The First Spark

Before they arrived in the main hall, there were whispering.

"That's her. The maid.

"The gold-digger."

"Blackwell must’ve lost his mind."

Evelyn penetrated Isaac's sleeve with her fingers. Like the man at her side, the fitted fabric was firm and silky. He clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead as though the rumours had not affected him.

As they passed a group of women wearing silk and diamonds, her heart pounded. Like blades gliding through silk, their laughing was quiet. Her cheeks were burning as she lowered her eyes.

Isaac didn't say anything, but his arm jerked under her hand. didn't back off. didn't give her any comfort either.

"Do you hear what they’re saying?" she whispered, forcing a kind smile onto her lips.

His grey, impenetrable eyes darted towards her. "I’ve heard worse."

The lump in her throat was swallowed. She had agreed to this, a pact sealed with ink and apathy, a marriage in name only.

The ground beneath her heels felt paper-thin, however, as she faced the reality of being reduced to a scandalised headline while standing in that room.

Do I really have this marriage to myself?

The air was heavy with the smell of champagne and pretence as the string quartet performed a languid waltz. With her hand tightening around the stem of her glass, Evelyn stepped close to the bar. Although the area was filled with low-pitched conversations and laughter, her senses focused on the figure coming from the other side of the room.

Thornton, Gabriel.

Like a shark in shallow water, his presence swept through the gathering. His hair was slicked back, his charcoal suit was tailored, and a sneer that was a permanent mark of contempt was carved on his face. He extended one of the two champagne flutes he was holding towards her.

"Mrs. Blackwell," he said with ease. "The woman who tamed the untamable." He cocked his head. "Impressive."

Evelyn took the drink after hesitating. "You must be mistaken."

"Am I?" Gabriel's eyes gleamed with more than courteous curiosity as he sipped his drink. "The man who once referred to marriage as a "societal chokehold," Isaac Blackwell, now shows off his wife to Manhattan's elite as if she were a prize. What have you done if you haven't tamed him?

Her flesh pricked. Beneath the charm, the words were poisoned. "Maybe he just needed a change of perspective," she retorted.

Gabriel laughed. "Or maybe you’re the weapon Vivienne Hastings didn’t see coming." The smell of arrogance and leather clung to him as he took a step closer. Mrs. Blackwell, be careful. Wives in this family are not partners. They are pawns.

Her stomach knotted. Gabriel Thornton wasn't only chatting. He was putting her to the test. looking for flaws.

Her heart pounding, she turned aside. What is his true desire?

With her shoulders taut, Evelyn stood close to the gallery staircase, looking around the room for Isaac. His absence exposed her. Her defences appeared to be stripped away by the other visitors' gazes, which examined her with each muttered remark.

As Camilla Sterling approached her, her emerald gown gliding across the marble, her back tensed. Her face was plastered with a smile that shone like a mirror.

"Enjoying your moment in the spotlight, dear?" Sweetly, Camilla asked.

Evelyn gritted her teeth. "Trying to."

"You know," Camilla went on in a sweet voice, "some people just gravitate towards these situations." Others... She looked all the way down Evelyn's dress. "Just flounder."

Evelyn was about to reply when Camilla abruptly changed her position. A sharp elbow, a purposeful step.

Beside them, the champagne tray teetered. Glasses of crystal fell. The tower crumbled, revealing streams of dazzling golden liquid. Like a gunshot, the collision echoed along the hallway.

The silk of Evelyn's robe stuck to her skin like a second disgrace as it soaked up the sticky warmth. The air was filled with gasps and then laughs.

"Oops," whispered Camilla, her eyes glimmering. "Clumsy me."

Evelyn balled her hands into fists. She was held in place by the amusement of the crowd. All of her instincts told her to run, to hide in the closest corner.

Her foot moved back, then came to a standstill.

No. Not now.

With unwavering defiance, Evelyn squared her shoulders, straightened, and looked directly into Camilla's eyes.

Should I approach her or back off?

Somewhere, a voice muttered, "Did you see that?"

Another grumbled, "The maid doesn't even know how to walk."

As Camilla Sterling gently dabbed at an imaginary stain on her sleeve, her ruby-painted lips curved in satisfaction. She said, "Oops," in a voice that could be heard throughout the room. "She truly needs to improve her self-management skills. What do you expect from someone like her, though?

The giggling grew.

Evelyn gasped for air. Just as she was about to run, a strong, commanding voice cut through the throng.

"Enough."

The laughter abruptly stopped. Heads glanced towards the source, and conversations faltered to silence.

Isaac Blackwell commanded attention with his large physique as he stood at the top of the stairs. His steely, steel-gray eyes surveyed the room with contempt.

He responded, "Whoever finds this funny can leave," in a firm yet low voice.

A shiver of nervousness went through the guests. Camilla went pale, her arrogant face dissolving into doubt. As Vivienne and her daughter exchanged a cautious look, the colour faded from her face.

Evelyn's heart was pounding. Seeking an explanation, she looked across the room to Isaac. Was this real? Or only harm prevention?

His face remained stern. He glanced at the broken spectacles at her feet, then returned his focus to the throng. A waiter nearby received a small nod from him and quickly cleaned up the debris.

With each stride echoing across the still room, Isaac went down the stairs. He came to her side, gently but firmly grasped her elbow, and led her out of the ballroom.

As they strolled, she dared not talk, but one idea pierced the confusion:

What made him stand up for me?

There was a tense silence on the drive back to Blackwell Manor. Evelyn's mind was racing with questions, which were hardly drowned out by the gentle hum of the motor. Her body was still wet from the champagne as she sat stiffly next to Isaac. Sharp and acidic, the smell of wine stuck to her skin.

His jaw was clenched as he gazed straight ahead. In the flickering light of streetlights, his profile appeared to be carved out of stone.

Evelyn paused, then pushed forward after opening her mouth. "Why did you do that?"

Isaac didn't answer.

Her heartbeat accelerated. "The gala," she explained that. "You defended me."

His gaze briefly shifted to her before settling back on the road. "It was necessary."

"Necessary?" she asked again, her fatigue giving way to incredulity.

"The Blackwell name was being dragged into a public spectacle," he stated. "I don’t tolerate mockery in my presence."

Her heart fell. Naturally. He had shielded his reputation, not spoken up for her. She ought to have realised she shouldn't have hoped for more.

As they got closer to the estate gates, the automobile slowed. Ahead, the wrought-iron building loomed, silently opening as they approached. Evelyn looked down at her lap. She ran her fingers over the hem of her garment, picking at a wet thread.

She said, "Thank you," in a whisper.

In the driveway, the automobile jerked to a stop. Isaac finally turned to face her after shifting in his chair. For a split second, the icy detachment loosened. "Don’t overthink it," he said.

As he reached for the door handle, his palm briefly touched hers, scarcely more than skin to skin.

But even after he got out of the automobile, the warmth persisted.

Could this be the beginning of something more profound?