Chapter 7: Uninvited Guest
Agatha fell silent, trapped in Xavier’s gaze. Her emotions were a chaotic storm. Anger boiled within her for being manipulated, but beneath it lay a strange, unsettling sense of relief. She wasn't just "merchandise" to him. There was a reason a bond forged in blood and rain years ago.
"Enough nostalgia." Melynda wiped her tears gracefully, instantly transforming back into the dignified Grand Madam of Valois. "Guests are waiting. This is your welcome party, Agatha. Tonight, Paris must know that Valois has a new mistress."
Melynda linked her arm with Agatha’s, leaving no room for refusal. "Let's go inside. Anyone who dares to look down on you tonight challenges Melynda Valois directly."
Agatha glanced at Xavier one last time before being led away. He winked, a gesture so casual yet so dangerous.
The atmosphere inside the Château de Valois Ballroom was suffocatingly magnificent. Hundreds of guests European elite, aristocrats, business tycoons, politicians mingled under a giant crystal chandelier that cost more than Agatha’s entire life savings. The air smelled of expensive champagne, heavy perfume, and old money.
Whispers erupted like wildfire the moment they entered.
"Is that her?"
"The one bought from the Elara family?"
"She looks... surprisingly regal."
Melynda walked with her head high, parading Agatha like a trophy, followed by Xavier who acted as their dark sentinel. It was a clear political statement: The Queen and the King have accepted her.
However, not everyone was pleased with this perfect picture.
From the direction of the buffet table, a middle-aged man stared with blazing eyes.
Silas Elara.
He had managed to slip in using the last crumbling remains of his old connections. His face was flushed red, his tie crooked, and a half-empty wine glass dangled dangerously in his hand. He watched Agatha his investment draped in luxury that should have been his.
"Agatha..." Silas muttered. Greed overtook his alcohol-dulled senses.
He pushed through the crowd, knocking into a waiter carrying a tray of champagne. Glasses shattered, turning heads, but Silas didn't care.
"My daughter!" Silas shouted loudly. His hoarse voice cracked through the elegant classical music, causing the orchestra to falter.
Agatha froze. Her body went rigid. That voice had been the soundtrack of her nightmares for years. The voice that usually preceded a blow or a curse.
Silas stumbled closer, spreading his arms wide in a mock display of affection. "Look at you! You look so beautiful! It wasn't in vain that I picked you up from the streets and raised you, right? Look, everyone! Look, Mrs. Valois! I was the one who raised her!"
The ballroom gasped. Whispers turned into shocked murmurs. "Picked up from the streets?" "An adopted stray?"
Agatha’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. Shame burned her cheeks, but anger froze her heart. She wanted to grab a steak knife from the nearest table and silence him permanently. Her assassin instincts were screaming kill, but she forced herself to stand still.
Silas lunged forward, his hand reeking of cheap alcohol reaching for her shoulder.
"Don't touch her."
The voice was flat, not loud, but it dropped the temperature in the room to sub-zero.
Xavier moved faster than the eye could follow. He caught Silas's wrist in mid-air, inches from Agatha’s skin. His grip was iron; Silas winced audibly as bones ground together.
"Mr. Elara," Xavier said coldly, his emerald eyes darkening into voids. "I invited you to eat in the kitchen with the servants, out of pity. Not to pollute the air around my wife."
Silas tried to pull away, but it was futile. "Mr. Valois... I...I just wanted to greet my daughter. I have the right! I'm her father!"
"You sold that right for five hundred million dollars," Xavier replied, his voice cutting through the silence of the room so everyone could hear. "Now, she is a Valois. Not an Elara."
"But.. "
"Security!"
Melynda’s voice rang out, calm but laced with absolute authority. She stepped forward, placing a protective arm around Agatha’s shoulders, signaling to the entire room where her loyalty lay.
Two massive bodyguards materialized from the shadows behind Silas.
"Drag this drunkard out," Melynda ordered without even looking at Silas, as if he were a stain on her expensive carpet. "And make sure his face is on the blacklist at every Valois property in Europe."
"Wait! Agatha! Help Dad! I raised you! You ungrateful brat!" Silas screamed as he was dragged away, his legs kicking uselessly at the air.
Agatha stood silent, watching the man who used to beat her now being tossed out like garbage. In the past, she would have trembled. But today, seeing him helpless against the combined power of Xavier and Melynda, Agatha realized a simple truth: Silas was just a small, pathetic coward. He was no longer a monster; he was just a nuisance.
Xavier released his grip and pulled out a silk handkerchief. He wiped the hand that had touched Silas, cleaning away the invisible filth, then dropped the silk onto the marble floor.
He turned to Agatha, extending his clean hand.
"The music has started again," Xavier said softly. "Don't let trash ruin your night."
Agatha looked at his hand. Then she looked at Melynda, who gave her an encouraging nod.
Taking a deep breath, Agatha straightened her spine. The assassin inside her retreated, and the Queen stepped forward. She placed her hand in Xavier's.
He pulled her to the center of the dance floor. His hand wrapped possessively around her waist, pulling her body flush against his, claiming her before the entire world.
"You know," Agatha whispered as they began to move to the rhythm of a Waltz. "You owe me a very long explanation about the past."
Xavier smirked, leaning down until his lips brushed her ear. "We have a lifetime to discuss it, tesoro. But save your energy."
"Why?" Agatha asked warily.
"Tomorrow is the official wedding ceremony," Xavier’s eyes glinted mischievously. "And after that... the wedding night. It will be much more exhausting than this party."
Agatha snorted, but a genuine smile tugged at her lips. As they swirled across the polished floor, the world around them blurred into streaks of gold and light. For a fleeting moment, the assassin who always slept with a dagger under her pillow vanished.
In Xavier’s arms, amidst the calculating gaze of hundreds, she found a strange, paradoxical silence. It was a dangerous sanctuary, built on lies and blood, yet for the first time in fifteen years, she didn't feel the urge to run.
In the middle of this dangerous stage play, spinning in the arms of a devil she once saved, Agatha felt something terrifying.
She wasn't just ready to play. She was ready to rule.