My Granddaughter in law
The night of the event came faster than I would’ve liked.
Rowan had been tight-lipped about the details, only giving me the bare minimum to work with: family gathering, semi-formal, mostly to honor his parents—the people who adopted him—and a few other "important Vaughns" they owed respect to.
It wasn’t a party. It wasn’t even a celebration.
It was a show.
A performance to remind the younger Vaughns who held the real power in the family tree.
I hated everything about it already.
The mansion they hosted it in was ancient Vaughn territory—towering chandeliers, velvet drapes so thick they swallowed light, and more polished marble than a museum. Guards and servers lined the walls, silent and sharp-eyed. Everything screamed money and watch your back.
Rowan squeezed my hand once before we stepped through the heavy double doors. I tried to steady my breathing, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my dress. His hand stayed at the small of my back, a constant, steady pressure.
The moment we entered, all conversation stopped.
The room full of Vaughns turned their heads, cold eyes sweeping over us.
Some of them I recognized faintly from memories I’d shoved deep down—older men and women clinging to the last shreds of their youth, smiling with too many teeth. A few younger ones, polished and perfect, clutching champagne flutes and murmuring behind manicured hands.
Rowan’s adoptive mother sat near the center of the room, perched on an ornate chair like a queen pretending she hadn’t been dethroned years ago. His father—adopted too—stood stiffly beside her, nodding to whoever approached but rarely smiling.
The grandfather sat a little apart from them, older than time itself, leaning heavily on a cane. When he saw Rowan and me, he snorted loud enough for half the room to hear, shaking his head like we were the punchline to some private joke.
I kept my face blank, my posture perfect.
I wasn’t going to let them see me flinch.
The murmuring started almost immediately, whispers behind glasses, sidelong glances. I heard snippets—“Is that her?” and “She brought the kids too, didn’t she?”—before I tuned it all out.
The younger generation didn’t hide their feelings nearly as well.
One of the grandsons—tall, sleek, and wearing his entitlement like cologne—started arguing with another cousin near the wine table. It wasn’t loud yet, but the sharp hisses of words were escalating fast.
“She doesn’t belong here,” one of them snapped. “Neither do her brats.”
Before fists could fly, an older woman in a silver gown swept between them, her glare enough to freeze the fight mid-swing. She was severe-looking but not cruel, with eyes that had seen enough family wars to know how stupid this one would be.
That was Rowan’s great-aunt—Aunt Celeste, if I remembered right.
The only Vaughn who had ever looked at me like a person instead of a stain.
She caught my gaze across the room and gave a small, barely there nod.
A little shield of solidarity.
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
And right now, something felt like everything.
Rowan leaned down slightly, murmuring, "You’re doing great," against my hair.
I nodded stiffly, not trusting myself to speak.
We were barely halfway to the front of the room when the air shifted sharply.
A voice, smooth and familiar and dripping with wicked humor, cut through the low hum of tension like a knife.
“Well, well, well. Did y’all miss me?”
The entire room stilled.
Chairs scraped. People turned.
I froze. Every muscle locking tight.
Because standing there, poised like she owned the damn night—
was Lady Isolde.
Smiling like a cat with a mouse trapped between its paws.
The silence that followed Lady Isolde’s entrance could’ve shattered glass.
All eyes were on her as she stepped further into the room, her heels clicking against the marble with unapologetic rhythm. She looked regal—like she hadn’t aged a day, dressed in deep emerald silk that clung to her frame like it remembered who she used to be. Her hair was swept up with sharp pins that looked like they could stab someone and still be considered tasteful.
Every Vaughn in that room looked like they’d seen a ghost.
Even Rowan stiffened beside me.
I glanced at him. “Is that…?”
He nodded slowly, jaw tight. “That’s her.”
Sebastian Vaughn Rowan’s grandfather gripped the head of his cane, pushing to his feet like the floor had betrayed him.
His voice cracked through the room. “What are you doing here?”
Lady Isolde stopped in the very center of the room, where the light hit her just enough to make the diamonds at her throat flash. She arched one brow at Sebastian like he was a slightly irritating stain on her dress.
“You divorced me, remember?” she said coolly. “Or perhaps you’re going senile now?”
He sneered. “You left. Twenty years ago. No contact. No word. And now you walk in like it’s your throne?”
“Oh, Sebastian,” she sighed, folding her arms, “I always had the throne. You were just borrowing it.”
Muffled gasps rippled through the room. The younger Vaughns were glued to their places, half of them in awe, the other half terrified.
Sebastian’s face turned a deep shade of red. “You have no right to be here.”
Lady Isolde tilted her head. “Actually, I do.” She pulled a folded sheet from her clutch and held it up. “Shall I list the properties still under my name? The shares? The trusts I never released? I may have left, darling, but I didn’t abandon my influence. I simply saved it.”
Sebastian stared at her like she’d slapped him. “You’ve been watching us.”
“No,” she said simply. “I’ve been doing my research.”
And then she turned, her eyes locking on me.
I froze.
Everyone turned to look at me too, as if they were trying to figure out why her gaze had softened—why the former matriarch of the Vaughn empire looked like she’d found the only person worth smiling at.
She walked toward me slowly. I opened my mouth, confused, nervous, already shaking my head.
“Lady Isolde, you shouldn’t—”
“Shhhhh,” she whispered, pulling me into a hug.
A real hug.
Tight. Warm. Protective.
I stood there stunned, my arms pinned at my sides as her perfume wrapped around me—rich and floral with something cold beneath it, like rain on marble.
When she pulled back, her hands framed my face. “You’ve grown into a lioness,” she whispered. “They don’t know it yet—but they will.”
A calm lioness I wanted to say but that wasn't important now.
My voice cracked, “I don’t understand. Why…?”
She turned to the room, her voice rising like it hadn’t lost power in all these years. “I’m here to defend and protect my granddaughter-in-law.”
The silence that followed was
deafening.
Sebastian looked like he might collapse.
“What?” one of the grandsons blurted. “She’s not even married to Rowan—”
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