Chapter Four: Meeting the Family

The Ashford family estate looked like it belonged on the cover of a luxury lifestyle magazine—complete with manicured hedges, marble columns, and a driveway long enough to land a private jet.

Elara sat stiffly in the back seat of Damon’s town car, clutching a small clutch bag like it was her last tether to reality.

“I still have time to fake a stomach flu,” she muttered.

Damon, seated beside her in a tailored navy suit, gave a small, amused glance. “That would be a mistake. My family smells fear.”

“Oh great,” she replied, voice dry. “Like wolves.”

“Exactly.”

Elara exhaled slowly. She had survived job interviews, rejection letters, and ramen noodle dinners for three months straight—but none of it compared to the pit of nerves she felt now.

Damon reached out and gently adjusted the diamond pendant around her neck—the one Lila had picked out this morning, paired with a tasteful cream dress that fit her like second skin.

“You look stunning,” he said, voice low. “That’s half the battle.”

“And the other half?”

“Convincing my mother you’re not after my money.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Is that what she’s expecting?”

“She expects everyone to be after my money.”

The car rolled to a stop beneath a portico where two suited valets stood waiting. As soon as the driver opened the door, flashes of cameras went off from the gate—paparazzi already posted.

Elara pasted on her rehearsed smile and took Damon’s outstretched hand, letting him guide her out like a gentleman out of a romance novel.

Except this wasn’t a romance.

It was a performance.

And the stage was set.

Inside, the estate was as breathtaking as the exterior. Crystal chandeliers hung above marble floors. Gold-trimmed frames housed oil paintings of stoic ancestors. The air smelled like lavender and leather—class, control, and centuries of old money.

“Try not to look too impressed,” Damon murmured, lips close to her ear. “My mother eats that up.”

She gave him a side-eye. “Then maybe don’t bring girls who grew up in a two-bedroom walk-up in Queens.”

Damon chuckled, but before he could reply, a voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Damon.”

A tall woman with silver-streaked auburn hair stood at the top of the staircase, dressed in an immaculately tailored dress suit that screamed elegance and discipline. Her sharp cheekbones and icy blue eyes were unmistakably inherited by Damon.

Elara immediately knew: This was the mother.

“Mother,” Damon said with a small nod. “This is Elara. My girlfriend.”

Those last two words made her skin tingle. Girlfriend. Fake, of course. But still, the way he said it…

Mrs. Ashford descended slowly, the click of her heels echoing in the grand hall. She paused in front of Elara, scanning her with cool precision—from the tips of her heels to the wave of her hair.

“You’re even prettier in person,” she said. “A little younger than I expected.”

Elara smiled, polite but firm. “And you’re even more intimidating.”

Mrs. Ashford blinked.

Then she gave a rare, grudging smile. “At least you’re honest.”

“I find it saves time.”

Damon coughed to cover what suspiciously sounded like a laugh.

Mrs. Ashford turned on her heel. “Come. Everyone’s waiting in the garden.”

As they followed, Elara whispered to Damon, “Did I pass?”

“For now,” he said under his breath. “But don’t relax. That was just the intro boss. The final level is my grandmother.”

---

The garden was a picturesque oasis of trimmed hedges, fountains, and white canopy tents with champagne servers weaving through clusters of well-dressed guests. Classical music floated from a string quartet beneath a trellis. It was wealth, sophistication, and judgment—all in one place.

Damon led Elara through the sea of socialites, board members, and cousins she couldn’t begin to keep track of. He introduced her as his girlfriend each time, letting his hand linger just enough on the small of her back to sell the story.

They finally stopped near a long table where an older woman sat in a wheelchair, swathed in silk and pearls.

“That’s the grandmother?” Elara whispered.

“Matriarch of the Ashfords. Controls 20% of the company’s legacy shares. Doesn’t trust anyone under 60.”

“Awesome,” she muttered.

Damon smiled and led her forward. “Grandmother, this is Elara. My girlfriend.”

The woman looked up sharply. Her eyes were pale and sharp as steel, her hair pinned into an elegant twist. She looked at Elara like a jeweler inspecting a diamond for flaws.

“I see,” she said finally. “And how long have you two been dating?”

Elara smiled sweetly. “Almost three months.”

“Long enough for him to bring you here,” the older woman replied. “That’s… telling.”

Elara leaned in slightly. “He waited until he was sure I wouldn’t bolt.”

The matriarch’s eyes narrowed.

Then, to Elara’s complete surprise, she chuckled. “Good. Damon needs a woman who can spar, not just smile.”

“I don’t do either unless I mean it.”

“Smart girl.”

Damon shot Elara a sideways glance, clearly both amused and impressed. She was holding her own—and he knew it.

The matriarch waved them away. “Go. Mingle. You’ve passed my test. For now.”

As they walked away, Elara let out a breath. “Is every member of your family a boss-level gatekeeper?”

“You haven’t met my younger sister yet. She’s the real nightmare.”

“Oh God.”

---

Later, over champagne and polite conversation with strangers who all seemed to hold stock in Ashford Global, Elara caught sight of a brunette woman striding toward them like she owned the ground she walked on.

“Speak of the devil,” Damon murmured.

The woman stopped, gave him a cheek kiss, then turned to Elara.

“So you’re the girlfriend,” she said flatly.

Elara offered her hand. “Elara.”

“Sylvie. Sister. Skeptic.”

Elara couldn’t help but laugh. “Nice to meet you, Sylvie the Skeptic.”

Sylvie tilted her head. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”

“More than just guts,” Damon added, placing a protective hand on Elara’s back.

Sylvie’s eyes narrowed. “Is she part of the long game or just a short-term distraction?”

“That’s not your business,” Damon said coldly.

Elara took a step forward. “I’d say neither. We’re figuring it out. But I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Sylvie blinked at her, then smirked. “Hmm. He might finally have met his match.”

As Sylvie walked away, Damon murmured, “That went better than expected.”

“I’m starting to think your whole family’s built like a security system.”

He leaned closer, lips near her ear. “Which means you’ve already broken through more defenses than most.”

She swallowed hard at the warmth of his breath on her skin.

“Careful,” she said. “That almost sounded real.”

He straightened. “Almost.”

---

By the end of the evening, Elara’s cheeks hurt from smiling and her feet ached from heels she had no business wearing. But she’d done it. She’d survived the wolves—and managed to walk away with most of her dignity intact.

Damon helped her into the town car as the estate disappeared behind them, bathed in golden lights.

“You did well,” he said as the door shut.

“Define ‘well.’”

“No one tried to poison your drink. That’s a win.”

She laughed, head tipping back against the seat. “Your family’s exhausting.”

“And yet, you impressed them.”

“Guess I’m better at faking it than I thought.”

He turned to her then, his expression unreadable in the low light. “You weren’t faking all of it.”

Her breath caught. “What part wasn’t fake?”

Damon didn’t answer.

And the silence between them suddenly felt a little too real.