The word "wife" hung in the air like a suspended grenade. I watched the crowd's reaction unfold in slow motion—shocked gasps, widened eyes, and the unmistakable buzz of scandal spreading like wildfire.
Standing beside Elara, I felt oddly calm. The storm I'd carefully orchestrated was breaking exactly as planned. My father's face had turned an interesting shade of purple, while Vincent looked as if he might choke on his own tongue.
"What did you just say?" Vincent finally managed, his voice cracking.
I placed my hand at the small of Elara's back, steadying her. She was trembling slightly, but her chin remained high. Pride swelled in my chest—she was stronger than any of them knew.
"You heard me correctly," I said, my voice carrying across the now-silent ballroom. "I called Elara my wife, because that's exactly what she is."
Beatrice Hayes stumbled forward, her face ashen. "That's impossible. Elara isn't married."
