A Bride By Bet, Bound By Paper

Chapter 4 – Mrs Harrington

Elena’s POV

Elena froze, her hand hovering over the chair. The room had gone silent, all eyes turned to the staircase.

“That is my seat,” the voice repeated.

It dripped with entitlement. Elena turned slowly, finding herself face-to-face with a tall woman in her mid-twenties, slender and elegant looking.

“Wyatt, you should teach your playthings to be respectful,” she snorted, tossing her hair as she moved to sit.

But Granny’s voice cut in, “Jane, that is not a way to talk to the daughter of this family.”

Jane’s eyes narrowed, scanning Elena briefly. “Wyatt, she is in my seat,” she pressed, her tone growing overbearing.

“You must be mistaken,” Wyatt said coolly, sliding a hand around Elena’s waist. His grip was firm, protective. “My wife sits beside me.”

The woman’s lips parted in disbelief. “Wife?” The word cracked like a whip. She shifted her glare to Elena, scanning her from head to toe. This time, she didn’t bother to hide her disgust. “This… girl?”

Elena straightened, forcing herself to meet her stare. Her heart raced, but she refused to shrink. “Yes. This girl.”

She flashed a knowing smile, openly annoying Jane, who stormed off to another seat.

Wyatt’s half-brother, Ryan, leaned forward, smirking. “Well, at least she’s bold and very beautiful.”

“She is also very much taken,” Wyatt added coldly. His eyes firm.

“Bold or foolish,we’ll see,” Jane sneered, stabbing her fork into her food.

Elena sat down gracefully, focusing on her plate. She could feel Wyatt watching her, it made her shy, unsettled. Then she realized he was subtly teaching her which utensil to use. She adapted quickly before anyone else could notice.

Dinner began, conversation shifting to business, company expansions, boardroom politics, profit margins.

“So, Mrs. Harrington,” an older woman who had been silent until then finally spoke, “what exactly do you do? I hope you do not leech off Wyatt. My son is very generous.”

“I am not your son,” Wyatt spat back. His voice had an edge, like this wasn’t the first time he had said it.

The woman laughed mockingly, though her eyes never left Elena.

Elena noticed. That only made her lips curve upward. She was the target tonight.

“I’m currently a student at Rue Law,” she announced proudly.

“Isn’t that the same law school Jane applied to but didn’t get into?” Granny asked, looking around the table.

Jane’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing at Elena. “That means you must be rich to fund it all. Or will Wyatt be paying for you?”

Elena shook her head, no humility in her tone. “I was awarded a scholarship.”

“Brilliance!” Grandma clapped lightly, her wrinkled face breaking into a smile. “Was that why you and Wyatt were keeping things under wraps?”

Elena looked down briefly before lifting her gaze, first to Wyatt, then slowly to Grandma and Grandpa. “I wasn’t feeling worthy enough. I wanted something worth talking about.”

“Bethy, she reminds me of you back in our college years,” Grandpa said, holding Grandma’s hand affectionately.

Elena’s chest loosened a fraction as Grandma chuckled softly. Across the table, Jane bristled, stabbing her steak harder than necessary.

Dinner carried on with less hostility, though Elena could still feel daggers in the glances and smirks sent her way. Wyatt now calm, leaned back in his chair, watching her like he was memorizing her face.

When dessert ended, Wyatt rose, pulling her chair out like a gentleman. His hand lingered a second too long on her back as they left the dining room.

“We will be leaving now, Granny. Elena has school tomorrow,” he announced proudly.

“Please do well to visit us more often, okay, Elena?” Grandma’s eyes stayed fixed on her.

Elena nodded shyly as she entered the car, settling in. Wyatt climbed in after her, silent, but she could feel his gaze even as they drove out.

The ride back to the villa was quiet. Elena stared out the window, exhausted but strangely proud. She had survived and even learned a few things.

Arriving at Wyatt’s residence, the house was dim, the maids finishing up their tasks.

“I’ll be going to bed now,” she excused herself, retreating upstairs.

“Thank you for dinner and everything,” Wyatt said suddenly. His tone was low, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t used to saying it.

“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you,” she replied, slipping past him. “It’s in my contract to be your wife. Just doing my job.”

Wyatt’s jaw tightened, but he only nodded. “The revised paper will be ready tomorrow. And then we can go for Stacy’s funeral. Everything has been set.”

Elena swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

“Just doing my job as a husband,” he joked lightly, though his eyes lingered on her longer than the words allowed.

Elena smiled weakly, brushing off any idea from her mind and walked away.

Later, after finishing her nightly routine, Elena lay in bed, but sleep refused to come. After tossing and turning, she finally grabbed her robe and wandered downstairs.

That’s when she heard the hushed voices of the maids in the kitchen.

“She’s nothing but another plaything,” one whispered.

“Did you see how he was flirting with her? He does that with everything he brings in,” another added.

“Like he said yesterday, I think, once he gets her in his bed, that will be it.”

“He did say it. Honestly, I feel bad for her. She looks decent.”

“When it comes to our master, no woman keeps her decency intact. They’re all dogs!”

Elena stiffened, her fists curling. Slowly, she walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed her water, and closed it without a word.

The maids froze, eyes wide.

And then, Wyatt’s voice.

“Elena.”

He stood at the end of the hall, his expression unreadable—but his eyes told another story, like he wanted to say something but didn't know how.

“Elena, I—” His voice trailed off, breaking slightly. He didn’t move closer. He just stared, like she would pull the ground out from beneath him.

Elena looked away first, disappointment clawing at her chest, tired of waiting, she walked past him, brushing his shoulders lightly.

She paused, whispering softly, “Let’s keep this business, husband. Five hundred twenty-nine days more.”

His hand reached out, almost touching her arm, but he stopped himself, his fingers curling into a fist. She pulled away and climbed the stairs without another word.