Forced To Marry My Dead Fiance's Brother

017 Round One

Christabel

The Fontaine gala looked exactly like every scene in a movie I used to watch alone with a bowl of cheap pasta, except this time the chandeliers were real crystal and I was wearing a dress that cost more than my father's monthly rent, and nobody handed me a script for how to act like I belonged here.

"You look like you're calculating an escape route," Sebastian murmured, his hand warm at the small of my back as we crossed the ballroom floor, both of us performing a version of ease that neither of us actually felt.

"I'm calculating how many of these people already know I'm the woman from the tabloids."

"All of them. Ignore it. Smile like you're the one who should be pitied for having to be seen with me."

That startled a real laugh out of me, quick and surprised, and I caught more than one head turning toward the sound, curious, cataloguing, exactly the way Beatrix had warned me people in this world would.

The evening went smoother than I expected for the first hour. Sebastian introduced me to a rotation of investors and old money couples who all had the same polished, careful way of asking questions that weren't really questions, more like traps disguised as small talk, and I found, to my own surprise, that I was good at it, deflecting with humor, redirecting with warmth, watching Sebastian's shoulders loosen slightly every time I managed to charm someone he clearly needed charmed.

"You're better at this than I expected," he said quietly, during a rare lull, his hand finding mine under the cover of the crowd.

"Don't sound so shocked."

"I'm not shocked. I'm impressed." His thumb moved absently over my knuckles, a small unconscious gesture that did something complicated to my chest. "Fontaine hasn't stopped watching us since we walked in. I think you might have just saved this deal."

"We might have saved this deal."

"Fine. We."

It was the closest thing to a genuinely happy moment I'd had in weeks, standing there under crystal light with his hand in mine, and I let myself have it, just for a second, before Evelyn found us exactly the way I'd known she eventually would.

"Sebastian. Christabel." She said my name like it cost her something to include it. "You both look wonderful. Doesn't marriage suit you."

"Evelyn." Sebastian's voice had gone flat, careful, the tone he used whenever he was trying very hard not to give her anything to work with.

"I was just telling Margot Fontaine how surprising this whole thing has been. A whirlwind romance, right in the middle of such a tragedy." Evelyn's smile stayed perfectly in place, the kind of smile that had clearly practiced looking sympathetic while saying something entirely unkind. "Though I suppose grief makes people do unpredictable things."

"We're not discussing our marriage with you," I said, keeping my own voice even, pleasant, the way I'd learned an hour into this party that pleasant landed harder than anger ever could in a room like this.

"Of course not. I only mention it because Margot asked how long you two had actually known each other before the engagement, and I didn't want to guess wrong on your behalf." Evelyn's eyes flicked toward Sebastian, sharp, testing. "Three weeks, was it? Four?"

The question hung there, deliberately public, deliberately timed for the small cluster of guests within easy earshot, and I felt Sebastian tense beside me, caught between the truth and the story we'd been asked to sell.

"Long enough," I said, before he could answer, stepping slightly forward, letting my voice carry just enough to reach the same ears Evelyn had been aiming for. "Some people need months to know something's real. Some people just know. I'm sorry that's inconvenient for you, Evelyn, but it's not actually your business how fast it happened."

A small ripple of amusement moved through the nearby guests, quiet, appreciative, the kind of social scorekeeping I hadn't known I was capable of until that exact moment, and Evelyn's smile finally cracked, just slightly, just enough for me to see it.

"Cute," she said. "Enjoy the party."

She left, and Sebastian exhaled slowly beside me, something between relief and disbelief on his face. "Remind me never to underestimate you again."

"Duly noted."

We didn't get much longer to enjoy the small victory. Sebastian's phone buzzed against his hip, once, then again almost immediately, and I watched his face change as he glanced at the screen, whatever ease the night had built draining out of it in seconds.

"What is it," I asked quietly.

"My lawyer." He didn't look up from the phone, thumb scrolling fast. "There's a journalist here tonight, apparently, working on a story about the company. Financial irregularities. He's asking for comment."

"Financial irregularities about what?"

"I don't know yet. Nothing's been flagged in any audit I've seen." His jaw tightened, and for a moment the polished, easy man from an hour ago was gone completely, replaced by the same tense, guarded stranger I'd met at that first cold dinner. "It says the discrepancy traces back before I took over as CEO. Before my father died."

Before I could ask what that meant, a man I didn't recognize approached with a notepad and a photographer trailing two steps behind him, already lifting a camera.

"Mr. Vettel, do you have a comment on the missing funds from the Vettel Corp expansion account? Sources say the discrepancy dates back three years, around the time of your brother's death."

The flash went off before either of us could say a single word, and across the ballroom, I caught sight of Beatrix watching the entire exchange from beside the bar, perfectly still, her wine glass halfway to her lips, an expression on her face that I couldn't read at all, except that it wasn't surprise.