The Wrong Sister

The Approval of Hawks

The summons came an hour after the press conference.

A staff member appeared at Arwen's door, polite and formal. "Mrs. Ravencroft requests your presence in the conservatory."

Arwen's stomach dropped. "Now?"

"Yes, miss."

The conservatory was on the south side of the estate—all glass walls and carefully maintained plants. Marcelline sat at a small table, a tea service laid out in front of her.

She looked up as Arwen entered. "Sit."

Arwen sat, her hands folded in her lap to keep them from shaking.

Marcelline poured tea into two delicate cups. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Just plain, thank you."

"Hmm." Marcelline handed her a cup. "Isolde that I know, always takes two sugars and enough cream to turn it beige. Another change, I see."

Arwen's heart hammered. "I'm trying to cut back on sugar."

"Are you." It wasn't a question. Marcelline sipped her own tea, studying Arwen over the rim. "That performance at the press conference was quite something."

Here it comes.

"I know I went off-script," Arwen said quickly. "Simone had prepared statements, but that reporter asked something I wasn't ready for, and I just..."

"It was adept."

Arwen stopped. "What?"

"Your response. The speech about choosing something real over something performed." Marcelline set down her cup. "Sentimental, certainly. But the markets love sentiment. Our stock price went up three points in the last hour."

"Oh."

"Don't sound so surprised. You handled Evelyn Crowe beautifully. That woman has made a career out of destroying reputations, and you turned her suspicion into applause." Something that might have been approval flickered across Marcelline's face. "I'm impressed."

The words should have felt like victory.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." Marcelline refilled her own cup. "I didn't ask you here to congratulate you. I asked you here to warn you."

"About what?"

"Viktor Ashbourne."

The name meant nothing to Arwen. She kept her face carefully neutral.

"You don't know who that is," Marcelline observed.

"Should I?"

"Yes. If you're going to survive in this family, you need to know your enemies." Marcelline pulled out her phone and showed Arwen a photo. "Viktor Ashbourne. Thirty-five, CEO of Ashbourne Holdings, and the man who wants to destroy everything Caelum has built."

The man in the photo was handsome in a dangerous way with sharp features.

"Why does he want to destroy Caelum?"

"Because my late husband destroyed Viktor's father twenty years ago. Bought out his company, fired him publicly, made an example of him." Marcelline's voice was matter-of-fact. "Viktor has spent his entire adult life building enough power to strike back. And now, with this merger, he sees an opportunity."

"What kind of opportunity?"

"You." Marcelline leaned forward. "A sudden wedding. Changes in appearance and behavior. Viktor is smart enough to know when something doesn't add up. And he'll use any weakness he finds to tear down this merger and embarrass my son."

Arwen's mouth went dry. "You think he suspects something."

"I think he suspects everything. Viktor doesn't need proof to destroy someone, he just needs doubt." Marcelline's eyes were hard. "One rumor about this marriage being a sham, one whisper about the bride being someone other than who she claims to be, and the whole thing collapses. The merger fails. Our stock crashes. Caelum's reputation is ruined."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you are the weakness in this arrangement, my dear. An unknown variable." Marcelline's voice softened slightly. "But I watched you today. The way you handled Evelyn Crowe. The way you thought on your feet. You're smarter than I expected."

"I don't understand."

"See that you become a strength instead of a weakness. Learn the game. Study our enemies. Be more than just a pretty face in a wedding dress." Marcelline stood, smoothing her skirt. "Viktor will be at the wedding. He'll be watching you, looking for cracks. Don't give him any."

"And if I do?"

"Then you've failed my son. And I don't tolerate failure." She moved toward the door, then paused. "One more thing. That speech today about authentic love, was any of it true?"

Arwen looked up, startled. "What do you mean?"

"Do you actually care about Caelum? Or was it just a performance?"

"I barely know him," Arwen said honestly.

"That's not what I asked."

Arwen thought about Caelum's cold efficiency, his calculated touches, the way he looked at her like a problem to solve. But she also thought about the curiosity in his eyes after the press conference.

"I don't know yet," she said finally.

Marcelline studied her for a long moment. "At least you're honest. That's more than Isolde ever was."

She left before Arwen could process what that meant.

Arwen sat alone in the conservatory, her tea growing cold. She thought about Viktor Ashbourne, about enemies she didn't know she had, about being a weakness that needed to become a strength.

She thought about how deep this lie had gotten. How many people were watching her. How many ways she could fail.

The afternoon light was fading when Arwen finally left the conservatory. She wandered through the estate, trying to clear her head, and found herself in front of a set of double doors she hadn't noticed before.

A library, very massive with floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with books.

She stepped inside, breathing in the smell of old paper and leather. This was the first room in the estate that felt remotely human.

She ran her fingers along the spines, reading titles. Philosophy. History. Architecture. Art theory.

Art theory.

Arwen pulled out a book on Renaissance painting and opened it, her chest aching. This was her world. This was what she loved, what she'd studied, what she'd sacrificed to save her family.

"I didn't know you read."

Arwen spun around, nearly dropping the book.

Caelum stood in the doorway, jacket off, tie loosened. He looked less polished than he had at the press conference.

"I do," she said, clutching the book. "I read a lot, actually."

"Hmm." He moved into the room, his eyes scanning the shelves. "You told me you hated reading. Said it was boring."

Arwen's mind raced. "People change. You keep saying that."

"So they do." He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell his cologne. "What are you reading?"

She showed him the book. "Renaissance painting techniques."

His eyebrow lifted. "You studied Art Theory."

"Yes."

"Isolde dropped out after one semester. Said it was a waste of time."

"Maybe I decided it wasn't." Arwen met his gaze. "Maybe I decided I wanted to finish what I started."

He studied her face, that same intense curiosity from earlier returning. "My mother is rarely impressed by anyone. But she was impressed by you today. What are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing at anything."

"Everyone in our world is playing at something." He stepped closer. "You show up here different. Changed hair, changed behavior, changed preferences. You give speeches about authentic love when you told me three weeks ago that love was irrelevant to our arrangement. You flinch when I touch you, but then you deliver performances that make the whole world believe we're in love."

His eyes narrowed. "So I'll ask again. What are you playing at, Isolde?"

Arwen's heart hammered so hard she thought he must hear it. "I'm trying to survive. That's all. Trying to figure out how to be the wife you need while still being myself."

"And who is that? Yourself?"

"I don't know yet." The truth slipped out before she could stop it. "Maybe I'm still figuring that out."

They stood there in the fading light, surrounded by books.

"You're different," Caelum said finally. "From the woman I spoke to on the phone. From the woman at the engagement party. You're... different."

"Is that a problem?"

"I don't know yet." He echoed her words back to her. "But I'm watching you. And I'm very good at solving puzzles."

He left without another word, leaving Arwen alone in the library with a book on Renaissance painting and the terrible certainty that Caelum Ravencroft was getting too close to the truth.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​