Page 20 of Her Obedience (Ruin & Gold #1)

T he formal dining room gleams with polished silver and crystal, candles casting flickering shadows across damask tablecloths and the carefully composed faces of Chicago's elite. I sit at Gage's right hand, playing my role with practiced precision.

It's our third private dinner party this week, this one featuring Judge Harrison and his recently divorced daughter Caroline, the Zhangs from last week's restaurant outing, and two new couples being cultivated for business reasons—the Athertons (banking) and the Donovans (real estate).

The conversation flows with practiced ease, touching on safe topics—art exhibitions, charity functions, market trends carefully divorced from political implications.

I contribute appropriately, drawing on both my society upbringing and my genuine knowledge of design principles. The performance has become almost automatic now—five weeks into captivity, the mask slips on with disturbing ease.

"Penelope was just telling me about the floral concept for your wedding," Caroline says during dessert, her expression genuinely interested. "The combination of traditional architecture with more organic arrangements sounds absolutely stunning."

I smile. "We wanted something that balances structure and natural beauty," I reply, the practiced line emerging smoothly.

"Much like marriage itself," Judge Harrison observes with paternal wisdom that makes my stomach clench. "The framework of commitment supporting the organic growth of connection."

"Beautifully put, James," Gage responds, his hand settling briefly on mine—a possessive gesture disguised as affection.

"You make a striking couple," Adelaide Zhang comments, her assessment encompassing both our physical appearance and apparent compatibility. "Some matches seem inevitable in retrospect, don't they? As if all paths would eventually lead to this connection."

If only she knew the literal truth of her metaphorical observation.

"Inevitability requires perspective," I offer. "What seems predetermined from one vantage point might appear quite different from another."

Gage's fingers tighten slightly around his wine glass.

"Speaking of perspective," he redirects smoothly, "Malcolm mentioned you've recently acquired Hayashi's latest installation piece. I'd be interested in hearing how it transforms within different lighting conditions."

Later, when our guests have departed and staff clear the remains of dinner, Gage leads me to the library for our customary post-event review. The routine has become established over weeks.

"Judge Harrison continues to be impressed," he observes, pouring two brandies without asking my preference. "His support for the Harbor Point development will be valuable given the zoning complications."

I accept the crystal snifter, the ritual now familiar. "Caroline seemed particularly interested in wedding details. Is her recent divorce relevant to your business interests, or merely coincidental?"

He raises an eyebrow at my directness. "Caroline's legal practice specializes in corporate acquisitions. Her personal circumstances are irrelevant to our professional connection."

"Yet you seated her beside me rather than with the Athertons, despite their shared financial focus," I note, testing my growing understanding of his strategic orchestration. "And encouraged discussion of wedding preparations rather than legal matters."

A slight smile curves his lips. "You're developing an eye for social strategy, Penelope. A valuable skill for your future role."

"Your comment about 'structural arrangements' was unnecessary," I say after a moment, choosing direct address rather than evasion.

"The comment wasn't for their benefit," he replies calmly. "It was a reminder for you, after your philosophical observation about perspective. Public events aren't the place for veiled expressions of discontent, however cleverly phrased."

I study him over the rim of my glass, noting subtle differences in his demeanor tonight—a slight tension in his shoulders, a marginally shorter fuse for my boundary-testing.

"Something's bothering you," I observe. "Beyond my minor conversational deviation."

He looks up sharply, genuinely surprised by my perception.

"Business complications," he says after a moment. "Nothing that affects our arrangements."

"Our wedding is in three weeks," I remind him, the date a constant shadow over my existence. "Many arrangements would be affected by significant business disruption."

His expression hardens. "The wedding proceeds as planned, regardless of other considerations. The timeline is non-negotiable."

"Violet's wedding is this weekend," I say, changing direction. "Have arrangements been finalized for our attendance?"

"Yes." He moves to his desk, retrieving an envelope that he hands to me. "We'll depart Saturday morning at nine. The ceremony is at two, followed by reception at the Langham. We'll stay overnight, returning Sunday afternoon."

I open the envelope to find details of the arrangements—confirmation at the Peninsula Hotel rather than the Langham where the reception will be held, driver schedules, security protocols.

"Will I be permitted to speak with my sister privately?" I ask, the question direct rather than circumspect.

"Supervised interaction will be permitted," he replies with equal directness. "Your father has been informed of appropriate conversational boundaries."

"She's getting married. I should be able to congratulate her without supervision."

"Your history of escape attempts necessitates precautions," he counters, unmoved. "Particularly at an event with hundreds of attendees, many unknown to my security team."

The reminder of my failed bus station attempt. I suppress frustration.

"I understand the necessity for security," I say carefully. "But limiting my interaction with my sister on her wedding day seems unnecessarily punitive. I've been cooperative for weeks now."

He studies me, weighing the request against perceived risks. "You may have fifteen minutes with Violet before the ceremony, in her preparation suite. Victor will maintain visual contact but will allow conversational privacy if your behavior remains appropriate."

A concession, however small.

"Thank you. I appreciate the consideration."

He drains his brandy, setting the glass aside with finality. "I have calls to Asia in thirty minutes. Security will escort you to your suite."

In my suite, Marta has laid out nightclothes and turned down the bed. I dismiss her with practiced courtesy, waiting until the door closes before allowing my performance to slip.

I retrieve the journal, making my daily entry for the evening. A knock at the door interrupts my writing. I close the journal quickly, returning it to its place before answering.

Victor stands in the hallway, face impassive as always. "Mr. Blackwood requested these be delivered immediately." He extends a velvet box, waiting for me to accept it before departing without further explanation.

Inside the box lies a diamond and sapphire bracelet, exquisitely crafted, clearly antique rather than newly purchased. No note accompanies it, no explanation for the unexpected gift.

I set the box on my vanity without trying on the bracelet, unwilling to accept the gesture's implied exchange—beautiful objects as compensation for lost freedom.

Morning brings a change in routine—breakfast in the conservatory rather than my suite, Gage joining me rather than conducting early business.

"Final arrangements for Violet's wedding have been confirmed," he says, reviewing reports on his tablet while I add honey to tea. "Your dress fittings are scheduled for this afternoon. The blue Valentino, I believe."

The casual reference to clothing I've never seen, decisions made without my input—another reminder of my decorative rather than participatory role. I nod, noticing the slight edge in his tone suggesting ongoing business complications.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

He glances up, momentarily surprised by the question. "Market fluctuations affecting several investments. Nothing that concerns you."

"Concerns that affect you necessarily affect me," I observe, pushing slightly. "Particularly as wedding preparations finalize."

He sets down his tablet, studying me with that assessing gaze I've come to recognize—calculating how much to reveal, weighing strategic value of information against potential risks.

"There are factions that would prefer our arrangement not proceed," he says finally, the admission surprisingly candid. "Financial pressure being applied through various channels, regulatory attention being directed toward specific holdings."

"My father's competitors?"

"Among others." He sips his coffee, expression controlled but tension evident in his shoulders. "Certain interests believed they had claim to the Everett connection. Our arrangement disrupted long-standing expectations."

"The Montgomerys?" I guess, connecting to Violet's imminent marriage.

A slight nod confirms my assessment. "Charles Montgomery Senior had expected multiple connections between our families. Your sister's marriage, while valuable, represented only partial fulfillment of anticipated arrangements."

Understanding blooms with chilling clarity—I had been intended for the Montgomery family as well, perhaps for Charles's younger brother James, cementing business alliances through multiple marriages.

My departure five years ago had disrupted these plans.

Gage's arrangement with my father had derailed them permanently.

"And now they apply pressure to prevent our wedding," I conclude. "Hence the accelerated timeline, the increased security, the non-negotiable schedule."

"Precisely." His expression suggests mild approval of my analysis. "The Montgomery influence extends through multiple regulatory bodies, financial institutions, and political connections. Delay provides opportunity for interference."

"Will there be complications at Violet's wedding?" I ask, the concern genuine.