The second event came only a week later, a considerably smaller, more intimate dinner hosted by one of Crew Enterprises' longtime business partners. Silveria had foolishly assumed that a smaller gathering might prove easier to properly navigate than the overwhelming chaos of the gala had been.
She was entirely wrong within the very first twenty minutes.
The dinner was held at a private estate just outside the city, guests mingling comfortably in a grand sitting room before the formal meal properly began, waiters circling steadily with trays of chilled champagne. Damien had been pulled away almost immediately by the host, deep in an intense conversation about shipping contracts that clearly required his full and undivided attention, leaving Silveria momentarily alone near the drink table.
That was precisely when the host's wife found her.
"So you're the substitute," the woman said, approaching with a practiced smile that never quite properly reached her cold, assessing eyes. She was tall and elegant, dripping in jewelry that probably cost considerably more than Silveria's entire childhood home combined. "I heard the real bride was considerably prettier, before she ran off."
Silveria felt her face go hot instantly, the old, familiar sting of humiliation rising fast in her chest. "Excuse me?"
"Nothing personal intended," the woman said, sipping delicately from her champagne flute, clearly enjoying herself considerably. "I'm simply curious what it must genuinely feel like, knowing your husband settled for whoever happened to be standing there when his real bride ran off."
Silveria's throat closed up entirely, old habits from years of quietly swallowing insults at the Hitler house kicking in before she could properly stop them, some deeply ingrained instinct telling her to simply nod and smile and absorb the cruelty quietly, the way she always had before.
"I imagine it must be rather difficult," the woman continued, clearly enjoying the silence she'd created, "living every single day knowing you were never actually properly chosen. Just... convenient, in the moment."
"That's quite enough, Genevieve."
Damien's voice cut through the conversation like a blade, cold and absolutely final. Silveria hadn't even properly noticed him approaching, but he was there now, standing just beside her, his expression carved from something considerably colder than she'd seen from him even during their very first encounter in the kitchen weeks earlier.
Genevieve's smug expression faltered slightly. "Damien, I was only making conversation—"
"You were insulting my wife," he said, his voice carrying easily across the now-silent room, every nearby conversation having properly stopped to listen. "In my presence, no less. I'd strongly suggest finding someone else to entertain yourself with for the remainder of the evening."
"I didn't mean any real offense," Genevieve said, backpedaling quickly now, clearly unaccustomed to being challenged so directly and publicly.
"I'm quite certain you didn't," Damien said, his tone making it abundantly clear he believed precisely the opposite of that claim. "Regardless, the conversation is now properly finished."
Genevieve excused herself hastily, spots of embarrassed color rising sharp and high on her cheeks as she retreated quickly toward the far side of the room. Silveria stood frozen beside Damien, stunned by the sheer force of his intervention, by how completely he had shut the entire exchange down without ever once raising his voice.
"You didn't have to do that," she said quietly, once the immediate attention of the room had properly shifted elsewhere.
"Yes, I did," he said, turning to look at her directly, something fierce still simmering behind his usually controlled exterior. "Nobody speaks to you that particular way. Not in front of me, and honestly, not when I'm not present either, if I have any proper say in the matter."
"I've had considerably worse said to me before," she admitted. "I could have handled it myself."
"That's not the actual point," he said. "You shouldn't have to handle it at all. Not from someone hosting a dinner in my company's honor, and certainly not while you're standing here representing our family properly."
The phrase our family caught her off guard, something warm blooming unexpectedly in her chest at the casual, unconscious way he'd used it, like the words genuinely belonged together without him even having to properly think twice about it.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"You don't need to thank me for basic human decency," he said, though something in his expression suggested her gratitude had landed somewhere genuinely real anyway.
They rejoined the dinner shortly after that particular exchange, and Silveria noticed, throughout the remainder of the evening, that people seemed to treat her with considerably more caution now, word of Damien's sharp, public defense apparently spreading quickly through the small, gossip-hungry crowd gathered there. Nobody else attempted anything quite so cruel again that particular night.
Later, in the car ride home, she found herself studying his profile carefully in the dim evening light, something warm and cautious and entirely new unfurling slowly in her chest.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"You seem to ask me that a great deal these days."
"You could always just say no, you know."
"Go ahead," he said, something almost fond entering his tone.
"Why did that particular exchange bother you so much? Genevieve, I mean. You've heard considerably worse said about our marriage in the papers every single day since the wedding happened. Why did tonight feel properly different to you?"
He was quiet for a long moment, considering the question with more seriousness than she'd properly expected. "Because the papers are strangers," he said finally. "Genevieve said it directly to your face, in a room full of people who genuinely matter to my business, expecting me to simply stand there and let it happen because that's apparently what she assumed our entire arrangement actually was."
"And it's not?"
"I don't properly know what it is anymore," he admitted quietly, something raw slipping through his usual careful control. "But it's not that. Whatever else this marriage turns out to be, I won't stand beside someone being cruel to you and simply call that acceptable behavior."
Something warm cracked open in Silveria's chest at that admission, something she hadn't properly expected and wasn't entirely ready for yet. She told herself, firmly, that it was simply relief at being defended, nothing more complicated than that. She wasn't entirely certain she believed her own careful reasoning, though.
"Genevieve's husband is one of your largest shipping partners," she said after a moment, working through the implications. "Won't there be consequences for embarrassing her like that, in front of everyone?"
"Possibly," Damien admitted, unconcerned. "If there are, I'll handle them. Some things matter considerably more than a business relationship, whatever the board might think about my priorities."
"That's a remarkable thing to say, for a man who told me our marriage was purely a business transaction."
Something flickered across his face at that observation, complicated and difficult to properly read. "Perhaps I'm discovering that not everything in my life fits quite so neatly into the categories I originally assigned them," he said quietly. "You seem to have a particular talent for complicating my carefully organized categories, Silveria."
"Is that a complaint?"
"I genuinely haven't decided yet," he said, though the small, warm smile tugging at his mouth suggested otherwise entirely.
They rode the rest of the way home in comfortable silence, and when they finally arrived, Damien walked her properly to her door, something he hadn't done before.
"Goodnight, Silveria," he said quietly. "Thank you for tolerating tonight better than you should have had to."
"Goodnight, Damien," she said softly, and watched him disappear down the hallway toward his own wing, something warm and cautiously hopeful settling in her chest as she finally retired for the night.
• • •
The consequences Damien had predicted arrived two days later, in the form of a terse phone call from Genevieve's husband, followed shortly after by an equally terse email requesting a meeting. Silveria learned about it only because Felix mentioned it in passing over breakfast, clearly assuming she already knew.
"Is Crew Enterprises actually in trouble?" she asked, alarm rising quickly. "Because of what happened at dinner?"
"Nothing Damien can't handle," Felix said, though something careful in his tone suggested it wasn't quite as simple as he was making it sound. "Reginald's more bark than bite, generally. He'll grumble about it, threaten to take his business elsewhere, and ultimately do nothing of the sort because Crew Enterprises offers him better rates than anyone else in the entire shipping industry."
"But there's a real risk," Silveria pressed. "A genuine one."
"There's always some risk, in business," Felix said. "Damien knew that when he said what he said to Genevieve. He decided it was worth the risk regardless."
Silveria found Damien in his study later that morning, reviewing what looked like considerable paperwork related to the shipping contracts in question. "I heard about Reginald," she said, settling into the chair across from his desk.
"It's being handled," he said, not looking up from the documents spread before him.
"I don't want you losing an important business relationship because of me," she said, guilt creeping into her voice.
That got his attention. He looked up properly, setting his pen down. "You didn't cause this, Silveria. Genevieve's cruelty caused this. I simply chose not to let it stand unchallenged."
"Would you have said the same thing, defended someone the same way, if it had been anyone else standing there instead of me?" she asked, genuinely curious about the answer.
He considered the question with real seriousness. "Honestly, I don't know," he admitted. "I'd like to think I would have. But I know for certain that watching her speak to you that way made something in me refuse to simply stay quiet, in a way I'm not certain would have happened for a stranger."
The admission settled warm and complicated in her chest. "That's not exactly business logic," she said softly.
"No," he agreed. "It isn't."
"So what happens with Reginald now?"
"I'll meet with him this afternoon," Damien said. "I'll remind him precisely how much money our partnership makes him every single quarter, and I suspect his objections will resolve themselves fairly quickly after that particular reminder."
"And if they don't?"
"Then I'll find another shipping partner," he said simply, "and Reginald can explain to his own board why he chose pride over profit. Either way, I'm not apologizing for defending you, Silveria. Not to him, and not to anyone else who might have opinions about it."
Something fierce and grateful rose in her chest at the quiet certainty in his voice. "Thank you," she said again, the words feeling inadequate for the weight of what he was actually offering her.
"Stop thanking me," he said, though his tone carried no real irritation. "You'll wear the words out before we've been married a full month."
She laughed at that, genuine and unguarded, and something in his own expression softened at the sound. "Fine," she said. "I'll simply owe you, then, and settle the debt some other way."
"I'll hold you to that," he said, something almost playful entering his careful voice, and she left his study feeling considerably lighter than she had walking in, the worry about Reginald's shipping contracts fading into something that felt, oddly, like the beginning of an actual partnership rather than a simple arrangement of convenience.
True to his word, Damien's meeting with Reginald that afternoon resolved the matter entirely, and by the following week, the entire incident had faded quietly into the background of their increasingly complicated, increasingly real life together.