Forced to marry my husband's killer

Chapter Five: Cold reception

The dining hall of the Caldwell estate was magnificent, but Elena could not appreciate its grandeur. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the faces of the family members seated at the long, gleaming mahogany table. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, and Elena couldn’t shake the feeling that she was a mere intruder among them.

The table was set with exquisite china and crystal glasses, each piece carefully arranged on the white lace tablecloth. A large chandelier hung overhead, its golden light casting soft shadows on the walls. A fire crackled in the ornate fireplace at the far end of the room, but its warmth did nothing to thaw the chill in the air.

Victor sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the room with a calm, unreadable expression. Elena was seated to his right, the place of honor, but she felt anything but honored. She felt like a lamb led to s*******r, surrounded by wolves dressed in silk and pearls.

To Victor's left sat an older woman with a stern face and sharp, calculating eyes. Elena recognized her from the brief introductions earlier as Victor’s mother, Margaret Caldwell. Her graying hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her lips were pressed into a thin line of disapproval. She had barely acknowledged Elena’s presence, offering only a curt nod when they were introduced.

Next to Margaret sat Vivian Caldwell, Victor’s sister, a woman in her mid-thirties with striking blonde hair and cold blue eyes that mirrored Victor’s. She hadn’t bothered to hide her disdain for Elena, her gaze lingering on her with a mix of amusement and condescension. Vivian’s husband, a balding man with a perpetually sour expression, sat beside her, looking equally unimpressed.

Across the table, a few other relatives were engaged in hushed conversations, their eyes occasionally flickering over to Elena with barely concealed curiosity and judgment. It was clear they viewed her as an outsider, a new addition they neither welcomed nor respected.

A servant appeared, pouring wine into each of their glasses. Victor raised his glass slightly, a gesture that seemed more a formality than a genuine toast. “To new beginnings,” he said, his voice steady and emotionless.

“To new beginnings,” the others echoed, though Elena noted the lack of enthusiasm in their voices. She raised her glass, forcing a smile, but her heart wasn’t in it. She took a sip, the wine bitter on her tongue.

As the meal was served—a sumptuous spread of roast lamb, steamed vegetables, and delicate pastries—the room settled into a strained silence. Elena picked at her food, her appetite gone. She felt eyes on her, but no one spoke directly to her. It was as if she were invisible, a ghost at the table.

Finally, Margaret broke the silence, her voice cold and clipped. “So, Elena,” she began, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Tell us about yourself. What exactly do you do?”

Elena swallowed, feeling the weight of every gaze turn toward her. “I—uh, I used to manage my late husband’s estate,” she said carefully. “He was involved in several business ventures, and I helped with the finances and administration.”

Margaret raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a faint, disbelieving smile. “Oh, I see. So you’re familiar with the business world, then?”

“Somewhat,” Elena replied, trying to keep her tone even. “I’m not an expert, but I’ve learned a few things over the years.”

Vivian snorted softly, barely masking her disdain. “Well, you’ll find the Caldwells operate on a much different level than whatever you were accustomed to,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “We don’t just manage estates. We own them.”

A few of the others chuckled softly at her remark, and Elena felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She glanced at Victor, hoping for some support, but his expression remained impassive, his attention seemingly focused on his plate.

“I’m sure I’ll learn,” Elena said, forcing a smile. “I’m a quick study.”

Vivian’s husband chuckled. “Oh, we’ll see about that,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “The Caldwell business isn’t exactly something you can pick up overnight.”

Elena nodded, swallowing her pride. She had expected a cool reception, but the overt hostility took her by surprise. It was as if they were testing her, pushing her to see how she would react. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she had faced worse. She would not let them see her falter.

Margaret leaned forward, her eyes narrowing even further. “And what are your plans now that you’re… Mrs. Caldwell?” she asked, the title dripping from her lips like a bitter pill. “Do you intend to contribute in some way, or will you be… a decoration?”