. The evening had been a battlefield disguised as family dinner, but she had survived.
"You bite more than i expected," Lucien said quietly.
She couldn't look at him without remembering the bathroom. His eyes on her naked body.
After several blocks, wrong landmarks appeared outside.
"This isn't the way to the apartment."
"No."
She turned to study his profile. "Where are we going?"
"My place"
The word hit like a physical blow. Not her apartment. Home. It was sooner she expected.
"Morrison Foundation gala tomorrow night," he said, still looking ahead. "It will be our first public appearance."
Her stomach dropped.
The city gave way to tree-lined roads, then private gates that opened without the car slowing. Security knew this vehicle. A long drive toward a house that dwarfed the penthouse apartment.
Modern architecture. Clean lines of steel and glass. This wasn't inherited wealth displayed like museum pieces. It looked like something that would belongto Lucien.
Staff opened doors before they stopped moving. Inside, everything was polished concrete and steel, museum-quality art on stark white walls. Everything looked deliberate, controlled and reflective of one man's vision.
This was who Lucien Pembroke really was.
"Your room is upstairs," Lucien said, already moving toward what must be his study. "Third door."
Lior paused at the floating staircase of steel and glass that seemed to hang in midair. "My room?"
He stopped. Turned.
Gray eyes locked on hers as he moved toward her. Each step measured. It looked predatory.
"Any problem?"
Heat flooded her face.
"I don't understand why I need a room here when I have the apartment..."
He kept coming and she stepped back.
"No?"
Another step and her spine hit the wall.
His palm slammed against the marble beside her head. The sound echoed through the space.
"Tomorrow night, you're my wife. To everyone who matters." His voice dropped. Dangerous. "Are you unsatisfiedwith the arrangement Mrs Pembroke? Do you want to start your wife duties ,perhaps tonight?"
She couldn't breathe. He was caging her with his body. His voice sounded seductive like it was a deliberate. She could feel his heat and smell his cologne.
"The contract says...."
"Eighteen months." His other hand hit the wall. She was trapped completely now. "Doesn't say where."
His eyes went dark. She could see him restraining himself. See exactly what he wanted to do to her against this wall.
Her pulse hammered. Her body remembered how he'd looked at her naked. The hunger.
"Sleep early, you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. "
He pushed off the wall abruptly. Left her gasping against marble her eyes followed his retreating figure.
Lior climbed stairs on shaking legs. The room was perfect. Soft grays and cream. Windows overlooked manicured gardens. Her bag was unpacked. The clothes were arranged with mathematical precision.
Even her small rebellions were being managed.
She moved to the window, looking out at landscape that stretched toward distant trees. Everything looked controlled. Like they were designed to project success and stability.
Her phone buzzed. Maya: "How did dinner with the in-laws go?"
How did you explain surviving one test only to face something infinitely more dangerous?
"Complicated," she typed back.
"All families are. Get some sleep. Love you."
Love. Such a simple word for something that felt increasingly impossible in this beautiful trap.
The bathroom was marble and glass luxury. Multiple shower heads, controls that looked like they belonged on a spaceship. Even the toiletries were from brands she'd only seen in magazines.
As she prepared for bed, she caught glimpses of herself in the mirror. The woman looking back wore expensive clothes, carried herself differently. When had she learned to navigate conversations with people who wielded power like weapons?
The bed swallowed her in Egyptian cotton and down. But sleep felt impossible with her mind racing through everything that had happened.
Tomorrow, she would be introduced to New York society as Mrs. Lucien Pembroke.
The contract had seemed straightforward. Eighteen months, two million dollars, play devoted wife. Simple transaction.
But nothing was proving simple. Every day brought new ways for performance and reality to blur until she wasn't sure which version of herself was real anymore.
She thought about her mother, probably sleeping peacefully for the first time in months. Elena's surgery was scheduled for next week, and the doctors were optimistic.
That's what mattered. That's why she was here.
But as she drifted toward sleep, she couldn't shake the memory of his voice going rough when he'd trapped her against that wall. The way his eyes had darkened when he'd stepped close enough for her to feel his heat.
The bathroom encounter had changed something between them.
And he was becoming something far more dangerous than her contractual husband.
Morning light filtered through the windows when she woke. Coffee waited in an insulated carafe, along with a note "The car will arrive at 10 AM. It will take you to the saloon."
The salon was everything she'd never experienced. Celestine herself appeared - a woman in her fifties with perfect bone structure and eyes that missed nothing.
Celestine Moreau owned the most exclusive salon in Manhattan. Former protégé of legendary stylist to European royalty, she now transformed senators' wives, A-list actresses, and the women who married into America's oldest families. Her client list read like a Forbes power ranking, and her waiting list stretched months ahead. But when Lucien Pembroke called, appointments materialized instantly.
"Mrs. Pembroke." The title rolled off her tongue like she'd been expecting this appointment for years. "Mr. Pembroke has very specific requirements for this evening."
For the next six hours, Lior was transformed. Hair washed and cut and styled into something that looked effortless but probably took an hour to achieve. A facial that left her skin glowing. Makeup applied with the precision of a portrait artist.
"The dress," Celestine announced as assistants wheeled in a garment bag, "was selected personally by Mr. Pembroke."
The gown was a midnight blue crepe gown with a structured bodice that hugged her torso like a second skin. The neckline was a sophisticated boat neck that showed her delicate collarbones without revealing cleavage - elegant enough for approval. The fabric skimmed over her hips before falling in a clean column to the floor, with a subtle slit that appeared only when she walked. Long sleeves ended in points over her hands, giving her an almost regal appearance.When Lior looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself.
She looked like she belonged in his world.
The car was waiting when Lucien appeared as if summoned, his eyes finding her through the glass doors.
His stride faltered mid-step. His usual controlled expression cracked for just a moment - jaw tightening almost imperceptibly, pupils dilating as his gaze swept from her face down the column of midnight blue and back up again. He'd chosen the dress, but seeing it on her was different. The structured bodice showcased the gentle curve of her breasts, the fabric made her look taller and more regal.
He reached her, his hand settlling possessively at the small of her back,his fingers spread slightly against the fabric.
"Perfect," he said, but his voice had gone rougher around the edges.
As they walked to the car, he found himself hyperaware of how other men's eyes followed her.
When he moved again, it was with that predatory grace she was beginning to recognize.
The Morrison Foundation gala was held at the Metropolitan Museum, the Temple of Dendur providing an appropriately dramatic backdrop for New York's elite to display their wealth and influence.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over men in perfectly tailored tuxedos and women in gowns that cost more than most people's cars. The air hummed with the kind of conversations that moved markets and toppled governments.
"Stay close," Lucien murmured as they entered. "I will handle the introductions."
His hand never left her back as they moved through the crowd. She was aware of eyes tracking their progress, conversations pausing as they passed. The new Mrs. Pembroke was being evaluated, catalogued and judged.
"Lucien!" A distinguished Asian man approached with a warm smile. "And this must be the mysterious Mrs. Pembroke we've heard so much about."
"Mr Chen," Lucien said. "Indeed,this is my wife, Lior."
"A pleasure." Chen's handshake was warm, his eyes kind. "I hope you know what an influence you've had on this husband of yours. He's been much more... civilized in recent months."
Lior smiled but said nothing, following Lucien's implicit instruction.
"Marriage has its benefits," Lucien replied smoothly.
As Chen moved away, Lior caught sight of Elizabeth across the room, watching them with calculating eyes. But it wasn't Elizabeth who concerned her most.
Victoria Blackwell stood near the bar, stunning in emerald silk, her gaze fixed on Lucien with undisguised hunger. When their eyes met briefly, Victoria's smile was sharp as cut glass.
"She's beautiful," Lior murmured.
"Not as beautifulas my wife." Lucien's voice sounded flirty. He was doing it on purpose ! She thought.
The way Victoria looked at him suggested she wanted to be much more than a family friend.
More introductions followed. Business partners, board members, people whose names Lior recognized from financial newspapers. She smiled, nodded at appropriate but Lucien did most of the talking and introductions as he had promised.
During a brief lull, Victoria appeared at her elbow as if materialized from thin air.
"Lior, isn't it? Such an unusual name." Victoria's smile was perfect and predatory. "You must be exhausted, keeping up with all these introductions. Let me get you a drink."
Before Lior could refuse, Victoria was signaling a waiter, selecting champagne from the tray with careful precision.
"Thank you," Lior said, accepting the crystal flute.
"My pleasure. We simply must get better acquainted." Victoria's eyes tracked to where Lucien stood speaking with the Japanese delegation. "I've known Lucien since we were children. I'm sure he's told you all about our... history."
The implication hung between them like poison. Lior sipped her champagne, noting how Victoria watched every swallow.
"He's mentioned you," Lior replied carefully.
"Has he? How sweet." Victoria's laugh was musical and cold. "Well, I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to catch up. The night is still young."
Victoria melted back into the crowd, leaving Lior with an uneasy feeling and champagne that tasted slightly bitter.
Lucien returned to her side moments later, automatically reaching for her glass. "You're not drinking."
"It's fine, I just..."
But he'd already taken a sip, his lips where hers had been moments before. The gesture looked intimate and affectionate. Lucien was going to far even if it was for their public appearance.
"Better," he said, handing it back.
They continued their circuit of the room. More handshakes, more careful conversations. But after twenty minutes, something felt wrong.
Lior's skin felt flushed and oversensitive. The room seemed warmer, the lights looked brighter. When Lucien's hand brushed her arm, electricity shot through her entire body.
Beside her, Lucien was having his own troubles. His usual iron control felt slippery, harder to maintain. The scent of Lior's perfume was suddenly overwhelming, and when she looked up at him with those green eyes, something primal stirred in his chest.
Something seemed to be wrong.
"Mrs. Pembroke looks a bit flushed," someone commented. "Are you feeling well, dear?"
"I'm fine," Lior managed, though her voice sounded strange to her own ears.
Lucien's grip tightened on her waist. He could feel heat radiating from her skin,her pupils were slightly dilated. Something was very wrong.