Felicie's smile froze on her face. It was a perfect, crystalline moment of shock.

"Your... fiancée?" she repeated, the word tasting like poison.

The reporters nearby, smelling blood in the water, surged forward. Microphones and cameras were thrust into their faces.

"Mr. Benjamin, is this true?"

"When did this happen?"

"Who is she?"

Camden ignored them all. He kept his cool gray eyes on Felicie, a silent challenge passing between them. He was using Edlyn, a human shield made of midnight silk and borrowed diamonds, to end a war before it began.

Edlyn felt a strange sense of detachment, as if she were watching a play. She was a character, a plot device. She remembered her instructions: smile. So she did. She tilted her head slightly, letting the light catch the diamonds at her ear, and offered a small, serene smile, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

Felicie's mask of composure cracked. Her eyes, filled with venom, darted to Edlyn. "Harding?" she sneered, recognition dawning. "The bankrupt gallery Harding? Camden, you can't be serious. She's... nobody."

"She is with me," Camden said, the two words delivered with enough chilling finality to silence the entire press corps. He gave Felicie a nod that was a clear dismissal.

He steered Edlyn away from her, up the marble steps and into the grand hall of the museum. As soon as they were through the doors, the cacophony faded, replaced by the polite murmur of the city's elite.

"Well done," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "You followed instructions."

"Is that a compliment?" she whispered back.

He didn't answer. He released her waist, the warmth of his hand vanishing instantly, leaving the air between them cold again. The performance was over.

Two men in suits approached them. Edlyn recognized them from the file. Preston Vance and Carter Hayes, two of Camden's board members.

"Well, well," Preston said with a broad smile. "Camden Benjamin. You've been holding out on us. A fiancée?"

Camden's public persona snapped back into place. "Preston, Carter. I'd like you to meet Edlyn Harding. Edlyn, these are two of the men who question my every decision."

The men laughed. Edlyn gave them the small, quiet smile she was perfecting.

"A pleasure," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"She's a quiet one," Carter observed, looking her over. "A welcome change."

Camden draped his arm around her waist again, the gesture feeling practiced now. "Private conversation, gentlemen," he said, a subtle command beneath the pleasantry. "Walk away."

They took the hint, melting back into the crowd.

As soon as they were gone, Camden released her. He stepped back, creating a distinct distance.

"Stay here," he commanded. "Don't talk to anyone. I need to speak with my father."

He turned and disappeared into the throng of black ties and designer gowns, leaving her alone in a sea of sharks. He thought she was a liability. A loose end to be managed.

She felt a flash of anger, but she held it in. She was desperate, not proud. She was his fiancée. And she would play her part.

Edlyn woke up to the sound of silence.

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, painting long golden stripes across the white marble floor. Her phone, the new one Camden had given her, was sitting on the nightstand, untouched. There were no missed calls from Julian, no voicemails from Chloe. He had cut them out of her life as cleanly as a surgeon.

She felt a strange emptiness. For three years, their drama had been the soundtrack to her life. The silence was unnerving.

A single message notification glowed on the screen. It was from an unknown number.

She tapped it open.

He knows.

That was it. Two words. Her blood ran cold. It had to be from Sienna. She was the only one who knew everything, the only one she'd given her new number to.

He knows.

Julian. He must have seen the news from the Gala. He knew about Camden.

Edlyn walked into the kitchen. A tray was waiting on the island: coffee, fresh fruit, and a single red rose in a crystal vase. Beside it was a small, velvet-wrapped box.

Her hands trembled as she opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of black satin, was her mother's Cartier brooch. The diamonds glittered, perfect and unharmed.

A note lay beneath it, written in Camden's sharp, decisive handwriting.

A loose end. Tied.

He had done it. He had sent his man, and he had retrieved it, just as he said he would. No drama, no negotiation. Just a problem, solved.

She pinned the brooch to her simple silk robe. The weight of it was familiar, comforting. But the relief was short-lived, overshadowed by Sienna's cryptic text.

The elevator chimed, and Camden walked in. He was already dressed in a suit, his tie perfectly knotted. He didn't look like he had been at a gala until 2 a.m. He looked like a machine that had just been recharged.

"Good morning," he said, heading straight for the espresso machine. "The press is having a field day. Our engagement is the front-page story on every society blog."

"Julian knows," she said, her voice tight.

He didn't turn around. "I am aware. He attempted to get past security at the lobby of this building an hour ago. He was carrying a bouquet of roses."

He was trying to spin it. The Repentant Lover arc.

"He won't give up," she said. "He'll try to create a scene. He'll tell everyone I left him for you, for your money."

Camden finally turned, an espresso cup in his hand. "Let him," he said, his eyes cold. "He thinks he is playing checkers. He doesn't realize we are playing chess. His next move is predictable. He will try to humiliate you publicly. And we will be ready."

He looked at the brooch on her robe. "That was a gift. Not a weapon. Do not wear your sentiment like armor, Edlyn. It's a weakness."

He left for his office without another word. She stood in the silent kitchen, the smell of coffee and roses filling the air. He had given her back a piece of her past, only to warn her not to cling to it.

Camden's Headquarters

Camden swiped his keycard, and the door to his office hissed open. His father, Silas Benjamin, was standing by the window, his back to the door. Silas was the patriarch, a man who had built an empire and sacrificed his own family on its altar.

"A fiancée," Silas said without turning around. "Announced at the Met Gala. A very public, very loud move, Camden. Not your style."

"It was necessary," Camden replied, walking to his desk. He didn't sit. He remained standing, a subtle act of defiance.

"To get rid of the Owens girl?" Silas finally turned. His eyes were the same stormy gray as his son's, but colder, harder. "Or to unlock your trust?"

Camden's jaw tightened. The terms of his grandmother's will were explicit: he gained full control of his multi-billion-dollar trust fund only upon a suitable marriage.

"Her name is Edlyn Harding," Camden said. "The family is old money, even if their recent fortunes have declined. She is presentable."

"She is broken," Silas countered, his voice sharp. "I had my people run a background check. The scandal with Julian Thorne. The selective mutism after her parents' accident. The girl is damaged goods, Camden. A liability."

"Her past makes her manageable," Camden said, his voice dropping. "She has no one. She is dependent on me. She will not cause problems."

Silas smiled, a chilling, predatory expression. "Just like your mother, then? Manageable? We both know how that ended."

A muscle jumped in Camden's cheek. The memory of his mother, vibrant and full of life, before she was sent to the 'facility upstate,' was a wound that had never healed.

"This is different," Camden said.

"Is it? You've chosen a pawn for a queen's role. Be careful she doesn't get taken off the board. Or worse, decides to play her own game." Silas walked toward the door. "Bring her to the estate for dinner on Sunday. The family will want to inspect your new acquisition."

The door closed, leaving Camden alone in the silence. He looked out at the city, but he didn't see it. He saw his mother's face, and for a fleeting moment, it was overlaid with Edlyn's.

Sienna's Apartment

Edlyn stared at herself in the mirror.

She was wearing a white suit. Sharp. Tailored. It looked like armor.

"You look like you're going to court," Sienna said.

"I am," Edlyn replied. "Julian has called a press conference. He's going to announce his side of the story."

"You can't go," Sienna pleaded. "It's a trap."

"Camden's orders," Edlyn said, clipping a tiny, almost invisible earpiece into her ear. "He said to go. To face him. He said Julian's predictability is his greatest weakness."

"And what are you supposed to do? Just stand there while he slanders you?"

"I'm supposed to listen," Edlyn said. Through the earpiece, she could hear the faint, calm voice of Bradford Weaver. "Weaver will be listening too. Julian thinks he's setting a trap for me. He doesn't realize he's walking into one himself."