The invitation arrived the next morning, a glossy envelope with embossed lettering. Lena found it on the breakfast table beside her plate, her name written in elegant calligraphy.
"What's this?" she asked, lifting it carefully.
Adrian barely glanced up from his tablet. "A charity gala. You'll accompany me."
A gala. Lena's pulse quickened. Another battlefield, only grander than the last.
That evening, the grand ballroom glittered with chandeliers and golden light. Waiters moved gracefully with trays of champagne while the city's elite mingled in silk gowns and tuxedos. Lena wore a sleek navy dress Adrian's assistant had chosen, simple but elegant. Still, she felt the weight of eyes on her as they stepped into the room together.
And then, as if summoned, Clara appeared.
"Adrian." She greeted him with that same velvety tone, a smile that curved like a blade. "And Mrs. Blackwood. How… radiant you look tonight."
Lena forced a polite smile. "Thank you."
Clara's eyes sparkled, though the compliment dripped with insincerity. "It's so inspiring, really. To see someone from such… humble beginnings stepping into our world. It must feel like a fairy tale."
The nearby guests, half-listening, turned their attention subtly toward Lena. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She opened her mouth, but words tangled in her throat.
Before she could respond, Clara reached for a waiter's tray and lifted a glass of champagne. "Here," she said sweetly, pressing it into Lena's hand. "You'll need this. It helps calm the nerves when you're… out of your depth."
A ripple of quiet laughter traveled through the circle of onlookers.
Lena froze, the glass trembling faintly between her fingers. The humiliation stung sharper than she expected. Clara's words were soft, polite on the surface, but each one was tipped with poison.
Adrian's gaze darkened. He took the glass smoothly from Lena's hand and set it back on the tray. His voice, low and cutting, silenced the small crowd.
"Strange," he said, his eyes never leaving Clara's. "I don't recall inviting you to speak for my wife."
The air chilled. Clara's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered, her laugh light and practiced. "Of course. Just looking out for her comfort."
But Adrian had already turned to Lena, offering his arm again. His expression gave nothing away, but the gesture alone spoke volumes. He was pulling her from the circle, away from Clara's claws.
As they moved across the ballroom, Lena's heart pounded. She hated that Clara's words had shaken her so easily. But beneath the sting of embarrassment, something else flickered—a spark of defiance.
If Clara thought she could keep humiliating her, she was wrong.
Lena straightened her shoulders, slipping her hand more firmly into Adrian's arm. For the first time, she didn't just feel like his shadow.
She felt like she had a place.
And she intended to fight for it.
---
✨ Word count: ~780
This chapter shows:
Clara's first public humiliation attempt.
Adrian stepping in (protective moment 🔥).
Lena's first tiny flicker of inner strength.