Chapter 5: The Old Enemy’s Secret

The shackles clinked softly.

The sound cut through the room, sharp as a bell.

Under his tangled hair, a pair of sharp, proud eyes.

James Lee's eyes burned with something fierce—anger, maybe, or a desperate hope.

James Lee stared at me, holding the wine with both hands, offering it up.

He stood there, motionless, the glass trembling just a little. I could feel everyone's gaze on us.

All eyes were on us. Should I accept or refuse?

My mind spun, weighing options. Either choice was a risk.

“Abby?” Savannah called out, confused.

Her voice snapped me back, gentle but full of concern.

I came back to myself, realizing I’d hesitated too long and many eyes were already on me.

The air thickened, the moment stretching. I felt the weight of a dozen judgments waiting for me to crack.

Just as I was about to refuse, using the excuse that I couldn’t hold my liquor, James Lee leaned forward, his wide sleeve covering both his hand and mine.

He moved with sudden purpose, blocking the view of our hands from the rest of the table.

I felt my fingertips quickly pinched—a cold touch.

The contact was brief, but unmistakable.

I frowned and froze.

Every muscle in my body tensed. I tried not to show it.

A small pill slid into my palm.

The capsule was familiar—James Lee's way of looking out for me, even now.

James Lee withdrew his hand as if nothing had happened and turned away.

He straightened, his face a mask of indifference. The performance was flawless.

He knew.

A bolt of realization shot through me. Only he would remember that detail.

Aside from old acquaintances, only he knew I couldn’t drink pear cider.

My mind reeled, heart thundering. James Lee was still the same in the ways that mattered.

My heart pounded. I pretended to drink, only wetting my lips, and swallowed the familiar red pill.

I brought the glass to my lips, let the cold cider touch my mouth, then slipped the pill under my tongue and swallowed fast.

Soon, the heat in my body faded and the faint rash on my hand disappeared.

Relief washed over me. I flexed my fingers under the table, grateful for the old trick that still worked.

The music and chatter continued in the hall. James Lee’s thin figure in green was led away, melting into the dim dusk, unnoticed.

No one else seemed to care as he was escorted out. To them, he was already a ghost.

I withdrew my complicated gaze and stared at the wine in my golden cup, lost in thought.

My reflection swirled in the glass—a stranger’s eyes staring back. I tried to make sense of the tangled loyalties in my chest.

At that moment, I vaguely heard someone calling me by my ear.

Savannah's voice cut through the haze, gentle and urgent.

“Abby, let’s go. The First Lady and the President are going to announce our marriage.”

She tugged me up, her excitement contagious even in the midst of chaos.

I nodded, suppressing my turbulent emotions, and walked to the front of the hall with Savannah.

My face was set in a smile, but inside I was a storm.

Daniel Harris announced the marriage heartily, as if it were nothing of value. Perhaps tipsy, his manner softened, and he even asked the other adopted children if any had someone in their hearts, so he could announce more marriages together.

His voice was gruff but surprisingly warm, the kind that could turn an order into a blessing. His laughter echoed across the room, a rare sound.

Everyone laughed in flattery. Liam curled his lips and looked at Savannah.

His smile was sly, eyes glinting with something like jealousy.

“None of us have your luck—carefree in everything, and now even marriage is handed to you. Life will be smooth from now on.”

His tone was half-joke, half-accusation, and the siblings around the table nodded in forced agreement.

Savannah bowed steadily to Liam. “Thank you for your kind words, sixth sibling. All is thanks to the President’s grace.”

She lowered her eyes, the way kids do when they know better than to talk back.

Liam’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, seemingly plotting, and suddenly changed the subject. “But you’ve always been loyal, yet for this marriage, instead of holding it before the President and First Lady, you insisted on going to Maple Heights. That place isn’t your hometown, nor related to your fiancée. What’s so special about it that you’d disregard tradition?”

His words were barbed, designed to draw blood. I bristled, but kept my face blank.

Hearing this, the First Lady also spoke up.

She leaned forward, her voice mild but firm, the weight of tradition behind her words.

“Although Maple Heights is a good place and your trust is nearby, such an important event as a wedding should still be held in D.C.”

Her words were a gentle rebuke, a reminder of the rules that governed this world.

Savannah hesitated and had to agree.

She nodded, eyes downcast, conceding without a fight. The dream of a quiet country wedding flickered and died.

My heart skipped a beat, but outwardly I obediently lowered my head, silently blaming Liam for stirring up trouble.

Inside, I cursed Liam. Outwardly, I was the model of compliance, eyes on the tablecloth.

The First Lady then praised me at length, saying she had no daughter and felt a special fondness for me, hoping I could spend more time with her before the wedding.

She reached across the table, her hand cool on mine. Her praise was sincere, her loneliness palpable. I nodded, touched and wary all at once.

Daniel Harris had not spoken all along, but now he laughed lightly, his voice thick with wine, lazy and low. “So good? My mother likes her this much.”

The words rumbled out, half-amused, half-surprised. His mask had slipped just a little.

The privacy screen shifted. A gold ring caught the light—a flash of power, a warning. My heart stuttered as the President himself beckoned me forward.

“Come here, let me take a look at you too.”

His words left no room for refusal.