“Nervous?” Ethan’s voice cut through the silence, light and calm.

Isabella paused, then gave a small nod. “A bit,” she admitted softly.

His lips curved into a reassuring smile. “Don’t be. I’m here.”

She tried to steady her racing pulse. Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and shadow. Inside the car, her thoughts churned.

When they arrived at Château de Versailles, the sheer opulence stole her breath. The manor stood majestic under soft golden lights, its grand facade towering against the night sky. Inside, the banquet hall glittered with crystal chandeliers, elegant gowns, and the refined murmur of high society. Isabella entered on Ethan’s arm, acutely aware of the curious glances—some admiring, some speculative—that followed their path.

“Mr. Blackwood, it’s been too long,” a woman in an elaborate gown greeted him, her smile polished and deliberate.

“Indeed, Ms. Rossi,” Ethan replied courteously.

Isabella Rossi turned her sharp gaze to Isabella. “And who is this?” she asked, tone laced with keen interest.

Ethan glanced at Isabella, then answered with quiet finality. “This is my wife, Isabella.”

The words struck Isabella like lightning. Her mind went blank. Her breath hitched.

My wife.

The phrase echoed, each syllable pounding heavily in her chest.

Ms. Rossi’s smile flickered briefly before she recovered, her expression brightening with practiced grace. “Ah, Mrs. Blackwood. What a pleasure. You have a remarkable presence. You and Mr. Blackwood make quite the striking pair.”

The air grew thick with attention. Whispers rippled through the crowd. Guests exchanged curious glances. Isabella’s grip tightened on her clutch, her knuckles whitening. She felt exposed, vulnerable under the weight of so many eyes.

“You’re a lucky man, Blackwood,” a man in a tailored suit remarked as he approached, raising his glass. “Such a beautiful wife.”

Ethan offered a faint smile and raised his own glass. “Thank you,” he said calmly. He offered no further explanation, no glance toward Isabella. His declaration might as well have been a casual comment.

For the rest of the evening, Isabella moved like a puppet, following Ethan’s lead. She forced smiles, hoping they looked natural. But tension coiled in her shoulders, and unease tightened her chest.

A woman in a sparkling gown leaned closer, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Mrs. Blackwood, that ring is exquisite,” she remarked, reaching for Isabella’s hand. Her fingers were cold. “A gift from Mr. Blackwood?”

Isabella instinctively wanted to pull away, but the woman’s grip was firm.

“I bought it myself,” Isabella replied, her voice steady.

“Really?” The woman’s eyes widened. “You have impeccable taste. It appears simple, but there’s a unique elegance to it.”