Collateral Bride

CHAPTER SEVEN - THE DINNER TABLE

The mansion’s great dining hall gleamed like something out of a gothic fairytale. A massive chandelier hung from the high ceiling, dripping crystal light across a table so long it seemed to stretch into eternity.

Kimberly paused at the threshold, her breath faltering. Servants lined the walls like silent statues. The air was thick with power—heavy, suffocating.

Jake’s hand pressed lightly against the small of her back. “Breathe,” he murmured, his voice too low for anyone else to hear.

She straightened her spine, forcing her trembling legs to carry her forward. Tonight wasn’t just dinner. Tonight was her presentation. Her judgment.

Vincent Pierre sat at the head of the table, a king on his throne. His cold eyes followed every step she took. Beside him sat a woman Kimberly hadn’t expected—graceful, dressed in silk, with warm eyes that softened the edges of the cold room. Jake’s mother.

Kimberly’s heart jolted.

“Sit,” Vincent commanded.

Jake led her to the seat beside him, directly across from his father. Kimberly sat, folding her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking.

Food was served—plates of roasted duck, truffle potatoes, and wines older than she was. But no one touched their forks at first.

“So,” Vincent drawled, swirling his glass of red wine. “The girl who cost me a deal and gained me a daughter-in-law. Tell me, Kimberly… was it worth it?”

Her chest constricted. Every eye was on her.

Jake’s mother leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle. “Vincent.”

But the old man didn’t relent. He smiled, cruel and sharp. “I like to know what kind of woman my son has chained himself to. Do you bite? Or do you whimper?”

Kimberly opened her mouth, then closed it again. She felt Jake’s hand slide beneath the table, resting over hers. The heat of his palm grounded her, but his grip carried a warning: choose carefully.

She lifted her chin. “I don’t whimper.”

The words left her trembling, but she didn’t look away. Vincent’s gaze narrowed, studying her like prey that had dared to bare its teeth. Then, slowly, his smile widened.

“Good,” he said, finally lifting his fork. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Conversation picked up, but the air remained tense. Jake’s mother—Elena—leaned toward Kimberly, her eyes kind. “Ignore his sharp tongue, dear. He tests everyone. Even me.”

For the first time since entering, Kimberly felt something warm. Elena’s voice carried no malice, only understanding.

But the reprieve didn’t last.

Halfway through dinner, Vincent set down his wine glass and fixed his gaze on Jake. “When will she give us an heir?”

The room went silent. Kimberly froze, the blood draining from her face.

Jake’s jaw tightened. “That’s none of your concern.”

“None of my concern?” Vincent scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I built this empire. I won’t have it fall apart because my son plays house with a girl too frightened to warm his bed.”

Heat rose in Kimberly’s chest—shame, anger, fear. She gripped her napkin so tightly it tore.

Jake’s hand tightened over hers again, harder this time. “Careful,” he warned, his voice like ice.

For a moment, father and son locked eyes across the table. The air crackled with silent fury. Then Vincent leaned back, satisfied with the damage he had caused.

Elena reached across the table, her fingers brushing Kimberly’s hand gently. “Don’t let him scare you,” she whispered.

Kimberly blinked at her, her chest tightening with gratitude.

Dinner ended with more tension than food consumed. As the servants cleared the table, Vincent rose and left without a word, his presence lingering like smoke after a fire.

Jake led Kimberly back toward their wing of the mansion. Neither spoke until they reached the hallway.

Then, suddenly, Jake pulled her into a shadowed alcove, his hand braced against the wall beside her head. His eyes burned into hers.

“Don’t let him see you break,” he said harshly. “Not ever. He will destroy you if you give him weakness.”

Kimberly’s lips parted. “And what about you? Are you protecting me from him… or using me to fight your war?”

For a moment, Jake’s expression cracked—something vulnerable flickered in his gaze. But just as quickly, the mask returned.

“Go to bed,” he ordered, stepping back. “You’ll need your strength.”

She stared after him as he walked away, her heart racing.

Because for the first time, Kimberly realized she wasn’t just surviving Jake.

She was surviving the entire Pierre empire.

And somewhere deep inside, a dangerous thought began to take root: What if she learned to fight back?