The Gala.

The Wolfe Foundation Gala shimmered beneath chandeliers taller than most rooms Emma had ever stepped into. Wolfe Hall, transformed for the night, glittered with crystal glassware, champagne flutes, and the hum of hushed judgment.

Emma stood at the top of the grand staircase, her arm lightly looped through Alexander's. Cameras flashed as they paused for a brief moment, all eyes turning to the new "Mrs. Wolfe."

The emerald gown hugged her form gracefully, the neckline modest yet commanding, the hem trailing like flowing water. Her hair was twisted into a delicate updo, revealing the faint gold of her earrings. Every inch of her had been polished by stylists, examined under Eleanor's precise eye, and approved by Alexander's grandmother — who sat downstairs like a regal queen observing her kingdom.

Emma's hand trembled slightly in Alexander's arm. He felt it, but said nothing.

"Smile a little," he murmured just before they descended. "You're not being marched to your execution."

"Sorry." she muttered under her breath.

He didn't respond, but there was a twitch of amusement in his jaw.

As they entered the ballroom, the crowd began to part — just enough to stare. Murmurs followed in their wake.

That's her?

She's so… ordinary.

I thought she was from some political family—

"No, just a scholarship student. Did you hear how they met?"

Emma kept her eyes ahead, her spine straight, the way Eleanor had drilled into her during a half-hour crash course in etiquette.

Alexander left her side within minutes.

Of course.

He was greeted by donors, investors, family friends — all people in suits and gowns who knew his schedule better than she did. Emma found herself left alone, clutching her glass of sparkling water and trying not to fidget.

It wasn't long before the first confrontation arrived.

"Emma, darling," came a syrupy voice. "You clean up well."

It was Celeste Wolfe, Alexander's cousin. Tall, stunning, dressed in an ice-blue gown that sparkled like frost. Her arm was draped over her fiancé's, though her eyes were locked on Emma like a challenge.

Emma smiled politely. "Celeste."

Celeste took a sip of her wine. "It must be so overwhelming for you. These events aren't quite the same as university club nights, are they?"

"I'm adapting," Emma replied evenly.

Behind Celeste, another cousin — Miranda — whispered loudly enough for Emma to hear, "At least she didn't trip down the stairs. That's progress."

Celeste laughed, her eyes twinkling. "Careful, Miranda. Jealousy doesn't suit you."

Emma didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she turned toward the waiter offering canapés, thanked him softly, and picked one up without hesitation. The staff's warm glances were her only refuge in the room.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Grandmother Wolfe appeared beside her.

"Graceful under pressure," she said, voice low but clear. "A rare trait in this family."

Emma smiled, sincerely this time. "It's easier when you're around."

Grandmother Wolfe nodded approvingly, her gaze drifting toward Alexander. "He's not making it easier, is he?"

Emma hesitated. "He's… busy."

"Hmph." The older woman sipped her tea — never wine. "He always was. But he notices more than he lets on."

Before Emma could respond, a crash sounded behind them.

One of the younger cousins — clearly intoxicated — had stumbled into a decorative sculpture, sending shards of glass across the floor. Gasps echoed. Servers rushed to clean it. Guests turned their heads.

Eleanor appeared calmly, immaculate as ever.

"Someone take Mr. Damien Hart to the back and bring him water," she ordered quietly but firmly.

Celeste scoffed nearby. "Can't hold his liquor. Typical."

Eleanor turned her cool gaze toward Celeste. "Would you like me to escort you too."

Celeste's lips thinned. "I'm fine, thank you."

Eleanor gave a short nod and melted back into the crowd. Emma could almost see the other guests suppressing smiles.

"You're lucky she tolerates you," Grandmother Wolfe whispered.

Emma blinked. "Eleanor?"

"She's been here decades. Doesn't speak kindly of many. But she said you're polite. Dignified."

Emma's throat tightened. "She's always been kind."

"You've earned it."

Before Emma could say more, Alexander returned.

His tie was slightly loosened, eyes sharp from some brief dispute she could tell had happened but wouldn't be explained. He looked between his grandmother and Emma.

"Everything alright?"

"Perfectly fine," Grandmother Wolfe replied. "Though you're late for your speech."

Alexander sighed, offering his arm to Emma. "Come."

The ballroom fell silent as Alexander took the podium. His voice was smooth and controlled, his words about the foundation, legacy, and community flawless, rehearsed. But in the pauses, Emma caught the strain beneath the poise — a man burdened by duty.

When the speech ended, applause erupted.

Emma clapped too — catching Alexander's brief glance. She smiled, a real one this time.

He looked almost surprised.

Maybe she was too.

Emma's heels clicked softly against the polished marble as she followed Alexander through the winding corridors backstage. The grand ballroom's glittering noise was a distant murmur now, replaced by the hum of staff bustling and last-minute preparations.

She was about to suggest waiting for Alexander to finish his speech when a voice stopped her mid-step.

"Mrs. Wolfe, a moment?"

Emma turned sharply to see a man she didn't recognize—a sharply dressed, older gentleman with a polished smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," he said smoothly, stepping closer. "Allow me to welcome you to the Wolfe Foundation Gala."

Emma forced a polite smile. "Thank you."

He held out a glass of champagne. "A little something to calm the nerves. Non-alcoholic, I assure you."

Emma eyed the glass suspiciously. "I don't drink."

"No harm in trying," he said with a wink, pressing the glass into her hand before she could protest further.

As she raised the glass to her lips, a sudden dizziness hit. Her vision blurred and the floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet.

"What—what did you put in this?" she whispered, panic bubbling up.

Before she could react, the man's grip tightened on her elbow. "Just relax, Mrs. Wolfe. You'll be fine."

He guided her down a narrow, dimly lit corridor Emma hadn't noticed before. Her footsteps faltered as her legs lost strength.

"Let me go!" she hissed, trying to pull free, but he shoved her toward a heavy wooden door.

The door swung open, revealing a small, windowless room.

"Help! Someone—" Emma's shout echoed off the cold walls as the man slammed the door shut behind her.

She jerked the handle, rattling the lock, but it held firm.

Breathing hard, she backed away and pressed herself against the wall, heart pounding like a drum.

Minutes crawled by.

The gala thrummed with the sound of clinking glasses and curated laughter. Alexander stood near the central chandelier, his posture sharp, his smile cool and practiced. Around him circled a group of influencers and prominent donors, each trying to extract a sliver of his attention.

"So, Mr. Wolfe, about that green initiative—"

He nodded curtly. "Submit the proposal to our acquisitions office. I don't discuss figures at parties."