Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen
TWO YEARS AGO

Dinner at my father’s house had always been an event dressed as a formality, but it carried the weight of obligation. Invitations were sent, but attendance had never been optional. This evening, the air felt more charged than usual. Tension clung to the walls like thick perfume, heavy and scented with anticipation.

Angelica arrived from upstairs, descending the curved staircase as though she lived on a stage. Her gown skimmed the floor in soft grey silk, modest in color but stitched to perfection. Her hair was swept into a low knot at her nape, her makeup was flawless, and the expression she wore carried the exact amount of detachment she required to seem in control. Every detail of her presence was curated for effect. She had grown up in this house. She still lived in the east wing. She always walked into dinners like they were battles.

Niklas walked beside me, unhurried and steady. His hand rested at the small of my back with a quiet certainty, his energy protective. Beneath his composed exterior, I felt the unmistakable hum of instinct. Something in him bristled the moment Angelica’s scent reached us. He did not flinch or move, but his spine straightened in that way wolves do when sensing another predator. No one else would have noticed. But I knew.

We entered the dining room together, stepping across the Persian rug toward the long mahogany table that had been in our family for decades. The chandelier above glimmered with deliberate splendor, casting golden light across the fine porcelain, the cut crystal, and the gleaming silver. Each place was set to perfection, with napkins folded like the wings of swans, their ivory linen corners precisely aligned. The air inside was crisp with the scent of citrus polish, roasted duck, and chilled wine.

The first course arrived with silence. Caviar arranged on brioche rounds followed by bowls of lobster bisque laced with saffron. No one commented on the food. The table carried that uneasy stillness of people waiting for the conversation to turn somewhere they were not ready to follow.

We were halfway through the duck when my father placed his cutlery down, wiping his mouth once before speaking. His voice was calm, but I heard the quiet warning tucked inside each word.

“I heard what happened at the office,” he said, glancing first at me, then turning his eyes toward Angelica. “With Théo.”

The room shifted.

Angelica’s eyes darkened for the briefest moment. Polenya’s hand froze mid-reach for her glass. The tension bloomed quickly, blooming across the table like steam from a cracked pot.

“How is it,” my father continued, voice low and deliberate, “that you thought it wise to associate with a man like that?”

Angelica opened her mouth, but he raised his hand with effortless command.

“I heard he went to the office to try to intimidate Miara. You brought him into this orbit. You allowed his presence. What were you thinking?”

She closed her lips without speaking. Her jaw twitched.

“I have tried to be patient,” my father said. “I have tried to offer grace, but you have embarrassed yourself and this family too many times.”

Polenya’s lips pressed together in practiced neutrality. I glanced across the table and saw Angelica’s eyes flash with something more than shame. The fury she tried to mask had begun to surface.

I smiled then. Softly. When no one was watching me. Just enough for her to see it, and only her. A slight tilt of my mouth. A quiet message.

Niklas sat beside me, his fingers relaxed against the stem of his wine glass, his energy quiet but alert. When my father turned to him and asked, “Is it true? What I was told?” Niklas responded without hesitation.

“It is true,” he said. “Théo Duchamp came to the office. He attempted to intimidate Miara. I intervened. I made it very clear he would never do so again.”

Angelica tensed. Polenya’s brows drew together.

Niklas set his glass down, then looked directly at my father. His voice remained low, but there was a charged authority behind it. Something primal that flickered beneath his human tone.

“And if I may speak freely,” he said, “this would never have happened if Angelica had not stirred confusion and fed gossip. She invited chaos. She is the reason this reached the office.”

A shift rippled across the table. Someone’s fork tapped against porcelain. No one spoke.

Angelica’s cheeks flushed with red. Polenya stiffened, glancing between her daughter and my husband. Her lips opened, but she did not speak.

I leaned back in my chair and reached for my water. When I looked toward Angelica again, my expression was serene. My gaze met hers with gentle sweetness, and I mouthed a single word that landed like a stone tossed through stained glass.

Oops.

She snapped.

“You’re joking,” she hissed. “You just sit there looking smug while they blame me for everything? You always get away with this. You wear that perfect smile and twist the knife when no one is looking.”

Polenya reached across, touching her arm lightly, trying to hush her, but Angelica shook her off.

“You have always been the golden one. The favorite. The flawless daughter who never had to try. Do you know what it’s like to live with that?”

Niklas turned his head slowly. His voice sliced through the room.

“That is enough.”

Angelica stopped speaking. Everyone looked to him. He stood without rushing. The chair scraped back across the rug. The power in his stillness filled the space. His jaw had tightened, and there was a glint in his eyes that burned faintly blue, something ancient, something territorial.

“I will never allow anyone to speak to my wife like that. You are upset. That much is clear. But that gives you no right to poison this table with your bitterness.”
He paused just long enough for his words to settle.

“You look at her and see the things you lack. That has never been her fault. Do not confuse your envy for injustice.”

The room held its breath. My father said nothing. Polenya simply turned her eyes away. I reached for my napkin and folded it beside my plate. Then I glanced at Angelica again. I kept my voice light.

“Please. Let us not ruin dinner. I am willing to forgive her outburst. I understand emotions can run high.”

The moment cracked. Angelica stood so suddenly her chair knocked against the floor.

“You smug, manipulative~”

“Enough!” my father roared.

Silence. Even the staff had gone still. Dinner ended quietly. Plates were cleared. Dessert remained untouched. Chairs were pushed back. Shoes clicked faintly against the tile as everyone excused themselves one by one.

In the car, Niklas said nothing. The silence between us was warm, not cold. As the driver turned out of the estate, he spoke at last.

“You were magnificent.”

I turned my head. “Magnificent?”

He nodded once. “You beat her at her own game.”

I reached over, placed my hand on his thigh.

“Did it impress you?”

He smiled slowly. “You know it did.”

When we entered the house, the door had barely clicked shut before his hands found my waist. He pulled me into him with force and need. Our mouths met. I felt the fire in his kiss, the wildness just beneath the surface. My back found the wall. His body pressed close, solid and burning with energy. My legs lifted, wrapped around his hips as he carried me through the hallway and into our room without breaking rhythm. He laid me across the sheets with reverence. His eyes glowed faintly in the low light, the way they always did when his instincts surfaced. The mark on my finger throbbed gently as his lips trailed over my collarbone, as his hands opened me to him.

That night, he made love to me like he needed to brand the memory into flesh. Every movement was deep and deliberate. Every breath he drew tasted like mine. When I cried out, he did not stop. He claimed every sound, every tremble, every drop of me as his.

Angelica vanished from my mind like a dream that failed to hold. There was only this. Niklas. His strength. His scent. His heat. Me and the bond between us that no one could ever shatter.