The relief in his voice suggests this outcome wasn't guaranteed—that had he found issues with my "fertility," my position in Gage's household might have changed dramatically. Another layer of this arrangement that treats me as property rather than person.
"When will Mr. Blackwood receive the results?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"I'll provide a complete report by tomorrow morning." No pretense of patient confidentiality, no acknowledgment of the ethical breach. In Gage Blackwood's world, standard protections don't apply.
After the doctor departs, I return to my suite, emotionally drained by the day's performances—cooperative fiancée with the wedding planner, compliant patient with the doctor. Thefacade grows more difficult to maintain as wedding preparations accelerate, as the reality of my situation becomes increasingly concrete.
I stand at the window, watching rain begin to fall across the estate grounds. The glass is cool against my forehead, the outside world blurred by water and distance. Beyond these walls the world proceeds without me.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. I compose my expression before answering.
Gage stands in the hallway, umbrella dripping onto marble flooring. "Get changed," he says without preamble. "We're going out."
The unexpected statement catches me off guard. "Out?"
"Dinner in the city. Business associates who couldn't attend last night. Wear something appropriate for Asteria."
Asteria—Chicago's most exclusive restaurant, impossible to book without significant connections. A public appearance, then. The continuation of our social introduction as a couple.
"Of course," I say, maintaining the performance. "I'll be ready in twenty minutes."
He nods, turning to leave before pausing. "Dr. Fielding mentioned you were... cooperative. I appreciate that."
"The examination was unnecessary," I say, allowing a hint of genuine feeling to surface. "I have no relevant medical history that would affect our arrangement."
"The examination was essential," he corrects. "Health complications would require adjustments to our timeline and expectations. I don't enter contracts without due diligence, Penelope."
Contracts. Always the transactional framing. I nod, not trusting myself to respond without revealing the depth of my revulsion.
"Twenty minutes," he reminds me, then departs.
I dress quickly, selecting a midnight blue dress that balances elegance with appropriate modesty for a business dinner. The diamond studs he gave me last night replace the emeralds—a small choice that maintains the illusion of agency.
As I apply lipstick, I study my reflection, searching for signs of the woman I was just weeks ago. She's still there. Subdued but not vanquished. Waiting, watching, planning.
I take a deep breath, straightening my spine. The game continues, the stakes increasing with each passing day.
CHAPTER 10
Asteria glitters like a jewel box—crystal chandeliers casting prismatic light across polished surfaces, the quiet hum of Chicago's elite engaging in careful conversation designed to reveal nothing while suggesting everything. I sit beside Gage at a prime table overlooking the river, the city's nightscape spread before us like an offering.
"Kelvin Zhang approaches from your left," Gage murmurs, his lips barely moving. "Technology investments, potential partner for the Singapore expansion. His wife Adelaide is an art collector with connections to the museum board."
I nod imperceptibly. I've drawn on years of society training from my former life.
"Gage Blackwood!" A distinguished Asian man in his fifties approaches, his elegantly dressed wife at his side. "Finally emerging from your fortress to join civilized society."
Gage rises, shaking the man's hand with practiced warmth. "Kelvin. Merely waiting for the right company."
His hand settles at the small of my back as he introduces me, a gesture disguised as affection. "Penelope Everett, my fiancée. Penelope, Kelvin and Adelaide Zhang."
"A pleasure," I offer with a practiced smile. "Gage mentioned your art collection, Mrs. Zhang. I'd love to hear about your recent acquisitions."
Adelaide brightens, clearly pleased to discuss her passion. The conversation flows easily—art leading to design, design to my background in florals, florals to aesthetic philosophy. I navigate topics with careful precision, revealing enough to seem genuine while avoiding anything that might contradict our fabricated history.
Throughout dinner, I observe Gage with the men, noting how differently he operates in business settings versus our private interactions. Here, he allows hints of charm to surface—calculated displays of humor, strategic concessions that make others feel valued, a masterful orchestration of egos and interests.
"Your fiancée is delightful," Adelaide tells Gage during dessert. "Such a refreshing combination of aesthetic sensitivity and practical intelligence. Where have you been hiding her?"
