The Words That Bind

Chapter 2: The Silent Treatment

Samantha Carter—stuck in the body of Samantha Blake, fictional villain extraordinaire—stood in the penthouse’s walk-in closet, which was roughly the size of her dorm room back in reality. Racks of designer dresses lined the walls, each one screaming “I cost more than your student loans.” She ran her fingers over a sequined gown that looked like it belonged on a red carpet, not her. “Nope,” she muttered, shoving it aside. “I’m not walking into that gala looking like a disco ball.”

Ethan Caldwell, her silent, fictional husband-to-be, sat in the living room beyond the closet’s open door, his laptop casting a faint glow on his sharp features. He hadn’t spoken a word since their earlier exchange, just typed cryptic notes like he was auditioning for the role of Brooding Tech Mogul. Sam glanced at him, her nerves buzzing. Tonight was the charity gala—the one where, in Silent Vows, Samantha Blake threw a glass of champagne in Ethan’s face, insulted his philanthropy, and kicked off her spiral into fictional oblivion. Sam had no intention of following that script.

“Okay, Ethan,” she called, pulling a navy dress from the rack—simple, elegant, less “look at me” than the rest. “I need your input. Is this gala, like, Met Gala fancy or tech-bro casual? Because I’m not wearing heels that could double as murder weapons.”

Ethan looked up, his stormy eyes meeting hers. He typed on his laptop, then turned the screen toward her: Black tie. Wear what feels right.

Sam snorted. “Super helpful, thanks. You’re like a fortune cookie with better cheekbones.” She held up the navy dress, a sleeveless number with a modest neckline. “This one says ‘I’m classy but not trying to steal the spotlight.’ Work for you?”

He nodded, once, then went back to his laptop. Sam rolled her eyes. “Great. I’ll just channel my inner Audrey Hepburn and hope I don’t trip over my own ego.”

She slipped into the dress, which fit like it had been tailored by magic elves, and checked her reflection. The mirror showed Samantha Blake—sleek hair, flawless skin, a body that clearly spent more time in yoga studios than Sam’s real one did at the campus coffee shop. But her eyes were still hers, wide and a little panicked. “You’ve got this,” she told herself. “Don’t throw champagne. Don’t insult anyone. Just be… not a villain.”

Her phone—well, Samantha Blake’s phone—buzzed on the dresser. A text from someone named Claire Bennett: Don’t be late. Ethan hates tardiness. Sam frowned. Claire was the CFO of Caldwell Innovations, Ethan’s right-hand woman in the novel, and a minor antagonist who secretly coveted Ethan. Or did she? Sam couldn’t remember if that was canon or just her own assumption from skimming the book.

“Claire, huh?” she muttered, typing back: On it. Thanks for the heads-up. She hesitated, then added a smiley face, hoping it wasn’t too out of character. If she was going to survive this world, she needed allies, not enemies.

Ethan stood, adjusting his cufflinks, his suit making him look like he’d stepped out of a GQ cover shoot. He caught her staring and raised an eyebrow. Sam flushed, turning back to the mirror. “Don’t get any ideas,” she said, more to herself than him. “You’re hot, but you’re also fictional. And silent. I’m not into the strong, silent type. I like guys who can keep up with my banter.”

He typed: You talk enough for both of us.

Sam laughed, surprised. “Was that a joke? Look at you, breaking character already.” She grabbed a pair of low heels—practical, not lethal—and slipped them on. “Alright, let’s do this. Gala time. No champagne-throwing, no drama. Just a nice, normal night.”

Ethan’s lips twitched, almost a smile, and he gestured toward the door. Sam took a deep breath, her heart pounding like she was about to walk into a final exam she hadn’t studied for. This was it—her first test in this fictional world. If she could get through the gala without imploding, maybe she could rewrite Samantha Blake’s story.

The gala was held at the Chihuly Garden and Glass, a venue Sam had visited once on a field trip and sworn never to return to because it was “too bougie for her blood.” Now, standing under the venue’s iconic glass sculptures, surrounded by Seattle’s elite in tuxedos and gowns, she felt like she’d been dropped into a movie she hadn’t auditioned for. The air smelled of champagne and ambition, and a string quartet played something classical that Sam vaguely recognized from a Spotify playlist.

Ethan walked beside her, his presence drawing eyes like a magnet. People nodded at him, whispered behind their hands, but he didn’t acknowledge them, his expression a mask of cool detachment. Sam, on the other hand, couldn’t stop fidgeting. Her dress felt too tight, the room too warm, and every face seemed to be judging her—or rather, judging Samantha Blake.

“Relax,” she whispered to herself. “You’re not her. You’re Sam Carter, queen of trivia night and bad puns. You’ve got this.”

A woman approached, her blonde hair swept into an elegant updo, her emerald gown shimmering under the lights. Sam recognized her instantly: Lila Monroe, the novel’s heroine, all grace and warmth, like a human Pinterest board. In Silent Vows, Samantha Blake hated Lila, seeing her as a threat to her engagement. Sam, however, had no intention of playing that game.

“Lila, right?” Sam said, extending a hand before she could overthink it. “I’m Samantha. It’s great to meet you.”

Lila blinked, clearly surprised, but her smile was genuine. “Samantha, hi. I’ve heard so much about you.” Her voice was soft, like she was used to soothing nervous animals. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, grinning. “You’re rocking that dress. It’s giving… forest goddess vibes.”

Lila laughed, a sound like wind chimes. “Oh, I like that. Forest goddess. I’ll take it.” She glanced at Ethan, who was watching the exchange with a flicker of curiosity. “Ethan, you didn’t tell me your fiancée had such a way with words.”

Ethan typed on his phone, then showed it to Lila: She’s full of surprises.

Sam snorted. “Understatement of the century.” She leaned closer to Lila, lowering her voice. “Between you and me, I’m just trying not to trip over my own feet tonight.”

Lila’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You’ll do fine. These events are more about smiling than dancing. Just stick with Ethan. He’s good at keeping the sharks at bay.”

“Sharks?” Sam asked, glancing around. The crowd was a mix of tech moguls, philanthropists, and old-money types, all circling like they were auditioning for Succession.

Lila nodded. “This gala funds Ethan’s education initiative. Some people here support it; others just want a piece of Caldwell Innovations. You’ll see.”

Sam filed that away. In the novel, Samantha Blake ignored Ethan’s charity work, dismissing it as a publicity stunt. Sam, however, saw an opportunity. If she could show genuine interest, maybe she could win Ethan over—and avoid the champagne incident.

“Thanks for the tip,” she said. “I’m new to this whole… gala thing. Any advice?”

Lila tilted her head, studying her. “Just be yourself. Ethan values authenticity.” She paused, then added, “And maybe steer clear of Claire Bennett. She’s… intense.”

Sam’s stomach twisted. Claire, the CFO. The novel painted her as a schemer, but Sam wasn’t sure she could trust the book’s version of anyone. “Noted,” she said. “But I’m pretty good at handling intense.”

Lila smiled, then excused herself to greet a donor. Sam turned to Ethan, who was watching her with that unreadable expression again. “What?” she said. “Did I pass the Lila test?”

He typed: You didn’t insult her. That’s a start.

“High praise,” Sam said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, let’s mingle. I’m not here to stand in a corner looking pretty.”

The next hour was a blur of handshakes, small talk, and Sam trying not to say anything too out of character. She stuck close to Ethan, who navigated the crowd with a quiet authority that made people part like the Red Sea. He didn’t speak, but his presence was enough—nods, glances, the occasional typed note on his phone. Sam, meanwhile, leaned into her natural charm, cracking jokes about Seattle’s coffee obsession and asking questions about Ethan’s education initiative, which funded STEM programs for underprivileged kids.

To her surprise, people responded well. A tech investor laughed at her quip about “coding bootcamps for toddlers,” and a philanthropist promised to double her donation after Sam shared a (slightly embellished) story about tutoring kids at her university’s outreach program. Maybe Samantha Blake’s reputation wasn’t as doomed as she thought.

Then she saw Claire Bennett.

Claire was impossible to miss—tall, with jet-black hair and a silver dress that screamed “I’m in charge.” She was talking to a group of suits, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. Sam’s instincts pinged. In the novel, Claire was the one who egged Samantha on, planting doubts about Ethan’s loyalty. Sam wasn’t falling for that.

“Showtime,” she muttered, squaring her shoulders. She grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handed one to Ethan, and marched toward Claire. Ethan followed, his expression wary.

“Claire!” Sam called, her voice bright but firm. “I got your text. Thanks for the heads-up.”

Claire turned, her smile faltering for a split second before recovering. “Samantha. You’re… punctual tonight.” Her eyes flicked to Ethan, then back to Sam. “And you’ve met Lila already. How charming.”

Sam caught the edge in her tone but didn’t bite. “Yeah, Lila’s great. I’m hoping to learn the ropes from her. And you, of course. I hear you’re the brains behind Caldwell Innovations’ numbers.”

Claire raised an eyebrow, clearly thrown. “I manage the finances, yes. Ethan’s the visionary.”

Ethan typed: Claire’s invaluable. He showed the screen to both of them, his face neutral.

Sam grinned. “I bet. So, Claire, what’s the deal with this gala? Lila mentioned sharks. Anyone I should watch out for?”

Claire’s smile tightened, but she played along. “Oh, the usual. Investors looking for a quick return, reporters sniffing for a story. Stick with Ethan, and you’ll be fine.”

“Got it,” Sam said, raising her glass. “To surviving the sharks.”

Claire clinked her glass against Sam’s, her eyes calculating. “To survival.”

Sam sipped her champagne, her mind racing. Claire was testing her, but she wasn’t sure why. Was it jealousy, like in the novel, or something else? She glanced at Ethan, who was watching the exchange like a hawk. For a guy who didn’t talk, he was annoyingly good at picking up subtext.

The quartet struck up a new song, and the crowd shifted toward the dance floor. Sam’s stomach lurched. In Silent Vows, this was the moment—Samantha Blake, drunk on champagne and insecurity, accused Ethan of flirting with Lila and threw her drink in his face. The memory of the scene was vivid, like a warning flashing in her brain.

“Not happening,” she whispered, setting her glass on a table. She turned to Ethan, her voice low. “Hey, can we step outside for a sec? I need some air.”

He nodded, gesturing toward a glass door leading to a garden terrace. Sam followed, her heels clicking on the polished floor. The night air was cool, scented with rain and roses, and the city skyline glittered beyond the glass sculptures. For a moment, it felt almost real.

“Okay,” she said, turning to Ethan. “I know this is weird, but I need you to trust me. I’m trying really hard not to mess this up. That gala in there? It’s a minefield. I don’t want to be the Samantha Blake everyone expects.”

Ethan studied her, his silence heavier than ever. Then he pulled out his phone and typed: Why are you different tonight?

Sam hesitated. She couldn’t tell him the truth—not yet. “Let’s just say I had an epiphany,” she said. “I don’t want to fight with you, or Lila, or anyone. I want to do this right. Can we start over? Pretend we’re meeting for the first time?”

He tilted his head, considering. Then he typed: What’s your name?

She laughed, a little shaky. “Sam. Just Sam.”

He nodded, then extended a hand. Ethan.

She shook it, his grip warm and steady. “Nice to meet you, Ethan. Now, let’s go back in there and show them we’re not the trainwreck they’re expecting.”

His lips curved into a real smile this time, small but genuine. For the first time since she’d landed in this world, Sam felt a spark of hope. Maybe she could rewrite this story. Maybe she could survive it.