The unexpected invitation

The morning light slipped through the tall windows of the Wolfe estate, illuminating the soft cream and gold tones of the dining room. The clinking of porcelain and cutlery echoed lightly as Emma sat at the long table, quietly sipping her tea.

She had begun to grow used to these silent breakfasts — seated far from Alexander, who preferred to scroll through his tablet or take calls even before finishing his coffee. Emma didn't mind. The quiet was oddly peaceful, and for once, no one was glaring at her.

At least, not today.

Elise had yet to make an appearance, and the other extended relatives weren't scheduled to visit for another week. The staff, ever discreet, had warmed up to Emma ever so slightly. Not with familiarity, but with calm respect. She had started asking for their names, thanking them, and even helping fold laundry when no one was watching.

This morning, she wore a pale blue blouse with soft pleats and cream trousers — clothes chosen by the household stylist, but at least something more "Emma" than the stiff gowns from the first few days. Her sketchbook was in her tote, as always.

She didn't plan on staying in the mansion all day.

"Good morning," came a deep voice, cutting into her thoughts.

Emma looked up, surprised. Alexander had spoken — and to her.

"Good morning," she replied, unsure whether to smile or stay neutral.

He sat down across from her instead of at his usual end seat. That alone made her fingers still around her teacup.

"I heard you completed your admission paperwork yesterday," he said, pouring coffee into his cup without meeting her eyes. "That was quick."

"I didn't want to delay," Emma said, choosing her words carefully. "The university was understanding. I just have to finalize some electives next week."

He nodded, sipping his coffee. "If you need a driver or anything, speak to Bernard."

That was all. No follow-up questions. No sarcastic remarks. Just… a straightforward sentence.

Emma didn't know what to make of it.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Silence settled again, but it didn't feel hostile. Just distant. Like they were two people sharing a table out of habit, not necessity. Which, in a way, they were.

Before either of them could say more, one of the maids entered quietly, carrying a small envelope on a tray.

"For Mrs. Wolfe," she said, placing it gently beside Emma's plate.

Emma blinked. Mrs. Wolfe still sounded foreign to her ears.

She picked up the envelope. The paper was thick, the kind of luxury stationary people used when emails weren't elegant enough.

The handwriting was graceful.

"An invitation?" she murmured, opening it.

Inside was a formal card, ivory with gold embossed edges.

The Wolfe Foundation Annual Charity Gala

You are cordially invited

Friday, 7:30 PM | Wolfe Hall

Formal Attire Required

Attendance: Expected

Emma's throat went dry.

A gala? Already?

She glanced up. Alexander had gone back to reading something on his tablet, clearly aware but unmoved.

"You didn't mention this," she said, holding the card lightly.

He shrugged without looking up. "It's always held this time of year. My grandmother insists on tradition. You'll be introduced formally."

Emma's stomach twisted. Introduced? She hadn't even fully adjusted to the household, let alone to society. Her fingers trembled slightly against the envelope.

Alexander looked up briefly then, eyes scanning her face. "The stylist will take care of it. You'll be fitted today. And if you have preferences, speak up."

His tone wasn't cruel. Just matter-of-fact. But it felt like a command disguised as courtesy.

"I'll try," she murmured.

Something flickered across his face — an unreadable shift. Then he returned to his tablet, ending the conversation.

As the breakfast dishes were cleared and the quiet returned, Emma lingered at the table a moment longer, turning the gala invitation over in her hand. She stared at the engraved gold letters, half-expecting them to disappear like something imagined.

Introduced formally.

To who? The board members? Business associates? Society wives with practiced smiles and sharper eyes?

She rose slowly, tucking the envelope back into her tote beside her sketchbook.

As she passed through the foyer toward the stairs, her steps faltered when she heard low voices near the study. Bernard, the family's longtime butler, stood just outside the open door with a woman Emma didn't recognize. The woman was elegant — sharply dressed in black slacks and a cream blouse, clipboard in hand, eyes flicking over Emma the moment she approached.

"You must be Mrs. Wolfe," the woman said crisply. "I'm Mara, the stylist. Mr. Wolfe arranged for me to meet you this morning."

Emma glanced past her. Alexander was standing inside the study, sleeves rolled, phone wedged between shoulder and ear, gesturing toward some documents. He didn't look up, but she realized he was the one who had made sure this appointment was scheduled. Quietly. Without a word.

"Oh," Emma said, taken aback. "I didn't know it would be today."

"Preparations for the gala start early," Mara replied, already flipping a page on her clipboard. "I've brought a few silhouettes that suit your frame, but we can customize. I was also given access to your measurements, and some reference photos."

Emma blinked. "Reference photos?"

"From the family archive," Mara added with a faint smile. "Engagement party, press images, and one from a charity brunch. You photograph well."

Emma flushed. She barely remembered those events. She'd been too stiff, too unsure of herself, too overwhelmed.

"I… I'd like to see some options before anything is finalized," she said, finding her voice.

Mara arched a brow, then nodded. "Of course. We want you to feel like yourself."

That, Emma thought, was a tall order.

They moved to the upstairs sitting room, where fabric swatches were laid out like petals over the couch. Jewel tones, black satin, silver embroidery. None of it felt real. Emma stood quietly while Mara circled her, adjusting a measuring tape and muttering notes to an assistant who appeared with an iPad.

"Have you decided how you want your hair styled?" Mara asked as she wrote. "Classic bun? Soft waves? The Wolfe women usually go for something timeless."

Emma hesitated. "Can it be… simple?"

Mara paused, looking at her more closely. "You're not like the others."

Emma gave a faint, tired smile. "I get that a lot."

Just then, Eleanor's voice rang out gently from the hallway. "Oh good, she's with the stylist. Tell them not to overdo it — Emma doesn't need diamonds to be noticed."

Emma turned, surprised. Eleanor stood with a small box of tea in hand and a look of fierce pride.

Mara gave a polite smile. "Of course, Mrs. Wolfe."

And for the first time that morning, Emma felt her shoulders ease — just a little.