The silence that followed Dame Eleanor's ultimatum was broken only by the soft click of silverware as Adrian continued eating, as if they were discussing stock portfolios instead of hypothetical children. Elara's hands shook under the table. She pressed them between her knees, trying to breathe through the nausea.
"Now," Dame Eleanor said, her tone shifting to something almost pleasant. "Tell me about your mother's treatment. What protocol are they using?"
The abrupt change of subject left Elara reeling. "It's… an experimental immunotherapy."
"Yes, Dr. Chen's study. Brilliant man. I've made a donation to his research fund in your mother's name. It looks better for the press—the Blackwoods supporting the mother of our new daughter-in-law. It also ensures Dr. Chen takes special care."
The manipulation was so blatant. Even her mother's life was being used as a PR tool. "Thank you," Elara managed, the words tasting like ash.
"Don't thank me. It's an investment." Dame Eleanor rose from her chair, and they followed suit. "Next week is the Kensington Gala. She'll need a proper gown, Adrian. Not that… thing she's wearing today." She looked at Elara's wedding dress with disdain. "And for God's sake, get her hair done. It looks like she cut it herself."
"I did," Elara said quietly.
Dame Eleanor paused, then laughed—a dry, rustling sound. "At least you're practical. Don't break anything valuable."
As she reached the door, the old woman paused. "One more thing, child. The pearls around your neck. They belonged to my daughter-in-law. Sophia. Adrian's mother. She was wearing them the day she died. Adrian must have thought it… poetic."
And with that, she was gone. Elara's hand flew to her throat. The pearls felt suddenly heavy, like a chain. Sophia had died in the accident her father was blamed for. She was wearing these exact pearls when she was burned alive.
Slowly, she turned to Adrian. "You gave me your mother's pearls," she whispered.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because she died because of your father." He stepped closer, caging her in with his height. "Every time you wear them, you'll remember that. Every time you feel them against your skin, you'll remember what your family cost mine. Consider it part of your penance."
The cruelty took her breath away. He wanted her to wear a dead woman's ghost as a constant reminder of her "sins."
"Take them off," she said, her voice shaking.
"No. They stay on. Today. Tomorrow. At the gala. You'll wear them until I say otherwise." He reached out, not touching the pearls, but tracing the air beside her throat. "Now, go to your room. Change. We have meetings in an hour. You're a Blackwood now. There are photos to be taken, donations to be seen making."
"And if I'm not ready?"
Adrian looked back over his shoulder. His eyes were the color of tombstones. "Then your mother's treatment stops this afternoon. Not tomorrow. Today. Test me, Elara. See what happens."
Elara fled to her assigned room—another exercise in minimalist luxury. No warmth, just another beautiful cage. She unzipped the wedding dress, letting it pool at her feet. She stood in her underwear before the mirror, the pearls still circling her throat.
Thirty-six months. One thousand, ninety-five days.
She touched the loose wedding band on her finger. She thought about tearing off the pearls and hurling them through the window. But she didn't. Instead, she unclasped them carefully, looking at their soft, malevolent glow.
Sophia Blackwood, she thought. I'm sorry he's using you to hurt me. And I'm sorry my father failed you.
She clasped them back on. She put on a simple black cashmere dress, brushed her hair, and squared her shoulders. When she looked in the mirror again, she saw a woman who had survived the first day in hell.
Brutal Hook:
Elara walked out of the room to meet her husband, the pearls feeling lighter than before. Adrian wanted to use his mother's ghost to break her spirit, but he had forgotten one thing: a woman who has already lost everything has nothing left to fear—even ghosts.
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