ELENA'S POV
The morning air smelled of roses and tension.
I was already awake when the first knock hit my door. Not that I'd slept much. Not after last night. Not after the weight of a future I didn't choose sank into my bones like poison.
"Miss Elena," a voice called. "Please open. The stylists are here."
Stylists. Designers. Planners.
People.
Strangers, with sharp measuring tapes and sharper eyes. Sent by the family I hadn't even met. His family.
I pulled the blanket tighter around myself for a second longer, letting the quiet moments cradle me before the storm. Then I stood. My feet were cold against the marble. My body is stiff from the night spent curled up in fear.
When I opened the door, a wave of perfume, fabric samples, and rushed voices spilled in like a flood.
They didn't speak to me. Only at me.
"This one's too plain."
"She's so thin, it'll need alterations."
"Her hair's too dull. We'll need a treatment, maybe two."
I bit my tongue and nodded when they gestured. Let them poke, pin, twist. I was a mannequin. Nothing more.
Across the hall, Seraphina watched it all from her doorway, arms crossed, eyes full of fire. She hadn't stopped glaring since the wedding was announced.
I was supposed to be invisible, I thought, as someone yanked my arm a little too hard. But now, I'm a problem.
Later, in the afternoon, it happened.
I was helping one of the maids carry trays down to the kitchen when I heard Clarssie's voice echo through the hall.
"Who took the bracelet?! That was an heirloom!"
Panic. Chaos.
The house staff scattered like frightened mice. And then Seraphina's voice cut through it all like poison-tipped glass.
"I saw Elena upstairs earlier. Near your dresser."
My heart stopped.
I hadn't even been near Clarssie's room. But I knew that look in Seraphina's eyes when she said it. That quiet, victorious smirk. She knew what she was doing.
"No-" I whispered, stepping forward. "That's not true. I didn't-"
But no one listened.
Clarssie's eyes burned into me. Victor didn't even ask. He just decided.
"You ungrateful brat," he snarled, and the next thing I knew, my wrist was yanked and twisted. "Stealing from this house when we've fed and clothed you? When are we marrying you into power?"
Tears burned behind my eyes.
"I didn't take it," I said again, voice shaking.
He didn't care. He dragged me by the arm like a criminal, the maids all staring, whispering.
They locked me in the storeroom. Cold, dusty, and small. No window. No explanation.
Just punishment.
"You'll stay here," Clarssie hissed, stepping inside with a flashlight that flickered like a warning. "Until you learn your place. Be grateful we didn't send you to jail. You wouldn't survive an hour."
She slammed the door shut.
And just like that, I was alone again.
In the dark.
With my heart breaking-not just from the injustice, but from the truth: this is still my life, even when I'm days away from becoming a bride.
I didn't know how long I stayed there. The cold floor numbed my legs, but it was the silence that crushed me. Heavy. Suffocating. I couldn't cry. I just stared at the wooden door, wishing someone-anyone-would open it and say this was all a mistake.
And then... the handle turned.
I flinched.
The light that poured in made me squint, but the silhouette that stepped through made my chest ache with something like hope.
"Miss Elena," a soft voice whispered.
It was Mary.
The oldest maid in the house. Wrinkled hands. A permanent scent of lavender and soap. She'd worked here longer than I'd been alive. She was the only one who ever looked at me like I was more than a shadow.
She carried a tray of warm food and a folded blanket.
"I brought you something to eat," she murmured, shutting the door gently behind her. "And this. So you don't freeze."
I stared at her for a second-then all at once, everything cracked inside me.
I dropped to my knees and hugged her tightly, burying my face in her apron. The tears came hard and fast. Ugly sobs that ripped through my chest like they'd been waiting forever.
"I didn't take it," I cried. "I swear, I didn't-"
"I know, child," Mary whispered, her arms wrapping around me with the kind of gentleness I didn't know I needed. "I know."
I stayed like that for what felt like forever, clinging to the only kindness in the house. The food remained untouched between us, and for a moment, the world went still.
Then, she spoke again, this time with a voice laced with fear.
"You're marrying into the Blake family," she said, almost like a prayer or a curse. "I heard the staff talking. About the name. About... him."
I pulled back, wiping my tears. "You know who he is?"
She nodded slowly. Her eyes, once soft, filled with something darker.
"Sebastian Blake. That man... he's not ordinary. They say he's got the blood of devils in him. Cold. Ruthless. They say he carries a gun to board meetings and never blinks when pulling a trigger."
My breath caught.
Mary looked around nervously before leaning closer. "There are rumors, sweet girl. Stories of how he handles traitors. Of how Blake smiles in public and bleeds you dry behind closed doors. And now you're being thrown into their den?"
Her voice cracked.
"They should've married Seraphina into that family, not you," she whispered. "You... you're too gentle. Too kind."
I shook my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I don't have a choice."
Mary's eyes welled up.
"Then may the heavens guard you, my sweet Elena," she whispered, brushing my hair back gently. "Because down there... in that mansion, I don't think anyone else will."
SEBASTIAN'S POV
Another pointless night in this glitter-wrapped cage. Same faces, same laughter, same lies. I sat back in the booth, letting the scotch burn its way down. Everything in here reeked of money and perfume-but none of it impressed me.
This wasn't about pleasure. It was about presence. Control. Power.
Cassian slid into the seat across from me, grinning like a man who never cared for consequences. Bastard had lipstick on his neck again. How many hearts did he ruin this week? Five? Six?
He looked at me like I was the most entertaining thing in the room.
"So... the lion finally gets leashed."
I didn't respond. He wanted a reaction. I don't give reactions. I give orders.
"You know, I always pictured your wedding like a funeral. Grim. Guns under the suits. You're pulling the bride down the aisle by the wrist."
I swirled the drink. "I said yes because I was told to."
He laughed. "And you always do what you're told?"
If only he knew. I don't follow orders-I eliminate the need for them. But my grandfather... he's different. His voice carries weight. Legacy. I owe him more than blood. I owe him silence.
Cassian leaned forward. "So what's she like?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Don't care."
"Liar."
I took a sip. "She's a name on paper. A face I haven't seen. A life I'll control."
He gave a low whistle. "Romantic."
"I'm not built for romance."
And yet... my mind flicked-just for a second-to the idea. A stranger I'll marry. A girl thrown to the wolves. Will she beg? Fight? Break?
Something coiled in my chest.
This marriage... It's a storm waiting to happen. I can feel it.
But Cassian just kept talking, smiling like he had nothing to lose. "You know, I think this is going to be fun. Watching you pretend to play husband. Try not to shoot the priest, yeah?"
I leaned forward, slow and deliberate. "Cassian."
"What?"
"Say one more word, and I'll freeze every one of your accounts, frame you for fraud, and get your name and personal information on the dark web. For sale."
His smirk faltered.
I smiled-barely.
"Remember who I am."
He raised his hands. "Alright, alright. Damn. You're no fun lately."
I sat back, letting the silence settle.
She's coming into my world.
She doesn't know what waits.
But she will.
And God help her when she finally looks me in the eyes.
Because once she's mine...
There's no way out.
Cassian sipped from his drink, watching me the way a man watches a bomb ticking quietly in the corner of a room.
"Okay, jokes aside, do you even know anything about her?" he finally asked, voice dropping into something closer to genuine curiosity. "Like... who she is, what she's like? Anything?"
I didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
"No."
He stared at me for a beat. "...And you're not interested?"
I looked him dead in the eye. "She could be blind, mute, and batshit insane for all I care. It changes nothing."
He leaned back slowly, letting out a breath like he was trying to gauge whether I was serious.
I was.
Cassian ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, clearly thrown off. "You're actually going through with marrying a girl you know nothing about?"
I gave a small, sharp smirk. "It's not a marriage, Cassian. It's a transaction. And I'm just the weapon being placed on the table."
He let out a low whistle. "Shit."
Exactly.
I didn't care about her name. Her face. Her past. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was that my grandfather wanted it done. And when he commands-I deliver.
Cassian shifted. "You're not even curious? At all?"
I downed the last of my scotch and set the glass down with a quiet thud.
"Curiosity gets people killed."
He laughed, like it was a joke.
But it wasn't.
My phone buzzed.
Only one name ever made my entire body go still like that.
Grandfather.
Cassian was mid-sentence, talking about some blonde he was planning to corrupt next. I didn't hear a word. My thumb slid across the screen, answering before the second ring.
"Yes."
His voice was calm, composed, and cold as usual. "Come home. Now."
That was all.
No explanations.
No questions.
Just now.
The call ended before I could reply.
He never waited for answers.
I stood without another word, buttoning my black suit like it was armor.
Cassian raised an eyebrow. "What-called to the throne room again?"
I didn't answer.
Didn't have to.
He knew.
Everyone knew.
When he calls, I go.
Always.
...
The gates opened without a word, tall and silver, reflecting moonlight like they were cut from frost. The guards straightened. The staff vanished. Everyone in the house knew I hated chatter.
The moment I stepped into the marble-floored hallway, everything was still. Polished. Perfect. The air smelled of power and discipline.
No warmth.
Just legacy.
His study door was already open. He sat there like a king on a throne carved from steel and silence-my grandfather.
Grey eyes. Wrinkled hands that once bled for the empire he built. And a voice that never needed to rise.
"Sebastian," he said without looking up, "you came quickly."
"I always do," I replied, standing straight.
"Good." He folded his hands. "Because things are moving faster than expected."
He didn't need to explain.
I was here.
He gave the order.
And I obeyed.
Always.
Even when it's madness.
Even when it's a marriage.
Even when it's war.
The silence stretched.
Heavy.
Like a knife waiting to fall.
I stood before him, arms behind my back, posture disciplined to perfection. The fire crackled low in the grand hearth beside us. It was the only sound in the room, aside from the soft ticking of the antique clock on the wall.
He was still staring at the document on his desk-gold-lined paper with our family seal pressed into it. My name is at the top. And the girls'. Elena.
I didn't flinch.
Didn't react.
Because that's what he expected.
Finally, he looked up. "There will be a transition."
My jaw tightened. "What kind of transition?"
He leaned back in his chair like a man who was about to enjoy saying something no one else would dare say.
"You'll be moving out of the Blake mansion after the wedding. The estate on Hawthorne Hill will be yours."
I stared at him. Blinked once.
Waited.
"You mean... I'll be leaving this house?" I repeated slowly, voice low.
"Yes. A husband lives with his wife. That's how it's always been."
I kept my face blank.
But inside-rage simmered.
Leave Blake? The only place I've ever called home? The house where every memory, every scar, every lesson was carved into the walls? The house I bled for, the legacy I built from its foundation?
All for some stranger?
Some girl whose voice I hadn't even heard?
"I didn't realize this was part of the arrangement," I said coolly, but my hands clenched behind my back.
"It is now."
There it was.
His word was law. Etched in stone. And I-his favorite weapon-wasn't forged to question.
"You'll be given full control over the Hawthorne property. It's close to the central city. Good for appearances," he added, eyes sharp. "And I trust you won't make a scene. This is necessary."
I nodded once. Slow. Calculated.
Inside, my mind was howling.
This wasn't just about a house. It was about control. Distance. Making sure the marriage looked functional to the public, while I was pulled further from the family core.
Was he testing me?
Or did he truly think I'd blend into the perfect, married façade?
Either way... I obeyed.
I always did.
"Yes, Grandfather," I said at last, voice like steel wrapped in velvet.
But in my mind, I was already flipping chess pieces.
Because if I were being moved like a pawn-
Someone was going to bleed for it.
