The three days leading up to the gala were a masterclass in corporate warfare disguised as a honeymoon. Silas was a man of his word; he didn't cross the threshold of my suite, but his presence was everywhere. It was in the fresh lilies that appeared on my vanity every morning, the way the staff anticipated my every whim, and the constant, low-level hum of his voice coming from the study across the hall.
On the morning of the second day, the "Vane Machine" arrived in full force.
I was finishing my second cup of coffee when the elevator doors chimed, and a small army of people marched out. They were led by a woman named Vivienne, a legendary stylist with silver hair and eyes that looked like they could measure a hemline from across the room. Behind her were three assistants pushing racks of gowns covered in black silk garment bags, and a man carrying a leather case that I suspected contained enough diamonds to fund a small war.
"Mrs. Vane," Vivienne said, her voice like a velvet whip. She didn't wait for an invitation; she began circling me, her head tilted at a clinical angle. "We have forty-eight hours to transform you from an architectural heiress into the most envied woman in the Western Hemisphere. Stand up, please. We need to see the silhouette."
I stood, feeling like a building being inspected for structural integrity. "I already have a wardrobe, Vivienne. Silas had the closet stocked."
"Those are for breakfast, darling," Vivienne said, dismissively waving a hand. "The gala is a battlefield. You need armor. Silas mentioned you prefer forest green and navy, but for this? For your first appearance as his wife? You need to be a statement."
For the next four hours, I was tucked, pinned, and measured. They draped me in fabrics that felt like liquid moonlight and others that were as heavy as chainmail. Between the fittings, Silas's personal assistant, a sharp-eyed woman named Clara, sat me down with a digital dossier.
"These are the players," Clara said, swiping through photos on a tablet. "Uncle Marcus. He's the one who will try to make you feel like you've known him your whole life. He likes to talk about his 'charitable foundations,' but he's actually laundering money through offshore accounts in the Caymans. Don't mention the word 'audit' around him."
I looked at Marcus Vane. He had a soft, friendly face that didn't match the coldness of Silas's features. He looked like the kind of man who would give you a hug while picking your pocket.
"And Uncle Julian?" I asked.
"A predator," Clara said bluntly. "He has a gambling problem and a temper. He'll try to provoke you. He wants to see if you'll crack under pressure. If he makes a comment about your father's health or the Miller scandal, you don't flinch. You smile, and you remind him that his latest casino project is currently six months behind schedule."
I felt like I was being programmed. Names, dates, scandals, and preferences were fed to me like data. By the time the sun began to set, my head was spinning.
"That's enough for today," a voice said from the doorway.
Silas was leaning against the frame, his tie loosened, looking like he had just come from a grueling board meeting. He signaled for Vivienne and Clara to leave. They moved with a synchronized efficiency that suggested Silas's word was law in this house.
He walked over to the rack of gowns and pulled back the black silk of the final dress Vivienne had selected. It was a gown of deep, midnight emerald—a shade so dark it was almost black, but when the light hit it, it shimmered with a hidden fire. It was backless, with a neckline that was sophisticated but dangerously low.
"This one," Silas said, his voice dropping. "You'll wear this."
"It's a bit... aggressive, don't you think?" I asked, walking over to stand beside him.
"You're entering a den of lions, Evelyn. You shouldn't look like a lamb." He turned to face me, his gaze traveling over my face with an intensity that made my breath hitch. "How are you holding up? The information dump is usually the part that makes people want to run for the hills."
"I've dealt with city planners and construction unions since I was twenty-one, Silas. Your uncles are just another set of difficult clients with bad attitudes. I can handle them."
"I don't doubt it," he said. He reached out, his hand hovering near my shoulder before he seemed to think better of it and dropped it to his side. "But Marcus is already here. He's waiting in the lounge. He 'insisted' on a pre-gala drink to welcome you to the family."
"Then I suppose the performance starts now."
"Stay on guard," Silas warned. "He's a chameleon."
We walked down to the lounge together. Marcus Vane was sitting in one of the leather armchairs, swirling a glass of amber liquid. When we entered, he leaped to his feet with a wide, beaming smile that looked almost too perfect.
"Silas! My boy!" Marcus cried, moving forward to clap Silas on the shoulder. He turned his gaze to me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "And this must be the lovely Evelyn. The woman who did the impossible and tamed the Vulture of Wall Street."
He reached for my hand, but instead of a formal shake, he bowed slightly and kissed my knuckles. His skin was dry, and his eyes stayed fixed on mine, searching for a tremor, a hint of fear, or a flicker of uncertainty.
"I wouldn't say I'm tamed, Marcus," Silas said, his voice as cold as the ice in his uncle's glass. "I've just finally found a partner who operates at my level."
"A partner! How romantic," Marcus mused, ushering us toward the sofa. "We were all so shocked, you know. One minute you're the city's most eligible bachelor, and the next, you're stealing the Vance girl right out from under the Millers' noses. It's the kind of drama our family hasn't seen in decades. My brother Julian is still convinced it's some kind of elaborate prank."
"I assure you, Uncle Marcus, the marriage certificate is very real," I said, sitting down with a grace I didn't know I possessed. I crossed my legs, letting the silk of my dress fall perfectly. "And while I appreciate the concern, the Millers were never a good fit for the Vance legacy. Silas and I simply recognized a mutual interest that couldn't wait."
Marcus raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by my poise. "A mutual interest. How pragmatic. And here I was hoping for a story about a whirlwind romance in a dark hallway."
"Some stories are better kept private," I replied, tilting my head slightly. "Just like some charitable foundations are better kept... well, charitable."
Marcus froze for a fraction of a second, the smile on his face faltering just enough for me to see the shark beneath the skin. He looked at Silas, then back to me. The playfulness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating respect.
"She's quick, Silas," Marcus said, his voice losing its jovial edge. "I see why you picked her. She has that Vance steel."
"She has more than that," Silas said. He sat down next to me, draped an arm over the back of the sofa, and pulled me toward him. The movement was so natural, so effortlessly intimate, that I felt a genuine shiver. "She has my full confidence. Which means she has the full weight of Vane International behind her. I'd suggest you remember that when you're talking to the board tomorrow."
Marcus laughed, but it was a dry, hollow sound. "Always the businessman, Silas. Even with your bride. Well, I won't keep you. I just wanted to see if the rumors were true."
"And?" I asked.
Marcus stood up, smoothing his expensive suit. "The rumors didn't do you justice, Evelyn. You're much more dangerous than Page Six led us to believe."
He nodded to us both and strolled toward the elevator. The moment the doors closed, I felt the air leave my lungs in a long, shaky exhale. I slumped against the sofa, my heart racing.
"That was... intense," I whispered.
"You held your own," Silas said. He didn't move his arm. He was still looking at the elevator doors, his jaw tight. "He was testing the waters. He knows now that you aren't a victim. That makes him more dangerous, but it also means he'll be more cautious."
I turned to look at him. "He's terrifying, Silas. He smiles while he's measuring your coffin."
"That's the Vane way," Silas said. He finally looked at me, his gaze softening. "But you handled him better than I expected. You used the dossier I gave you perfectly."
"I told you, I'm a quick study."
The silence between us stretched out, but it wasn't the cold silence of the morning. It was warm, charged with the shared adrenaline of the encounter. Silas reached out, his thumb grazing the line of my jaw, just as he had in the hallway. This time, I didn't pull away.
"Tomorrow night is the gala," he said softly. "The whole city will be watching. Marcus was just the opening act. My grandfather will be there, Julian will be there, and every rival I've ever made will be looking for a way to trip us up."
"Then we'll just have to make sure we don't trip," I said.
Silas leaned in, his face inches from mine. I could see the flecks of gold in his grey eyes. For a heartbeat, I thought he was going to kiss me, not for the cameras, not for a contract, but because he wanted to.
"I won't let them touch you, Evelyn," he promised.
He stood up abruptly, breaking the spell. "Get some sleep. You'll need it."
He walked away, leaving me alone in the lounge with the taste of sandalwood and the echo of a promise. I looked at the emerald gown hanging on the rack in the hallway, its sequins catching the dim light.
Tomorrow, I would walk into the lion's den. But for the first time, I realized I wasn't just worried about the lions. I was worried about the man leading me into the cage, and the fact that I was starting to trust him.