The days after Isabelle's visit felt heavier, like a storm gathering just beyond the horizon. Elias tried to carry on as if nothing had happened, but Serena could feel the shift—an undercurrent of tension in every glance, every pause in conversation.
It started with whispers in the media. A gossip blog published grainy photos of Isabelle leaving the Moreau building, captioned with: "Old flame or new threat?" Then came the speculation—cryptic online threads claiming Serena and Elias's whirlwind romance was too convenient, too polished to be real.
Serena tried to ignore it, but the words clung like burrs. She was halfway through baking in the kitchen when Elias walked in, holding his phone. His expression was carved from granite.
"She's talking to the press," he said without preamble.
Serena set the mixing bowl down slowly. "About us?"
"About me. Us. My family. The company. Isabelle knows exactly where to press for damage." He raked a hand through his hair. "I should have seen this coming."
"Then what do we do?" Serena asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
Elias looked at her for a long moment, and something in his gaze softened, just slightly. "We tighten the narrative. Make them believe us even more."
Before she could ask what that meant, he explained: a public charity gala in three days, one where the city's most powerful would be watching. They would attend arm in arm, smile for the cameras, and let the world see a marriage worth envying.
But the night of the gala, Serena could feel the eyes on her the moment they stepped out of the car. Flashbulbs exploded like fireworks, journalists shouting questions that blurred together. Elias's hand rested firmly at her back, his posture the perfect blend of protective and possessive.
Inside, the ballroom glittered under golden chandeliers. Elias guided her through the crowd, introducing her to politicians, CEOs, and people who looked at her with polite curiosity—or thinly veiled disdain.
And then she saw her.
Isabelle, in a crimson gown that drew every eye in the room, standing near the champagne tower with a smile that was all teeth. She raised her glass toward Serena in a mock toast before drifting into the crowd.
Serena's heart thudded, but she didn't falter. If Isabelle wanted a war, she wasn't going to win it tonight. She leaned into Elias, smiling for the photographers, and whispered, "If she thinks she can rattle me, she's underestimating the wrong woman."
Elias glanced down at her, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "That's my wife."
But beneath the glitter and champagne, Serena couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning—and that Isabelle's next move would cut far deeper.