The Silverton estate rivaled the Blackwoods' in grandeur, though it favored sleek modern architecture over Gothic drama. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked manicured gardens, and minimalist furniture in shades of white and gray filled the spacious rooms. It was beautiful but sterile, lacking the lived-in feeling of the Blackwood mansion despite its perfection.

"Breathe," Caleb murmured as we stood at the entrance, his hand warm against the small of my back. "You look beautiful. You've memorized everything you need to know. Just be yourself—with the adjustments we discussed."


I nodded, grateful for his reassurance even as butterflies swarmed in my stomach. I was wearing the midnight blue dress we'd selected, my hair styled in loose waves, wearing more makeup than usual but still looking natural. Caleb was devastatingly handsome in a charcoal suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and made his unusual eyes stand out even more.

"Mr. Blackwood," a uniformed staff member greeted us. "Miss Mitchell. Please, follow me."

As we entered the main reception room, I was acutely aware of the eyes that turned in our direction. Conversations paused. Assessments were made. I straightened my spine, remembering Caleb's coaching about posture and presence.


"Caleb!" A distinguished older man with silver hair approached, his smile warm but his eyes sharp. "So glad you could join us. And this must be the young lady we've been hearing about."

"Richard," Caleb greeted him with a respectful nod. "May I introduce Evelyn Mitchell. Eve, this is Richard Silverton, our host."


"A pleasure, Mr. Silverton," I said, offering my hand as I'd been instructed.

Instead of shaking it, he clasped it between both of his, his grip firm but not uncomfortable. "The pleasure is mine, my dear. We've all been curious about the woman who finally captured our lone wolf's attention."

There was that phrase again—"lone wolf." I was beginning to think it was some kind of inside joke.

"Hardly captured," I replied with a small smile. "More like... reached an understanding."

Richard laughed, seeming genuinely delighted. "Spirited! I can see why you're drawn to her, Caleb."

I felt Caleb's hand press slightly more firmly against my back—approval, I realized. I'd said the right thing.

"Eve is unlike anyone I've ever met," Caleb said, his voice carrying a warmth I hadn't heard before. When I glanced up at him, the look in his eyes made my heart skip—tender, admiring, completely convincing. If I didn't know better, I'd have believed he was truly smitten.

Richard led us further into the room, introducing us to various guests—business associates, family members, people whose connections to the Blackwoods weren't entirely clear but who all seemed to regard Caleb with a mixture of respect and wariness.

I played my part, smiling and engaging in small talk, letting Caleb guide me with subtle touches—a hand at my waist, fingers brushing mine, the occasional gentle touch to my shoulder or back. Each contact sent awareness skittering across my skin, making it increasingly difficult to remember this was all pretend.

"Well, well," a cool female voice interrupted as we were speaking with an elderly couple about their recent trip to Europe. "The rumors are true. Caleb Blackwood has finally decided to join civilization."

I turned to find myself face-to-face with Vivian Winters, even more striking in person than in her photograph. Her platinum hair was pulled back in an elegant chignon, her ice-blue eyes assessing me with clinical precision.

"Vivian," Caleb acknowledged, his tone neutral but his body tensing beside me. "You remember Eve Mitchell."

"I don't believe we've met," she said, her perfect smile not reaching her eyes.

"No, we haven't," I agreed pleasantly. "But I've heard about you."

"All good things, I hope?" Her gaze flicked to Caleb, something possessive in her expression that made me instinctively move closer to him.

"Mostly professional admiration," I said diplomatically. "Your work with the Winters Foundation is impressive."

She looked momentarily surprised that I knew about her charitable organization, but recovered quickly. "Thank you. It's a passion project." She turned her attention fully to Caleb. "Your uncle mentioned you've been seeing each other for some time. How... interesting that none of us knew."

"Eve values her privacy," Caleb said smoothly. "As do I."

"Clearly." Vivian's smile turned sharp. "Though I can't help but wonder about the timing. Just when the council is considering your readiness for leadership, you suddenly produce a... girlfriend."

The way she said "girlfriend"—like it was a dubious claim—made my hackles rise. Without thinking, I slipped my arm through Caleb's, leaning into him slightly.

"There's nothing sudden about us," I said, meeting her gaze steadily. "Though I understand why it might seem that way to outsiders."

Vivian's eyes narrowed at the subtle emphasis on "outsiders." Before she could respond, Lucas appeared at our side, his timing impeccable.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, not sounding sorry at all, "but Richard is asking for you both. Something about wanting Eve's opinion on his rare book collection."

"Of course," Caleb said, nodding politely to Vivian. "If you'll excuse us."

As we walked away, I could feel her eyes boring into my back. "I think I just made an enemy," I murmured to Caleb.

"You handled her perfectly," he replied, his voice low. "Standing your ground without being aggressive. Claiming your place at my side."

"It wasn't entirely an act," I admitted. "There's something about her that rubs me the wrong way."

"Your instincts are good." His hand moved to the small of my back again, guiding me toward a quieter corner of the room. "Vivian is dangerous. She's been raised to believe she's entitled to certain... alliances. Me being one of them."

"She looks at you like you're property," I observed.

"In her world, I am." His expression darkened. "A valuable asset to be acquired."

Before I could ask what he meant, Richard Silverton approached again, this time with a younger man who bore a striking resemblance to him—same strong jaw, same keen eyes, though his hair was dark blond rather than silver.

"Caleb, Eve, I'd like you to meet my son, James," Richard said. "He's just returned from overseeing our interests in Europe."

James Silverton was handsome in a polished, conventional way, with an easy charm that seemed practiced but effective. "The famous Eve Mitchell," he said, taking my hand and holding it a moment longer than necessary. "Father's been singing your praises since you arrived."

"Hardly famous," I demurred, gently extracting my hand. "And we've only just met."

"Sometimes a first impression is all it takes." His gaze was appreciative in a way that made me uncomfortable. "Especially when it's as striking as yours."

I felt Caleb tense beside me, a subtle shift in his posture that somehow made him seem larger, more imposing. "Eve has that effect on people," he said, his tone pleasant but with an underlying edge I hadn't heard before.

James's eyes flicked between us, something calculating in his expression. "Indeed. You're a fortunate man, Caleb."

"I'm aware," Caleb replied, his arm sliding around my waist in a gesture that was both protective and possessive.

The tension between the two men was palpable, though their smiles remained fixed. Richard cleared his throat, clearly sensing the undercurrent.

"James, why don't you tell Eve about that first edition Austen you acquired in London? I believe English literature is her field of study."

The mention of books provided safe conversational ground, and soon we were discussing rare editions and literary preferences. James was knowledgeable and engaging when not being overtly flirtatious, and I found myself genuinely enjoying the conversation despite Caleb's continued tension beside me.

As dinner was announced, Caleb guided me toward the dining room, his head bent close to mine. "You're doing wonderfully," he murmured. "Everyone is charmed."

"Even your uncle?" I glanced toward Marcus, who was watching us with narrowed eyes from across the room.

"Especially him," Caleb said with grim satisfaction. "He's trying to figure out if you're a temporary distraction or a genuine threat to his plans."

"And what am I?" I asked, only half-joking.

Caleb's eyes met mine, something unreadable in their amber depths. "You're becoming more than either of us anticipated, I think."

The cryptic response sent a shiver down my spine, but before I could ask him to elaborate, we were being seated at the long dining table. I found myself between Caleb and an elderly woman who introduced herself as Margaret Thornton, Lucas's grandmother.

"So you're the one who's tamed our Caleb," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "We were beginning to think it couldn't be done."

"I wouldn't say tamed," I replied, smiling despite myself. "More like... reached a mutual understanding."

She laughed, a surprisingly robust sound from such a delicate-looking woman. "Well put! The best relationships are partnerships, not conquests." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You have an old soul, child. I can see it in your eyes."

Something about her manner—grandmotherly but with an underlying sharpness—reminded me of my own grandmother, who had always claimed to "see things others missed."

"Thank you, I think," I said, unsure how to respond to such an assessment.

"It was a compliment," she assured me. "And a rare one, from me. Ask Lucas—I'm notoriously difficult to impress."

"It's true," Lucas called from across the table, his hearing apparently much better than I would have expected. "Grandmother has terrified every girlfriend I've ever introduced to the family."

Conversation flowed more easily after that, though I noticed Caleb remained vigilant, his attention constantly shifting between our immediate companions and the broader dynamics of the room. He was particularly watchful whenever James Silverton spoke to me, his hand finding mine under the table as if to remind everyone of his claim.