Chapter 20: The Elites

Just as they are walked away from Elara, ith an impeccable sense of timing, Rosalind smoothly took hold of the conversation, her voice carrying an air of authority wrapped in warmth.

"Young Madam Velyne," she addressed Seren, her smile genuine yet calculated. "There are quite a few people eager to meet you today. I hope you won't mind indulging us a little?"

The way she framed it left no room for refusal. It wasn't a simple introduction—it was an endorsement. A formal acknowledgment of Seren's place in this society.

Seren met Rosalind's eyes, understanding the deeper implications behind the gesture. This wasn't just about pleasantries; this was Rosalind pulling her into the inner circle, setting the tone for how the other women should treat her.

She responded with a small smile, dipping her head slightly. "Of course, Young Madam Hawthorne. It would be my pleasure."

Elara's fingers curled tightly around her teacup, though her expression remained placid.

The first person Rosalind led Seren to was Lady Eleanor Whitmore, an elegant woman in her mid-fifties with silver-threaded dark hair and a gaze that held decades of sharp observation. She was the wife of Duke Whitmore, a formidable figure in both politics and business, and she herself was known as a patron of the arts and philanthropy.

"Young Madam Velyne," Lady Eleanor addressed Seren with a small, approving nod, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of the young woman before her. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard quite a bit about you."

There was an undeniable weight to her words, as if testing to see how Seren would respond.

Seren met her gaze steadily. "The pleasure is mine, Lady Whitmore. I can only hope that what you've heard has been fair and accurate."

A flicker of amusement crossed the older woman's face. "Fair and accurate? That depends on the source, doesn't it?"

Rosalind chuckled lightly. "Which is why it's always better to see for oneself, isn't it?"

Lady Eleanor let out a soft hum of agreement. "Indeed." She observed Seren for a moment longer before nodding. "You carry yourself well, Young Madam Velyne. I see the rumors have done little to ruffle you."

Seren smiled gently, but her eyes held firm resolve. "Rumors hold power only if one lets them."

The older woman's lips curved slightly in approval. "Good answer."

Elara, still seated with a group of her usual supporters, watched the exchange with a carefully neutral expression. Lady Whitmore was not someone easily impressed, yet here she was, openly approving of Seren.

Rosalind, satisfied with the interaction, smoothly continued.

"Shall we continue, Young Madam Velyne? There are still quite a few waiting to meet you."

Seren gave a graceful nod, allowing herself to be led to the next encounter.

Many of the guests present were women from the most powerful families—some direct matriarchs, others esteemed daughters or wives of influential figures. Their presence here meant more than simple socializing; it was about connections, influence, and power dynamics.

Elara, poised with her usual elegance, had expected Seren to falter under scrutiny. Instead, Seren had remained unshaken, responding to veiled remarks with effortless grace and sharp intellect. It was not the reaction Elara had intended to provoke. Instead of making a fool of herself, Seren had only garnered more interest.

Across the garden, a few women exchanged glances, the silent language of the elite at play. If Rosalind Hawthorne—a woman of undisputed influence—was openly aligning herself with Seren, then they had to reconsider their approach.

Rosalind's eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction before she turned towards the gathered guests, exuding the effortless charm of a seasoned hostess.

"Then allow me to make some introductions," she said smoothly, guiding Seren forward.

As Rosalind guided Seren through the garden, the soft hum of conversation filled the air. The scent of fresh roses mingled with the delicate aroma of steeping tea, creating an atmosphere of refined elegance.

"Seren, I'd like you to meet someone," Rosalind said smoothly, stopping before a tall, striking woman dressed in an effortlessly chic ensemble—one that carried the understated luxury only the truly wealthy could master.

Marguerite Laurent.

A name Seren recognized from Kael's files—a woman of immense influence, heir to one of the most established financial dynasties in Paris. Unlike many socialites, Marguerite exuded an effortless confidence, her piercing green eyes assessing Seren with the same precision one might use when evaluating a rare piece of art.

"So, this is the Young Madam Velyne," Marguerite mused, her French accent light but noticeable. "I must admit, I was quite curious about you."

Seren met her gaze with a composed smile. "I hope I don't disappoint."

Marguerite's lips quirked. "Not so far."

Rosalind chuckled. "Marguerite is difficult to impress. Consider that a compliment."

Seren inclined her head slightly. "Then I shall take it as one."

Marguerite took a slow sip of her tea, watching Seren over the rim of her cup. "Tell me, Young Madam, what do you think of this gathering?"

Seren knew this was a test. A carefully set trap to gauge her response.

She didn't hesitate. "An intricate performance of power and influence. One where every glance, every word, is a calculated move in a much larger game."

A slow smile spread across Marguerite's face. "Interesting. Most women in your position either cower or pretend they don't see it."

"I see it," Seren replied, voice smooth. "I just choose not to play the expected role."

Marguerite let out a light laugh, clearly entertained. "You're not what I anticipated, Young Madam Velyne."

"Few people ever are," Seren said, matching her gaze.

For the first time since they had met, Marguerite's expression shifted—just slightly. A flicker of intrigue, perhaps even approval.

Rosalind, sensing the moment, smiled. "I think you two will get along just fine."

Marguerite tilted her head. "Perhaps." Then, after a beat, she extended a hand. "A pleasure, Young Madam."

Seren took it, her grip steady. "Likewise."

As their fingers brushed, Seren felt it—a silent acknowledgment. A subtle, wordless understanding between women who were used to walking in dangerous circles.

She had passed Marguerite's test.

Rosalind led Seren deeper into the gathering, where an intimate yet formidable group of elites was seated beneath a canopy of flowering vines. Their quiet discussions ceased the moment Rosalind approached with Seren by her side. Eyes turned toward her—some with curiosity, others with calculated scrutiny.

Seren knew this was another test. Another battlefield.

She kept her expression composed as Rosalind gestured toward the first figure, a distinguished man with silver-threaded hair and piercing gray eyes.

"This is Victor Aldridge," Rosalind introduced, her voice smooth. "A man whose words carry as much weight as the laws themselves."

Victor inclined his head, his sharp gaze settling on Seren with the measured calculation of a man who dealt in power.

"Young Madam Velyne," he greeted, voice deep and steady. "I must admit, I did not expect to meet you this soon."

Seren met his gaze without hesitation. "I do hope the timing is not too disappointing."

A quiet chuckle came from the next figure, a woman with striking emerald eyes and an air of effortless elegance. Eloise Sinclair, the queen of the luxury fashion empire, was known for her ability to turn anyone into an icon—or render them irrelevant overnight.

"You're quite poised, I'll give you that," Eloise said, studying Seren with open interest. "It's rare for someone so new to our circles to already be the topic of so many conversations."

Seren took a sip of her tea, then lowered the cup with an elegant ease. "Rare, perhaps. But not unexpected."

A hum of approval came from another man, this one with an easygoing smile that did nothing to hide the sharpness in his eyes.

"Well said," Matthias Langford murmured. An investor with a reputation for either making or destroying businesses overnight, he was someone whose presence alone could send shockwaves through the financial world. He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Tell me, Young Madam, what do you think is more powerful—wealth or influence?"

A test. A trap, perhaps. Seren knew better than to answer carelessly.

She met his gaze and replied, "Neither. Power is perception. Those who control how they are seen, how their name is spoken, hold true power."

A beat of silence followed, the kind that measured, assessed, and determined whether she was worthy of further conversation. Then, slowly, Matthias smiled.

Genevieve Montclair, a socialite with old-money prestige and an almost predatory charm, leaned back in her seat, lips curving. "I like her."

"I think we all do," Eloise mused, swirling her tea.

Victor, ever the calculated man, inclined his head slightly. "You are an interesting woman, Young Madam Velyne."

Seren simply smiled, unbothered by their scrutiny. "I do my best."

Rosalind, evidently pleased, placed a light hand on Seren's arm. "Shall we continue?"

Seren nodded, knowing she had just passed another silent test. One battle down, but the war was far from over.

Elara sat at a distance, watching the scene unfold with a practiced smile that barely concealed the fire burning beneath it. She had expected Seren to flounder—to be overwhelmed by the scrutiny of the elite. Yet, instead of embarrassment or hesitation, Seren had navigated the introductions with unnerving composure.