The tension in the grand dining room was thick enough to slice with a dessert spoon. Every conversation had gone silent the second Thaddeus and Sabrina stepped into view, the only sound now coming from the soft clinking of a glass set down a little too gently.
Sabrina instinctively adjusted the strap of her dress, and the clutch bag suddenly felt like a prop in someone else's play. She could feel every stare, every fake smile and squinting eye trying to assess where she came from, what she was doing here—and more importantly, why she was with him.
Thaddeus, of course, looked completely at ease. If he noticed the judgment in the air, he didn't show it. He walked with quiet confidence toward the head of the long, polished table, giving only a nod of greeting to the guests who were clearly caught off guard by their arrival.
Then, he stopped.
"My apologies for the delay," Thaddeus said, his voice calm and clear, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. "We had an appointment to attend."
He didn't smile and explain further.
Then, slightly shifting his stance, he turned toward Sabrina, resting one hand lightly at the small of her back. "Everyone," he said, with the tone of someone announcing a business merger, "this is my wife, Sabrina Dinsmore."
The silence stretched for half a beat longer than polite society allowed.
Then came the soft, shocked clink of Cynthia Rodgers's wine glass tapping the table.
Thaddeus continued, unbothered. "Sabrina, this is my father, Matthias Aldric Gillcrest."
An older man at the head of the table gave a small nod. Stern face. Tailored suit. Not warm, but not cruel—just calculated.
"And my mother, Genevieve."
The woman beside Matthias didn't move much—just a glance up, sharp and cool, as if sizing Sabrina up from behind a glass wall.
"My sister, Madeleine."
The young woman seated farther down smiled slightly, giving Sabrina a little wave that somehow looked both kind and amused. Her eyes sparkled with the thrill of unexpected drama.
"And over there," Thaddeus added, gaze flicking toward the woman in red, "is Cynthia Rodgers. And her parents, Mark and Joanna."
Cynthia smiled again, still too smooth. "Well. It's wonderful to meet you, Sabrina," she said, voice coated in syrup. "This was… quite the surprise."
Sabrina blinked, then offered a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, it usually is when the groom brings the bride to dinner after the salad course."
Mark Rodgers gave a stiff chuckle. Joanna just sipped her wine.
Thaddeus pulled out a chair at the far end of the table and gestured for Sabrina to sit. "Let's sit," he said casually, as if this wasn't a strategic bomb he'd just dropped in the middle of high society's most tightly wound gathering.
Sabrina sat slowly, still trying to process it all. They didn't toast. No one clapped. The room had shifted—subtle, tense, filled with glances passed like coded messages.
And Thaddeus?
He just poured himself a glass of wine, calm as ever, like he hadn't just introduced the unexpected queen to a table full of potential backstabbers.
Sabrina smoothed her dress as she lowered herself into the chair Thaddeus pulled out for her, doing her best not to let her trembling knees betray her. The second she sat, the air around her seemed to grow heavier—thick with unspoken questions and too many eyes still watching her like she was a wild card that had landed face-up in a game she hadn't agreed to play.
Across the table, Genevieve, the mother-in-law with eyes like polished steel, set her napkin delicately in her lap before speaking.
"I see your taste in timing remains... unconventional, Thaddeus."
Thaddeus didn't even flinch. "You always said I should keep things interesting."
Matthias, the father-in-law, simply let out a low exhale through his nose, sipping his wine like none of this was worth raising a real reaction. His expression didn't budge—neither welcoming nor disapproving. Just observant. Evaluating.
Madeleine, however, leaned forward slightly, lips twitching in barely hidden amusement. "So... surprise wife. That's a new one. I usually have to hear about your scandals on the finance blogs, not at dinner."
Thaddeus gave a dry look. "It's not a scandal."
"Yet," Madeleine said under her breath, her grin growing.
Sabrina cleared her throat. "Right. Hi. I'm... Sabrina."
All eyes turned to her again. She felt like a guest speaker who'd missed the memo on the dress code and topic.
"I run a restaurant," she added lamely, then looked directly at Genevieve, as if trying to disarm a bomb with a smile. "Well, it's more like a humble, borderline-struggling eatery, but people like the food."
Genevieve didn't blink. "How quaint."
Sabrina wasn't sure if that was an insult or an allergic reaction to authenticity.
Sitting with one elbow on the table and raising her wine glass, Cynthia smiled sweetly. "You'll have to share the recipe sometime. I'm sure we'd all love to try... home cooking."
"Of course," Sabrina said, returning the same sugary tone. "As long as no one's allergic to honesty and garlic."
Madeleine snorted into her water.
Joanna Rodgers placed a perfectly manicured hand on her husband's arm and finally chimed in, "And how long have you two been married? I can't imagine we would've missed such an important announcement."
Thaddeus answered coolly. "It was a private ceremony. No press. No guests."
Matthias finally spoke, voice low and firm. "Why now, Thaddeus?"
Thaddeus didn't hesitate. "Because I wanted to. And because it's none of your business."
Sabrina blinked. Oh. Okay then.
Cynthia's smile stiffened just a little. "Well. That's certainly... bold."
Sabrina smiled back. "Bold's his thing. Apparently, so is catching people off guard."
For a moment, no one said anything. Then the hum of conversation resumed, quietly, as though the after-dinner party had never been interrupted at all.
But the shift was there—every look, every whisper behind wine glasses. Sabrina knew she had just been dropped in the middle of a very well-dressed war zone.
Cynthia leaned in slightly, that polished smile still glued to her face like it was sewn on. "So, Sabrina," she said, voice light, almost warm, "Thaddeus didn't tell us much about you. But I suppose he's always been...private."
Sabrina returned the smile, but only with her mouth. Her eyes stayed sharp.
Cynthia's tone was sweet, her posture relaxed, but Sabrina had worked in a restaurant long enough to recognize when someone was trying to cut you with a butter knife while pretending to pass the salt. Everything about her was too smooth, too rehearsed—like she'd practiced being nice in the mirror before dinner.
"I'm surprised we haven't met before," Cynthia continued, tilting her head just enough to feign curiosity. "I thought I knew most of Thaddeus's... acquaintances."
Sabrina picked up her water glass and took a small sip, never breaking eye contact. "Yeah, I tend to stay off the social radar. It helps avoid confusing labels like acquaintance and ex."
There was the tiniest flicker in Cynthia's eye—barely a blink, but it was there.
Sabrina clocked it instantly. That was the thing about liars with perfect smiles. They could say all the right things, wear all the right clothes, even toast you with crystal glasses—but their eyes always gave them away.
Cynthia laughed softly, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that. I'm happy for you both, truly. It must be nice—starting fresh."
Sabrina nodded slowly, setting her glass back down. "It is. Clean slates are underrated."
Cynthia kept smiling, but her fingers tightened just a touch around the stem of her glass. Sabrina noticed that too.
Across the table, Madeleine looked like she was barely holding in a laugh, poking at her salad with an expression that said this is better than dessert.
Thaddeus remained impassive, watching the silent exchange unfold without so much as a word. Of course he did. He'd dropped her into this viper pit on purpose, probably knowing full well that Cynthia would put on her best pageant face and pretend to be harmless.
But Sabrina wasn't fooled. She'd seen that look before—the kind that masked sharp intentions under glossed lips and perfect posture. Cynthia wasn't here to be nice.
She was here to measure the threat.
Sabrina smiled again, softer this time, more dangerous.
Let her measure all she wanted. She'd brought heels and a sense of humor. She could play too.