The flash of cameras was a relentless staccato beat against the town car's windows.
Elara sat beside Victor, her hand in his. Months ago, this was a performance. A choreographed act for enemies and the public.
Now, it was just them.
The bond hummed between them, a warm current in her awareness. She felt Victor's calm focus. There were no rehearsed smiles. No last-minute instructions.
Just the quiet certainty of their connection.
"Ready?" Victor's voice was low, for her alone.
Elara squeezed his hand. "With you? Always."
The door opened. The world erupted into shouts and blinding light.
Victor exited first. He turned and offered his hand. It wasn't a possessive gesture for cameras. It was instinct. Partnership.
She took it, stepping into the frenzy.
Her emerald gown flowed around her. The mating mark on her neck was visible. A natural part of her, like the diamonds beside it.
Their combined scents—ozone, snow, jasmine, honey—created a powerful aura. An olfactory declaration every Alpha and Omega would recognize.
They moved through the press gauntlet as a united front.
Victor's answers were concise, not cutting. When a journalist shouted, "Mrs. Sterling, how does it feel to be the reason for Lucian Knight's ruin?" his grip tightened. A silent offer to intervene.
Elara didn't need it.
She met the reporter's gaze, serene but sharp. "My focus is on the future. Not the past."
A flawless deflection. Confident. Poised.
She felt a flicker of pride from Victor through the bond. They weren't playing roles anymore. They were Victor and Elara Sterling. Mates. Partners.
The world was learning to see them as a force.
Inside the grand ballroom, the air was thick. Old money. Ambition. Expensive perfume.
A subtle hush fell as they entered. Whispers followed. The scrutiny was a weight on Elara's skin.
But it was different now. The stares held less pity. More calculation. Respect. Fear.
Victor's hand stayed on the small of her back. A grounding presence. He guided her through the elite crowd.
He no longer used her as a prop. He paused as she exchanged pleasantries. His silence was an endorsement of her skill.
They reached a group surrounding Alexander Thorne. The board member who had questioned her appointment.
His sharp eyes flickered from Victor to Elara. They lingered on her mating mark.
"Victor. Elara," Thorne greeted, tone neutral. "You're looking… well-settled."
"We are," Victor replied. A simple statement of fact.
"The Foundation reports are impressive," Thorne continued, his gaze settling on Elara. "Your cost-saving measures were innovative. Riskier than I'd advise. But the results speak."
A backhanded compliment. A test.
Elara smiled. A cool, professional curve of her lips. "Calculated risks are the foundation of growth, Mr. Thorne. The data supported the strategy."
She didn't look to Victor. She held the older Alpha's gaze.
"The next phase focuses on long-term impact. The projections are on your desk."
Thorne studied her. He gave a slow, conceding nod. "I look forward to reviewing them."
A small surrender. Significant.
He saw her as the Vice President. Not Victor's wife.
As they moved away, Victor leaned down. His breath was warm against her ear.
"He's terrified of you," Victor murmured, darkly amused.
Elara glanced back. Thorne watched them with a new, wary expression.
"No," she corrected softly, smiling up at her mate. "He's terrified of us."
That was the true shift. They were a single, formidable entity.
The world was finally understanding.
The real test came later. Isabella Montague glided toward them. The socialite from Victor's past. A vision in sapphire silk and calculated charm.
Her smile was sharp. Her eyes missed nothing.
"Victor, darling," she purred, air-kissing near his cheek. Her gaze dismissed Elara before returning to him. "The city is buzzing about your… recent consolidation of power. Quite dramatic."
Her tone was light. The barb was clear. Lucian's downfall.
Victor's posture stayed relaxed. Elara felt the shift through their bond. Not anger. Cool, watchful readiness.
"Isabella," he acknowledged, tone flat.
"And Elara," Isabella continued, finally looking at her. "How brave to step into such a… complicated role. It must be challenging, navigating these circles."
Condescension, expertly layered. Social warfare designed to make her feel an imposter.
Before Elara could speak, Victor's voice cut through the ballroom noise. Chillingly clear.
"There is no challenge where there is competence." His blue eyes fixed on Isabella, stripping her veneer. "My wife's accomplishments speak for themselves. I suggest you familiarize yourself with them before assuming her capabilities."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
The finality in his tone was absolute. The unwavering support required no grand gesture. He had drawn a line.
Isabella stood on the wrong side.
Her perfect smile faltered. The calculating gleam dimmed. Replaced by shock.
She expected tolerance. Polite society facade. She did not expect public evisceration.
"Of course," she recovered, voice strained. "My apologies. I meant no offense."
The retreat was swift. Humiliating.
As she melted into the crowd, Victor's hand found Elara's. His thumb stroked her knuckles. A silent question.
Are you alright?
Elara looked from Isabella's retreating back to Victor's fierce expression. Certainty washed over her.
The public face was no longer a mask. It was their private truth.
He was her shield. She was his strength.
Together, they were untouchable.
Later, on the dance floor, Victor held her close. A slow melody wrapped around them. His hand was warm and sure on her back.
They moved with instinctual synchronicity. Beyond practiced steps.
"You didn't have to do that," she murmured, her head near his shoulder. "With Isabella. I could have handled her."
"I have no doubt," he replied, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "But you shouldn't have to. Not when the insult was directed at what is mine."
The words were a vow. Not possessive. Protective.
Her honor was his to defend. As his was hers.
"It's different now," she said aloud. "The way they look at us."
"They see the bond," he stated. "They smell it. But more, they see the partnership. They understand an attack on you is an attack on the heart of Sterling Enterprises itself."
He guided her into a slow turn, eyes holding hers. "We are not two separate entities. We are a single, unified front."
The song drew to a close. He dipped her. A graceful, dramatic flourish.
For a moment, she was suspended in his arms. Completely reliant on his strength. Utterly secure.
His face was inches from hers. Gaze intense.
"The performance is over, Elara," he whispered, for her alone, as he brought her back up. "This is just us."
He was right. The gala, the guests, the cameras—all background noise.
The only real things were the man holding her, the bond humming between them, and the unshakeable future they were building.
The public face was finally a perfect reflection of their private truth.
The ride home was a comfortable, victorious silence. City lights streamed past the window.
Elara watched Victor. He wasn't on his phone. He wasn't reviewing documents.
His attention was inward. A contemplative frown on his face.
Through the bond, she felt his satisfaction. And beneath it, a faint tension.
"What is it?" she asked softly.
He turned, his blue eyes capturing hers in the dim light. "Isabella's comment. About it being 'challenging' for you."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Does it ever feel that way? Navigating my world?"
The question surprised her. It was vulnerable.
Elara reached across the seat, lacing her fingers with his. "Your world?" She smiled. "Victor, look at what we just did. We faced down the most powerful people in this city as equals."
She squeezed his hand. "That room isn't just yours anymore. It's ours. The only challenge I ever faced was learning to trust you. And we've conquered that."
The tension in his shoulders eased. He brought their joined hands to his lips. Pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
"Ours," he repeated. A quiet vow.
The car pulled into their garage. The evening had been more than a successful appearance. It was a baptism.
Tested. Scrutinized. Challenged.
They emerged stronger.
Victor helped her out. His arm settled around her waist, pulling her close as they walked to the elevator.
A simple, natural gesture. Possession and protection. A silent declaration to the empty garage.
The public face was perfected.
Here, in their own domain, there were no faces to maintain.
Only the truth of their bond. Growing stronger with each passing day.