Chloe's Point of View
It was a mansion, every inch as grand as I had remembered: marble floors, chandeliers glistening above, and the air thick with old money. Smothering yet familiar all at once. Jonathan's father Gregory Wells had built this empire from ground zero, and the house was a reflection of his success. But beneath the glamour lay a chill-an unspoken tension between Jonathan and his father.
Dinner was formal, with every course and every word carefully contrived. Jonathan and I played our parts well enough: him beside me, down the length of the dining table, his hand brushing mine now and again, as though we were the loving couple. In truth each touch sent a wave of discomfort through me, but I kept my smile. Jonathan's father watched us closely, his eyes sharp and observant, but said nothing out of the ordinary. Gregory seemed satisfied with the façade we presented and asked about the company, future plans, and how we were finding married life.