Chapter 15: Chapter 15
With a deliberate lack of acknowledgment that stung sharper than any words could, Dane turned a page with an elegant flick of his wrist, his indifference cutting deep. Marley sighed softly and took her place at the table to his left, the fine china clinking gently as she settled into her seat.
The servant, a silent specter in the background, glided forward with the precision of a well-rehearsed dance, setting down plates of meticulously prepared food. Dane and Sebastian, both statues of aristocratic poise, dissected their breakfasts with quiet efficiency, their silverware barely whispering against the bone china.
A different set of dishes was placed before Marley, the aroma foreign and uninviting. She peeked under the cloche to find a meal specially tailored for her condition. Her stomach churned at the sight; it was nothing like the comfort food she craved during these early stages of pregnancy. Yet, Marley dared not protest, even as the taste settled like lead on her tongue. She lifted the spoon, the weight of Sebastian's keen gaze piercing through her.
"Thank you," she murmured, almost to herself, determined to show gratitude for the consideration. It was frugal fare, devoid of the flavors that usually danced across her palate. Each bite required an effort, the food threatening to rebel against her unsettled stomach.
Sebastian's hawk-like eyes cut to her again, sharp and assessing. Marley caught the flash of scrutiny and felt the weight of expectation pushing down on her. She quickly lowered her head, her cheeks warming with the flush of subservience. In small, measured bites, she continued to eat, the metallic taste of obedience filling her mouth.
Dane remained silent beside her, his presence a cold shadow. He ate with a mechanical grace that belied the tension coiling in the air. The clink of his utensil against the plate seemed to echo too loudly in the silence, marking time in a breakfast that felt more like a trial than a meal.
Marley's compliance seemed to cast a small ripple of approval over the vast sea of Sebastian Adams' expectations. The old man, with his stern features softened only slightly by age, had halted halfway through his meal, and now he set his silverware aside with deliberate finality. The butler, ever attentive to the needs of the patriarch, was quick to present him with a crystal glass filled with water.
"During pregnancy, you must pay attention," Sebastian spoke, his voice carrying the weight of command even as he sipped the water sparingly.
"Yes," Marley responded, her voice barely above a whisper, the unborn child within her a new vulnerability under the old man's gaze.
Sebastian's eyes narrowed, dissatisfaction coloring the lines around them. "I said she's pregnant," he raised his voice, ensuring it pierced the quiet that enveloped the room, "so there are some things to 'pay attention' to. Can you hear me?"
The words struck the air, heavy and deliberate. Marley felt their gravity, and yet, it became clear they were not directed at her. She stole a glance toward Dane, whose stoic expression remained a mask of indifference. He continued his meal as if each bite were a calculated move in a game of chess, his elegance never faltering. But the tension between grandfather and grandson crackled like static, charging the atmosphere with an unspoken challenge.
It was only after Dane had methodically consumed exactly half of what was on his plate that he laid down his fork, the sound against the fine china crisp and clear. He looked up then, his dark eyebrows arching in silent inquiry towards the elder Adams.
"And what is it that I should notice?" Dane asked, his tone smooth but not without a hint of defiance.
Sebastian's visage seemed carved from stone, the lines around his mouth etching deeper as he leveled a stern gaze at Dane. "In the early stages of pregnancy," he intoned with the gravity of an oracle delivering a dire prophecy, "there are some things you can't do. Pay attention to moderation."
The words hung heavy in the air, a silent decree that commanded obedience. Dane's head turned slowly towards Marley. The intensity in his eyes was like the darkening sky before a storm, full of unspoken promises and veiled threats. Marley felt her cheeks burn under the weight of his scrutiny, and that familiar sense of vulnerability crept up her spine, wrapping around her heart like a vice.
"Moderation," Dane echoed, his voice low and deliberate, as if tasting the word, testing its power. It was not agreement that shone in his eyes, but calculation, the same look that had undressed her defenses on the night that changed everything.
Marley glanced down, focusing on the fine china that held her uneaten breakfast. The porcelain seemed to mock her with its cold perfection, a stark contrast to the tumult churning within her. She took a breath, willing her flush to recede, willing herself to become invisible beneath Sebastian's penetrating gaze and Dane's disquieting silence.
It was then that Sebastian's chair scraped back against the floor, a definitive sound that signaled the end of the meal. Standing with the aid of his cane, the patriarch of the Adams family cast a formidable shadow as he made his way to Marley's side. His steps were measured, the tap of his cane a metronome counting down the seconds to an unknown fate.
"From now on," Sebastian said, pausing beside her, his voice taking on an unexpected softness that left her off-balance, "you will call me grandfather."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. The title came as an edict, yet it held a strange warmth that was as confusing as it was compelling. Could there be acceptance in those syllables, or was it merely a formality, a branding of her new place in this dynastic puzzle?
"Grandfather," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the blood rushing in her ears. The word felt foreign on her tongue, a tentative step into a new world where alliances were forged not just in boardrooms but also across breakfast tables.
As Sebastian nodded, his expression inscrutable, Marley couldn't help but wonder what lay behind this sudden benevolence. In a household where every gesture was calculated, where every word was laden with meaning, could this be another move in a game she had yet to understand?
Dane remained silent, watching the exchange with an unreadable expression. His grandfather's command had been clear, but what did it stir within him? Approval? Resentment? As usual, Dane held his cards close to his chest, leaving Marley adrift in a sea of conjecture and subtle power plays.
The Adams' residence, with its towering columns and manicured gardens, felt more like a mausoleum than a home to Marley. She sat on the plush velvet sofa, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns of the fabric as she tried to steady her swirling head. The breakfast scene lingered in her mind; a tableau of tense silences and loaded glances that left her feeling like a pawn in a game she didn't know how to play.
"Miss Brooks, this afternoon, representatives from one of the finest bridal boutiques will present their collections for your consideration," Thomas, the butler, announced, breaking the oppressive silence of the grand living room.
Marley looked up, her expression a canvas of emotions—confusion, fear, and a tenuous hope. "Oh, I...I wouldn't want to trouble anyone. Perhaps Grandfather Adams should choose." Her voice was small—a reflection of her waning confidence.
"Mr. Adams insists that you select the gown and the ring yourself, Miss Brooks," Thomas replied, the austere lines of his face softening. "If there's anything special you desire, the family would be honored to grant it."
Marley's heart fluttered at the mention of 'family.' It was a word that had once meant safety, warmth, love. Now, it seemed to bear the weight of an empire, heavy with expectation and scrutiny.
"Really, Thomas, it's not necessary. I don't have any preferences. They're all capable of deciding without me," she stammered out, trying to mask the tremble in her voice.
"Miss Brooks," Thomas began, leaning slightly closer. His eyes, always observant, seemed to pierce through her defenses. "It is your right, and our duty, to ensure your wishes are met. This marriage, though unexpected, will be respected in every aspect."
Marley's gaze dropped to her hands, now clenched in her lap. She wanted to believe in the sincerity of his words, but doubt gnawed at her. Would a dress, no matter how beautiful, truly belong to her when everything else felt borrowed, imposed?
"Thank you," she murmured, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Please let them know... I trust their judgment."
"Very well," Thomas acquiesced, bowing his head slightly. He turned to leave, then paused, adding over his shoulder, "Remember, you are not alone here, Miss Brooks. You carry the future of the Adams lineage within you."
Marley's fingers traced the cold, intricate patterns of the living room's damask wallpaper, her touch a silent echo of the swirls and flourishes that held more permanence than she felt in the grandeur of the Adams estate. The butler, Thomas, watched her for a moment, his eyes reflecting a seasoned understanding of the house's somber history.
"Miss Brooks," he began gently, his voice a soft baritone that seemed to buffer the weight of her thoughts, "did you have trouble with your rest last evening? You seem rather...distant today."
She turned, a half-formed smile on her lips, her eyes guarded pools of uncertainty. "I'm fine, Thomas. Just a bit tired, is all," she lied, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying the restless night that had left smudges like bruises under her eyes.
"Perhaps you should retire to your chambers," he suggested. "I can have Rose accompany you; she has a gentle hand and a kind heart."
The idea of seclusion was both a balm and a burden. Marley nodded, allowing the thought of a quiet room and a soft bed to ease the tension in her shoulders. As she stood, her movements were languid, the dizziness from earlier still playing at the edges of her senses.
"Thank you," she said, her gratitude genuine despite the walls she kept around her heart. "That would be kind."
"Of course," Thomas replied, summoning Rose with a discreet nod. "And remember, Miss Brooks," he added after a pause, a note of firmness entering his tone, "you are now carrying an heir to the Adams family. You shall want for nothing, nor will any slight befall you. There's no need for undue concern."
His assurance was meant to comfort, but it landed like another layer of gilded chains upon her already burdened frame. She knew she was a pawn in a game of aristocratic lineage, the vessel for the next generation of Adams wealth and influence. Her response was muted—a small inclination of her head—her mind racing with the implications of her unborn child's future.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone