Chapter 8: A Seat at His Table
823 Words
The dress was simple.
That was the point.
Soft fabric. Clean lines. Nothing that screamed for attention.
Nothing that begged to be noticed.
Exactly how he wanted it.
Something that makes them underestimate you.
I stared at my reflection one last time.
I didn’t look like I belonged in his world.
But maybe
That was the advantage.
A knock sounded at the door.
“You’re ready.”
His voice.
Calm.
Certain.
I turned.
Sebastian stood there, already dressed in black, his presence filling the room without effort.
His eyes moved over me once.
Brief.
Assessing.
Then—
“Good.”
That was it.
No compliment.
No reaction.
Just approval.
And somehow
That felt more dangerous.
The dining room was larger than the one from this morning.
Longer table.
More seats.
More presence.
And tonight
They were all filled.
Conversation stopped the moment we entered.
Every eye turned.
Every expression sharpened.
Judging.
Me.
I felt it immediately.
The weight of it.
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
Until,
“Well.”
A woman’s voice cut through it.
Smooth.
Controlled.
Cold.
“I was wondering when you’d finally bring her.”
She sat at the far end of the table, her posture perfect, her gaze sharp as it landed on me.
Elegant.
Powerful.
Unquestionably in control.
“Mother,” Sebastian said calmly.
Of course.
I swallowed slightly.
Her eyes moved over me slowly.
Not curious.
Not interested.
Evaluating.
Like I was something to be assessed.
And found lacking.
“This is her?” she asked.
Not to me.
About me.
“Yes.”
One word.
Steady.
Unmoved.
Silence again.
Then a soft, almost amused breath left her.
“I expected more.”
The words landed exactly how she intended them to.
A quiet sting.
I felt it.
But I didn’t react.
Couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
“Sit,” Sebastian said beside me.
I did.
Carefully.
Aware of every movement.
Every glance.
Every silent judgment in the room.
“Name,” his mother said, her attention still fixed on me.
“Ava,” I replied. “Ava Laurent.”
The name still felt new.
But I said it anyway.
Firm.
Steady.
Her eyebrow lifted slightly.
“You adapt quickly.”
“I learn quickly,” I said.
A pause.
Something flickered in her eyes.
Interest.
Brief.
Gone just as fast.
“And what exactly is it that you do, Ava?” another voice asked.
A man this time.
Older.
Sharper.
“I’m—”
“Enough.”
Sebastian’s voice cut in.
Calm.
But final.
Every conversation stopped.
Every gaze shifted.
“She doesn’t need to justify herself.”
Silence.
Thick.
Uncomfortable.
But this time
It wasn’t directed at me.
His mother’s gaze moved to him slowly.
“You’ve made a decision,” she said.
“I have.”
“And you expect us to accept it?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No negotiation.
Just expectation.
A quiet tension filled the room.
Like something fragile had just been tested.
And held.
Barely.
“She’s not from our world,” his mother said.
“I’m aware.”
“She doesn’t understand what this name carries.”
“I’m aware.”
Each response calm.
Controlled.
Unmoved.
“And yet,” she continued, her eyes returning to me, “you bring her here anyway.”
Sebastian didn’t look at her this time.
He looked at me.
“You said you wouldn’t break.”
The words were quiet.
Just for me.
But they grounded me instantly.
I straightened slightly.
Lifted my chin.
And met her gaze.
“I may not be from your world,” I said, my voice steady despite everything inside me.
“But I’m not afraid of it.”
Silence.
Real silence this time.
Not judgment.
Not dismissal.
Something else.
Measured.
His mother leaned back slightly in her chair, her expression unreadable.
Then
A small smile.
Not warm.
Not kind.
But not dismissive either.
“Interesting.”
The word lingered in the air.
And just like that
Something shifted.
Not acceptance.
Not approval.
But not rejection either.
Not yet.
Dinner continued.
Conversation resumed.
But the tension never left.
It lingered in every glance.
Every pause.
Every word left unsaid.
And through it all
Sebastian didn’t look away from me once.
Later
As the room slowly emptied
I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“That was… intense,” I said quietly.
“It was expected.”
Of course it was.
I shook my head slightly. “Your family is—”
“Difficult.”
“That’s one word for it.”
A faint shift touched his expression.
Almost amusement.
Almost.
“You didn’t break.”
I looked at him.
Something in my chest tightened.
“I didn’t.”
“No,” he said quietly.
“You didn’t.”
And for the first time
There was something different in his voice.
Not control.
Not certainty.
Something else.
Approval.
And somehow
That mattered more than it should have.
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