Chapter 8: The Invitation
Ella woke to the soft buzz of her phone and the faint morning light leaking through the curtains.
She blinked, slowly reaching for the screen. A single message glowed back at her.
> From: Ava
"You've been invited to the Women of Influence Luncheon. Lady Duvall specifically requested your presence. It's… not optional."
Ella sat up.
She read the message again, then once more. Not optional.
For a woman who'd married into a contract, she should have expected that even her social calendar came with clauses.
---
Downstairs, the penthouse kitchen was empty except for a croissant, a glass of fresh juice, and a folded note in Xavier's handwriting:
> Meeting in Midtown. Don't skip breakfast. - X.
Ella stared at the note for a long time.
It was simple. Casual.
But it was the first time he'd written anything to her.
Not a reminder. Not a demand.
Just… a sentence with her in mind.
She tucked the note into her planner without thinking and sat down to eat.
---
The luncheon was held at a private garden terrace atop the Langford Hotel — exclusive, pristine, and so thoroughly curated it felt like breathing the inside of a magazine.
Ella arrived dressed in ivory silk and soft makeup. She looked effortless. But she'd tried — hard.
She hated that she wanted them to like her.
Ava met her at the elevator, walking just a step ahead as they approached the glass doors.
"They'll want to test you," Ava said under her breath. "Smile. Say less than you want to. And whatever happens—don't talk about the contract. They're not supposed to know."
"They?"
"Everyone. Especially Lady Duvall."
Ella arched a brow. "And who exactly is Lady Duvall?"
Ava glanced at her. "Xavier's godmother. And a social gatekeeper for half of the east coast's elite. Her approval isn't required—but her disapproval is fatal."
---
Inside, the room was a curated tableau of wealth. Ivory linen tablecloths. Pearl-accented name cards. Waitstaff dressed better than Ella had in college.
The women seated were older, poised, polished like mirrors.
Lady Duvall was seated at the center. White hair pinned into a sleek twist, pearls on her wrist, and a gaze sharp enough to cut glass.
She looked Ella up and down with a tight-lipped smile.
"Well," she said. "So you're the surprise."
Ella forced her most graceful smile. "I've been called worse."
That earned a few polite chuckles. Lady Duvall didn't laugh — but she didn't frown either.
Progress.
---
The luncheon passed in a blur of sparkling water, garden salad, and thinly veiled interrogation.
Where had she gone to school?
What were her interests?
Did she plan on charity work? Children? Hosting galas?
Ella answered carefully, toeing the line between honest and acceptable. She was careful with her tone, her posture, her every glance.
She'd played survival games before — just not in heels.
But what surprised her most was that she didn't feel entirely alone.
Because Xavier had taught her how to read a room.
He'd never meant to, but he had.
Every gesture, every word — they had weight. And Ella, despite herself, was learning how to carry it.
---
After dessert, Lady Duvall requested a moment alone with her.
They stood by the far end of the terrace, out of earshot.
"You handled them well," she said softly.
"Thank you."
"But make no mistake, Ella. This isn't about charm. It's about longevity."
Ella met her eyes. "And you're wondering how long I'll last."
Lady Duvall studied her for a long moment.
"I'm wondering," she said slowly, "if you know what Xavier is capable of… when he's in love."
Ella froze. "He's not—"
Lady Duvall raised a brow. "Oh, darling. He doesn't have to be in love to be dangerous. But if he were? God help anyone who tried to touch you."
Ella's heart stuttered.
There was no threat in her voice — only truth.
---
That night, she didn't tell Xavier about the conversation.
He came home late, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair mussed like he'd dragged his fingers through it too many times.
"You're up," he said, sounding surprised.
"I went to the luncheon."
He poured himself a drink. "And?"
"They tested me."
He nodded, unsurprised. "You passed."
Ella tilted her head. "You're that confident in me?"
He walked past her toward the window but stopped mid-stride.
Turned. Looked at her.
"I've never seen you fail."
It wasn't flattery. It wasn't a line.
It was faith.
And that was somehow worse.
Because faith came with weight. With expectations.
With feelings that crept in through the cracks of something that was supposed to be only business.
---
She stayed up in bed that night, staring at the ceiling.
Not because she was anxious.
But because she couldn't stop thinking about what Lady Duvall had said.
> God help anyone who tried to touch you.
Xavier wasn't warm.
But he was solid.
And in a world full of fragile masks and curated cruelty… that meant more than she expected.
---
The next morning, Ella stepped into the kitchen to find another note.
> Dinner tonight. You pick the place. No press. Just us. - X.
She stared at it for a long time, heart ticking quietly in her chest.
Just us.
No performance. No headlines. No handlers.
Just two strangers trying to figure out if something real could grow from something so carefully arranged.
She didn't smile.
Not yet.
But the note stayed in her palm a little longer than it needed to.