Chapter 5: The Introduction

Pamela's Point of View

The weekend arrives faster than I expected. My nerves twist and tighten as Rowan’s sleek black car pulls into the driveway of a grand estate—larger than even his own mansion. The looming facade is more than intimidating; it’s overwhelming. It feels like I’m about to step into the lion’s den.

My hands are clenched tightly in my lap, knuckles white against the soft fabric of the pale blue dress that had been laid out for me this morning. The dress is beautiful, perfectly tailored, but it feels like armor for a battle to which I am ill prepared.

Sitting beside me, Rowan is impeccably attired in a fitted charcoal suit that accentuates sharp angles and exudes an aura of quiet command. He hasn't uttered a word so far during the ride; his gaze is out the window, lost in thought or perhaps he is just pointedly ignoring me. The tension between us is palpable, a silent war waged with stony glares and curt exchanges since I signed that damned contract.

The car smoothes to a stop in front of the grand entrance, and finally, Rowan turns to me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe with a critical eye.

"Remember what we discussed," he says coolly, with command. “You're to be on your best behavior and play your part convincingly. My family is expecting perfection.”

I swallow hard, trying not to roll my eyes. "Don't you worry, I won't embarrass you," I said, trying to hold in any sarcasm, though a little came out anyway.

His eyes take on a hard edge, but before he can say anything, the driver opens his door and a flood of cool evening air breezes in. Rowan exits the car with fluid ease, turning back to reach a hand into the car toward me. I falter for a moment before threading my shaking hand into his, letting him assist me out of the car.

The double doors of the mansion swing open, revealing a richly decorated foyer with crystal chandeliers and marble floors that glitter under the soft light. A butler stands at attention, his posture rigidly formal.

"Welcome home, Mr. Hamilton," he says with a slight bow. His eyes flicker to me briefly, a flash of curiosity in their depths before his professional mask slips back into place.

"Thank you, James," Rowan says shortly before turning to me. "This is Pamela Jones, my fiancée. See that her things are taken to my quarters."

My heart skips a beat as he utters the words. His quarters? I begin to protest, my mouth opening before the warning gleam in Rowan's eyes seals it shut again. This is all about the show, I remind myself. Just play along.

James nods efficiently. "Very well, sir. Dinner will be served in thirty minutes."

Rowan offers me his arm, and I take it reluctantly as he leads me through the opulent hallways toward what I can only assume is the dining room. My heels click against the polished floor, echoing the rapid beat of my heart as nerves swirl in my stomach.

We approach the large, elegantly ornamented double doors leading into the dining hall. I hear a murmur of voices-intermittent soft laughter and clinking glasses. As we reach the door, Rowan pauses for just a moment, turned to me with a stern expression.

"Remember," he orders softly but firm, "smile and be polite. They will be judging you from the very moment you step inside.”

I nod mutely, forcing a small smile onto my lips despite the anxiety that gnaws at me. With that, Rowan pushes the doors open, revealing a grand dining room bathed in the warm glow of candlelight.

Seated at the long mahogany table are four people who all turn their heads toward us as we enter. An elderly couple sits at one end, their faces lighting up with welcoming smiles. To their right is a statuesque woman with sharp features and impeccably coiffed hair, her eyes slanting as they light on me. On her left is a young woman about my age, her posture casual but her eyes sparkling playfully as she takes me in.

Rowan leads me closer, his hand now resting possessively on the small of my back. He clears his throat, drawing everyone's full attention to us.

"Everybody, I present Pamela Jones, my fiancée," he tells them all a bit pompously, it echoes in the room.

There is a moment of stunned silence and then the elderly woman springs to her feet with surprising agility. On approaching us, her face breaks into a warm, genuine smile.

"Oh, Rowan, this is wonderful news!" she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with joy. She reaches out to clasp my hands in hers, the touch soft and comforting. "Welcome to the family, dear. I'm Eleanor, Rowan's grandmother, but you can call me Grandma Ellie."

The kindness stuns me, and I find myself smiling back at her for real this time. "It's lovely to meet you, Grandma Ellie," I say softly.

"Come, come, let me introduce you to everyone," she says, guiding me toward the table. She points to the elderly man who has also risen from his seat-a gentle smile etched on his weathered face. "This is Harold, my husband and Rowan's grandfather."

His hand extends to me, his handshake firm but soft. "Welcome, Pamela. It is a pleasure. Any woman who can tame our Rowan is a welcome addition indeed."

I chuckle lightly, some of my nerves dissipating under their warm reception. "I'm not sure about taming, but I'm happy to be here.”

Just then, the sharp-featured woman rises from her chair, her eyes assessing me critically. She's smartly dressed, every strand of hair in its place, an aura of sophistication and control exuding from her.

"I'm Lillian Hamilton, Rowan's mother," she says, cool and measured. Her gaze moves over me, lingers a second too long on my plain dress before meeting my eyes again. "This is quite... unexpected."

I force a polite smile and extend my hand toward her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton."

She takes my hand briefly, the hold delicate, icy. "Likewise," she says, though her utterly lacked warmth told another story.

The younger woman does not rise, merely flashes a sly smile while watching the exchange. She finally stands, sauntering over with a casual grace.

“I'm Rebecca, Rowan's sister,” she says with sparkling eyes that seem to brim with inquisitiveness and with something else which completely escapes me. "Well, well, who would have thought my dear brother would suddenly settle down? Tell me, Pamela, where did you two meet?"

I glance briefly at Rowan, not knowing what story he has fabricated for our supposed romance. Before I can fumble for an answer, the calm and smooth Rowan steps in.

"We met at a charity event several months ago," he says smoothly, his arm wrapped around my waist. "It didn't take me long at all to figure out that she is the one."

Rebecca's eyebrows rise, a wicked tilt to her smile. "Is that so? I find that amusing. I don't recall seeing her at any of the events we attended."

Rowan's fingers tighten on my hip, a silent warning. "Then you must have overlooked her," he says shortly.

Grandma Ellie claps her hands together, her smile never faltering in the face of tension. "Well, no matter how you met, we're very glad to have you here, Pamela. Let's sit down and have dinner as a family."

We all find our chairs, Rowan pulling one out beside him for me. The table is set extravagantly, shining silverware and artfully arranged dishes that smell heavenly.

The first course is a thin, creamy mushroom soup, which I taste tentatively, trying not to look into Lillian's piercing gaze or to let Rebecca's scrutinizing smirk make me nervous.

"So," Lillian finally says, her voice slicing through the clinking of silverware. "Pamela, tell us something about your family. What do your parents do?”

I pause, carefully choosing my words. "My mother passed away when I was young," I say softly, in a hushed tone, the familiar ache surfacing fleetingly. "My father has a small business."

Lillian's eyebrow rises fractionally. "Oh? What business would that be?"

"Import and export," I return, keeping all particulars vague. All I need is to get into messy details of my family life under such scrutiny.

“How unusual,” Rebecca says with an unmistakable hint of sarcasm as she drinks from her glass of wine. “And your education? Where have you studied?”

"I went to State University, and my degree is in Literature," I say, trying not to be rude but continuing to feel discomfort.

"Literature," Lillian says, pursing her lips as she does. “Not exactly a practical field of study, either, is it?”

I feel a flush creep up my neck but maintain my poise. "I believe it has its own value. I've always had a passion for reading and writing."

Grandma Ellie jumps in, eyes sparkling. "Oh, how wonderful! I love literature. Do you have a favorite author, dear?"

I smile sincerely upon her excitement. "I'm quite fond of Jane Austen. Her insights into society and character are timeless."

"Ah, a classic choice," Harold puts in, nodding appraisingly. "Pride and Prejudice is a masterpiece."

Rebecca leans back in her chair, swirling her wine glass reflectively. "Personally, I find those stories a bit dull. All that talk of manners and marriage prospects. Don't you think, Pamela?"

I meet her gaze squarely. "I think they offer sharp commentary on societal norms and the roles of women, many of which are still relevant today."

Rowan’s hand finds mine under the table and squeezes once. I glance up at him, startled, and catch the barest flash of approbation in the stoic mask of his face.

Lillian's eyes dart between Rowan and me, her brow furrowing slightly. "So, Pamela, now that you're engaged, what are you planning on doing? Are you going to keep working, or will you be focusing on being a support to Rowan in his endeavors?”

I take a deep breath, choosing my words with care. "I believe I can do both. My supporting Rowan doesn't mean I have to give up my ambitions."

A flash of irritation flits across Lillian's face, but before she can say a word, Rowan interrupts as smooth as silk. "Pamela is quite talented and driven. I have no doubt she will excel in whatever she chooses to pursue.

I'm so shocked by his words that I turn to him in surprise. Is he standing up for me?

Grandma Ellie beams with pride at Rowan's response. "That's the spirit! A modern couple supporting each other's dreams. I love it.”

The rest of dinner proceeds under the questioning, whatever that is, thinly veiled criticism of Lillian and Rebecca, but with the grands in my corner and the occasional surprising interjection from Rowan, to boot, I hold my own.