Chapter 4

Sarah's POV

“So, Sarah,” Eleanor began, her voice smooth as chilled wine, “how are you finding life at Moretti House? It must be quite the adjustment from… whatever it was you were used to.”

I forced a small smile. “It’s beautiful. I’m still learning my way around.”

“Learning,” she repeated. “Yes. One does have to learn, doesn’t one? Some things simply aren’t instinctive.”

The maid placed a plate in front of me. I picked up my fork, but my appetite had already fled.

Eleanor took a delicate sip of her red wine. “Tell me, dear, did your mother teach you anything about running a household? Or was she more… occupied with other matters?”

I looked at Adrian expecting him to say something but he just continued scrolling on his phone while eating.

I breathed out, not knowing what to say.

Eleanor continued. “You know, bearing the Moretti name is something everyone would jump at.”

Adrian cleared his throat. “Mother, the food tastes very nice.”

It was the first thing he’d said since we sat down. Not a defense. Not even a redirect. Just… that. Complimenting the damn food.

Eleanor ignored him, her gaze still fixed on me. “You know, Sarah, when I married Adrian’s father, I understood my role immediately. I didn’t make scenes. I didn’t expect my husband to fight my battles like some knight in a cheap romance novel.” Her eyes flicked to Adrian for a fraction of a second. “A real woman is someone who adds value to the family, not some cheap people expecting heaven on earth without working for anything.”

I set my fork down carefully. “I’m not asking anyone to fight my battles. Mother please, can we focus on the food?”

Adrian shifted beside me. “Sarah,” he said quietly, almost warningly. “Not now.”

Eleanor let out a soft chuckle. “Of course… We should focus on the food. That's what you're good at. You came into this marriage with very little to offer except… well.” She gestured vaguely at me. “Your youth, perhaps. And a pretty enough face. But the Moretti name carries centuries of expectation. Bloodlines. Standards. One wonders how long it will take before we get here.”

The words sliced deep. “I married your son not because I wanted to,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Not the name. Not the house. Not the centuries of whatever you think makes you superior. It's a contract marriage, or have you forgotten?”

Adrian finally looked up from his phone. His jaw tightened. “Sarah, let’s not turn dinner into a debate.”

Eleanor leaned back, clearly not expecting my response. “Contract. How refreshing. In my day, we understood that marriage is a partnership of equals in status, if not in temperament. Tell me, have you redecorated anything yet? Or are you still afraid to touch what isn’t yours?”

“I haven’t touched anything,” I answered. “This is your home.”

“Our home,” Adrian muttered, but it sounded half-hearted. He reached for his wine glass instead of my hand.

Eleanor smiled. “Precisely. And as the lady of the house temporarily. Of course, I do hope you’ll learn the difference between being a guest and being family. Guests eventually leave, and you're obviously one.”

I felt the sting behind my eyes but refused to let tears fall. Not here. Not in front of her.

Adrian set his glass down with a soft clink. “Enough. Both of you.” He rubbed his temple. Sarah… just eat. Please.”

I shot him a hard glare.

Eleanor sat straight, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Well. At least your wife has the guts to talk while I'm talking. She acts like a wild animal, and I'm not surprised. I expected it. Someone from her class must show off their stupidity wherever they are. Amusing for a moment, but ultimately exhausting to manage.”

I took a slow breath, forcing my hands to stay still. “And yet your son chose this wild animal. Maybe that says something about what he actually wants, not what you think he should.”

Adrian’s hand landed on my thigh under the table, warning, not comfort. His grip was firm. “Sarah.”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed with something like amusement. “Oh, I see. You think you know my son better than I do. How adorable. Adrian has always had a bad taste, the reason he went for someone like you.”

I replied. “You can insult me all you want, but I'm not going to shrink myself to fit your idea of what Adrian’s wife should be.”

Adrian exhaled sharply beside me. “For God’s sake, Sarah…”

Eleanor raised a hand, silencing him. “Let her speak, Adrian. It’s almost entertaining. Like watching a kitten try to roar.”

I stood up slowly, pushing my chair back. My legs felt shaky, but I locked my knees.If you’ll excuse me, I'd like to go back to my room…”

I didn’t wait for permission. I walked out of the dining room, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Behind me, I heard Eleanor’s soft laugh. “Well. That was dramatic.”

Adrian’s voice followed, tired. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Talk to her,” I muttered to myself.

Not defend her. Not stand with her.

I dragged my legs as I walked until I reached the room.

The moment I stepped in, I shoved the door shut.

Hard.

Adrian walked in shortly completely unbothered, like I wasn’t even there.

I let out a sharp breath. “So you’re just going to stand there and watch your mother treat me like that?”

Silence.

Then, finally…

“You don’t expect me to grab a cane and start flogging her, do you?”

“Ohh…” I laughed. “So I've become a tool for laughter and insults, right?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, then faced me sharply. “It's not that deep. She was obviously just joking with you…”

I turned my back on him before the first tear slipped free. I wiped it away angrily. I wouldn’t let him see me break.

He does not deserve it.

But God, it hurts.