The Grand Dining Room was waiting.
It was a cavernous space lit by two massive crystal chandeliers. The table was set with enough silverware to perform open-heart surgery, and the silence was heavy enough to suffocate a canary.
Grandfather Sinclair sat at the head, looking like a gargoyle in a tuxedo. To his right, Diana nursed a glass of red wine. To his left, Catherine sat with perfect posture, clearly ready to launch a charm offensive. Lucas was staring at his bread plate, looking like he wanted to be abducted by aliens.
The double doors swung open.
"Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair," the footman announced.
Damien walked in first, looking lethal in his tuxedo, his tie undone, his energy dark and restless.
Then, Aria stepped into the light.
She was wearing gold.
It was a floor-length gown with long sleeves and a high neck that choked her in modesty. The fabric was a heavy, stiff brocade that shimmered like molten bullion under the lights. It was structural, architectural, and undeniably expensive. It was exactly the kind of "upholstery" look Grandfather Sinclair had demanded.
Grandfather nodded, a look of smug satisfaction settling on his face. "Finally," he grunted. "Some decorum. You see, Damien? It wasn’t hard to find a dress that respects the house."
Catherine looked disappointed. She had been hoping for another fashion disaster to mock. "It’s certainly... substantial," she sniffed. "Very traditional."
"Thank you, Grandpa," Aria said, her voice sweet as syrup. She walked closer, the heavy fabric rustling loudly. "I had it custom made just for tonight. I wanted to show you how much I value... family."
She reached the table. The light from the chandelier hit her directly.
Diana squinted. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the intricate pattern woven into the gold fabric.
"Is that..." Diana paused, her wine glass halting halfway to her mouth. "Is that a face?"
Grandfather frowned. He put on his spectacles. He peered at Aria’s chest.
The pattern wasn’t floral. It wasn’t abstract.
It was Damien.
Hundreds of high-contrast, black-woven images of Damien’s face covered the gold dress. There was Damien brooding on her shoulder. Damien glaring on her hip. Damien smirking right over her heart. It was a kaleidoscope of husband obsession.
The silence in the room shattered.
"My god," Lucas whispered, looking from the dress to his uncle.
"Is that... my grandson?" Grandfather choked, pointing a trembling finger at Aria’s stomach, where a particularly large weaving of Damien’s eyes stared back at him.
"It is!" Aria beamed, spinning around so they could see the back. The back was covered in Damien’s profile. "It’s the ’Devotion’ collection. I call it ’The Walking Shrine’. Since Damien is the head of the house, I thought I should wear his image. To show my submission to his will, of course."
She looked at Damien, batting her eyelashes.
"Do you like it, darling? I’m wearing you."
Damien looked at the dress. He looked at the face on her bodice—his own face, staring back at him. It was the most ridiculous, tacky, brilliant thing he had ever seen.
He brought his hand to his mouth to cover a laugh, but his shoulders shook.
"It’s... breathtaking," Damien managed to say. "You’ve never looked more beautiful."
"This is a mockery!" Grandfather roared, slamming his hand on the table. "You are wearing my heir like... like wallpaper! It is grotesque!"
"It’s Italian silk, actually," Aria corrected, sitting down next to Damien. The dress crinkled loudly. "Woven by blind nuns in Milan. Very exclusive. Catherine, you wouldn’t know about it; they don’t sell this at the mall."
Catherine turned a violent shade of red. "I do not shop at the mall! And that dress is... it’s obsessive! It looks like you’re in a cult!"
"The Cult of Damien," Aria agreed, picking up her napkin. "Membership fee is high, but the perks are great."
She winked at Damien.
"Aren’t they, husband?"
Damien leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. "I am going to peel myself off you later," he whispered, his voice low and hot. "Slowly."
"Are you going to act like this all weekend?" Diana hissed, finally finding her voice. "Making a spectacle?"
Aria blinked, her hand flying to her chest in a gesture of wounded innocence.
"Spectacle? Diana, I’m just being a supportive wife. Is loving your brother a crime in this house? I thought family came first."
She leaned into Damien, her eyes wide and guileless, though a sharp smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"I’m just trying to fit in, Sister-in-law. Why are you so hostile? Is it the wine? Or are you just jealous that I get to wear his face and you don’t?"
"You—!" Diana choked.
Lucas stared at her. He watched the way she leaned against Damien, the way her hand rested casually on his uncle’s arm. It was a performance, yes, but it was a performance of absolute possession.
He felt a hot, sickening coil of jealousy tighten in his gut, burning like acid. Aria used to look at him like that. She used to dress up for him (though never this boldly, never this dangerously). He had thrown away a diamond to play with a pebble, and now he was forced to watch that diamond shine on another man’s arm.
Every time she touched Damien, it felt like a physical blow. He gripped his silverware so hard his knuckles turned white. He wanted to tear that dress off her—not to destroy it, but to see if she would look at him with that same fire if he begged. He wanted to be the one she was obsessed with. He wanted to be the one she wore.
He quickly coughed, averting his longing gaze when Damien’s cold, golden gaze flickered toward him.
Grandfather Sinclair looked like he was vibrating with rage. He looked at the dress. He looked at Damien’s unrepentant amusement. He realized, with a sinking feeling, that he had lost control of his own dinner table.
"Serve the soup," he barked at the staff, defeated. "And turn down the lights. The gold is giving me a migraine."
"Oh no!" Aria gasped. "Do you need your pills, Grandpa? I can recommend a good herbalist. Though... their inventory is currently in police custody."
Damien squeezed her thigh under the table.
"Be nice," he murmured, though his thumb was tracing circles on her skin.
"I am nice," Aria smiled, taking a sip of water. "I’m the perfect wife. I’m literally wearing your face."
The first course arrived. It was going to be a long night for the Elders. But for Aria and Damien, the fun was just beginning.