Dinner in the Gavrila household was not a meal. It was a performance.
Adelina stood in front of the mirror as Anya fastened a delicate diamond clasp at the back of her dress. The silk gown clung to her new frame like second skin, the color a muted silver that matched her eyes. Her hair had been curled into soft waves, makeup done by a professional an hour prior.
She looked flawless. Empty.
"Is this really necessary?" she asked, tugging lightly at the necklace.
Anya smiled gently. "It's your first formal dinner since the accident. The family will want to see that you're… well."
Well.
Adel was anything but. She had memories that weren't hers, a body that wasn't hers, and a family she didn't know how to pretend to belong to. And tonight, they'd all be watching her.
The dining hall was grander than any ballroom she'd ever seen. A long mahogany table stretched the length of the room, beneath chandeliers that shimmered like frozen rain. Dozens of candles cast a golden hue across the white and silver place settings. Fresh orchids, impossibly white, ran down the center.
When Adelina entered, heads turned.
At the far end of the table sat a man she had only seen in news articles: Victor Gavrila. Her father.
Tall, commanding, with salt-and-pepper hair and a face carved by ambition. His eyes—cold and sharp—watched her with the scrutiny of a man accustomed to power.
Next to him, a woman in her late thirties with crimson lips and perfect posture raised her wine glass in mock welcome. Adelina recognized her instantly from a photo she'd skimmed in the study: Cassandra Gavrila, the eldest daughter. Corporate strategist. Ice queen.
Across the table sat another man, lounging with the confidence of someone who had never once been told "no." His suit was sharp, his grin sharper.
"Welcome back, little sis," he said with lazy amusement. "Did the coma come with memory loss or just better taste in dresses?"
Stefan. The second brother. The charming one.
And at the opposite head of the table from their father—Nathan.
He stood as she approached and pulled out her chair without a word. She sat, and he pushed it in carefully before resuming his place.
No one else stood for her.
"Adelina," Victor said after a beat of silence. "You look… recovered."
She forced a smile. "Thank you, Father."
"Do you remember anything from the accident?" Cassandra asked, voice smooth but disinterested. "Or was it another one of your rebellious episodes gone wrong?"
Adel felt Nathan stiffen beside her.
"I remember enough," she said calmly, though her heart pounded.
The courses began—one after the other, elegantly plated, perfectly timed. But the real menu was conversation.
Victor discussed political allies, upcoming business acquisitions, media narratives. Cassandra corrected him once—politely—and was rewarded with a rare nod.
Stefan cracked jokes between bites, tossing sideways glances at Adelina.
"Honestly, Addie, you should nearly die more often. The sympathy headlines are great for the stock."
Nathan's fork clinked too sharply against his plate.
"Don't," he said, voice quiet but firm.
Stefan held up his hands. "Relax. Just saying she's useful."
"She's not a tool," Nathan snapped.
Adelina stared down at her untouched risotto. Her stomach twisted.
Victor's gaze shifted to her again. "You've always been sensitive, Nathan. Especially when it comes to her."
"She's different," Nathan said, his tone softening in a way that felt too private for such a public table. "She always has been."
The air shifted. Cassandra raised an eyebrow. Stefan's grin faded slightly.
Adelina's cheeks flushed. She tried to find her place in the script but realized she didn't know her lines. She didn't even know the plot.
"What are you reading these days, Adelina?" Cassandra asked with pointed curiosity.
Adel blinked. "I… haven't had time to read much."
"You used to reread Austen religiously," she said, sipping her wine. "Sense and Sensibility. Something about emotional restraint being romantic."
"People change," Nathan said.
Victor gave a short laugh. "Or they forget."
Adelina met his eyes then, and something passed between them. An unspoken agreement: she would behave, for now. But she was watching, too.
After dessert was served and the tension simmered just beneath the glossy surface of family civility, the guests began to disperse. Cassandra kissed her father's cheek. Stefan winked at a passing maid. Victor stood, his departure a silent cue for the evening's end.
But Nathan stayed seated beside her.
When the room had emptied, he finally turned to her.
"You did well," he said.
"I felt like a puppet."
"You smiled at the right moments. You didn't contradict Father. You didn't take the bait from Cassandra or Stefan. That's a win."
Adel sighed. "They all look at me like I'm a fragile experiment."
Nathan's gaze sharpened. "You're not. But you are under a microscope. Always have been."
"Why?"
He hesitated. "Because you don't belong in their world."
Her heart skipped. "But I do now."
"You always belonged to this family. But not with it. There's a difference."
He stood and offered her his hand.
"Come. Walk with me."
They strolled through the estate garden. The night air was cool, fragrant with blooming roses and trimmed hedges. The sky was velvet black, stars hidden behind city glow.
Nathan stopped near a bench and looked out at the fountain—one she remembered from Adelina's memories. The place where she used to sit alone.
"I've always favored you," he said softly.
Adel looked at him, startled by the honesty in his voice.
"Even before you changed," he continued. "Before the accident. When you were quiet. Sad. Afraid to speak."
"Why?" she whispered.
His eyes met hers.
"Because you were the only one who wasn't trying to prove anything."
She looked away, her throat tightening.
"And now?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped closer, brushing her hair from her face the same way he had in the hospital.
"I don't know who you are now," he murmured. "But I know you're still mine to protect."
And in that moment, standing in a garden lit by soft moonlight and unspoken promises, Adelina realized something chilling:
Nathan's love was not gentle.
It was territorial.
And it had no intention of letting her go.