The message was still clear on my screen, sharp and threatening.

"Tell Clinton goodbye. You will never see him again". And the photo of my room.

I stared at it in fear. It wasn't just some warning; it was a command. And whoever sent it wasn't bluffing. He knew where I lived. He was watching me. Maybe he had been watching me longer than I even realized.

I moved back from the window and kept my phone under a stack of books on my desk. I couldn't reply. Not yet. Not until I knew what I was dealing with.

Not now, when everything felt like a trap.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. My parents were either pretending nothing had happened, or they were both downstairs, waiting for me to come to terms with the life they'd already signed me into.

I wasn't ready. I didn't know if I ever would be.

I kept telling myself, maybe this was all just for show. That Clinton would show up and take me far away from all of this, that my parents would suddenly remember I wasn't some piece of currency they could use to buy back their pride.

I knew better.

I quietly paced around my room, with no plan running through my mind. Something in me kept telling me to move out somewhere, even if it was only for a few hours. There, I would think, get rid of this thing that had gotten stuck in my throat and wouldn't go down. Most importantly, feel something that wasn't fear.

My hand met a small velvet box as I reached for my hoodie in my drawer. Clinton had given it to me on my final birthday. Inside was a fragile gold bracelet with our initials carved on it. But I hadn't worn it since we fought two weeks ago. The one where I told him I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore. The fight now felt like a curse.

I fit the bracelet onto my wrist and zipped up my bag. "If this was the last time I'd see him, then I needed to say goodbye pleasantly". I said to myself quietly before heading to his house.

The city felt unusual to me while walking. The streets felt like they held winter tension, even in the daylight. The kind that sank into your bones and made everything ache just a little more. The university was only a few blocks from Clinton's flat. I used the back roads, going through smaller streets and looking for any signs that someone was following me.

There were no black cars.

Maybe they weren't watching me now. Or maybe they wanted me to think that.

When I got to Clinton's flat, I knocked twice and the door opened almost instantly.

"Seraphina?" Clinton's voice was a mix of shock and relief. Are you okay? You haven't been responding to my texts. What's happening?" he asked. But before I could respond to his questions, he pulled me close to himself and gave me a tight hug. Like he was afraid I might vanish if he let go. For a minute, I felt peace, comfort and warmth, which I think was the last time I was going to feel such. The moment didn't last.

I pulled back and looked up at him. "We need to have a conversation. Inside."

He moved out of the way, and I entered the apartment we had once thought we would share someday. The space smelled like coffee and pine, which is his favorite candle. My eyes scanned the living room. The same worn couch. Same books littered all over the place, the same picture of us from last summer, looking at me laughing.

"What's the matter?" he asked, closing the door behind us. "Is what I heard the actual truth?"

I nodded slowly.

"Your parents are... marrying you off?"

"To Lucian Vale," I said, and watched the blood drain from his face.

"No." He took a step forward. "That can't be real. You hate those people."

"I didn't get a choice, Clinton. They signed the contract already."

He stared at me, mouth closed tight. "So that's it? Are you going to do it"?

"Do you think I want this?" I snapped. "Do you think I'm okay with being handed over like a debt payment?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Then come with me. Right now. We'll leave, we need to."

"You don't get the point," I said quietly, almost to myself. "He is watching me."

He froze. "Who is?"

"Lucian Vale," I said, wiping my face with my palm. " I think he is the one sending threatening messages to me. He knew I was going to meet you today."

Clinton's face darkened. "Let him come. I'm not afraid of him."

"You should be," I responded.

I brought my phone out from my hoodie pocket, unlocked it and showed him the text messages.

He read it, then read it again. His face changed. Confused at first, then fury in a second.

"This is insane," he said. "You're not a hostage, Seraphina. You're a person. We can go to the police."

"And say what?" I asked. "That the richest mafia-bred family in the city sent me a scary text?"

Clinton paced the room. "There has to be another way. A loophole. Something."

"I checked. The wedding license is already in motion. There's a media rollout coming next week. Engagement photos, a press statement. Everything."

Clinton turned to me, eyes burning. "You still love me?"

I didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Then run away with me."

I wanted to say yes. But oh my God. How can I when all I could picture was that black SUV and the life-threatening message? The more I thought about it, the more I saw reasons not to accept it. At least everyone would be safe.

"I can't," I said softly, tears rolling down my cheeks.

He moved closer and gently held my face. "You're stronger than this. Don't let them have you. Please."

I looked up at him and, seeing his face, I remembered how soft his mouth felt, how warm his eyes were and how peacefully he believed in me even when I couldn't believe in myself.

"I just needed to see you," I said softly. "One more time."

"That's not enough." He said.

"It has to be," I replied, stepping away before I changed my mind, which would endanger both of us.

He didn't stop me. Not with his hands. But I could feel his eyes on me to the door.

When I got home, I met my mother standing in the walkway, waiting. Arms folded like a prison warden.

"Where have you been?" she asked calmly.

"Out," I said.

"We had a dress fitting scheduled. You missed it."

I brushed past her. "I'll choose something out myself."

She grabbed my wrist. "This isn't just about clothes, Seraphina. You're being introduced to the Vale family tomorrow. You need to present yourself properly."

I yanked my arm free. "So I can look pretty while being sold?"

She didn't respond.

I walked straight to my room and shut the door. The room, which now felt like a mini prison. I sank onto the bed. I didn't cry this time because I couldn't afford to.

My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen.

Unknown Number:

You saw him anyway, brave or stupid. Doesn't matter. Tomorrow, you meet your fiancé. Pack a bag. You won't be coming back.

I stared at the message. The world went still, and I just sat there hollow.

And just beneath it, a photo.

Of Clinton.

Standing outside his apartment.

Followed by another.

A red dot was glowing on his chest.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown number: blink, and he's gone.

I didn't sleep. I couldn't.

I was just sitting on the bed and staring at my phone. My fingers now hurt from holding it for so long. The screen brightness of the phone had dimmed off, but I didn't care anymore. I don't want to see it again because I already know what's there.

Clinton, standing outside his apartment. Hands in his pockets. Tired. Alone.

And then the second photo. That one I hadn't expected.

A single red dot, pointed straight at the center of his chest. With a threat just after it.

Not a bullet. Not yet. But a message.

They were watching him. And they wanted me to know it.

You don't back out of a Vale engagement. You don't fall for someone else. You don't run. Not unless you want someone to bleed for it.

My chest tightened. I wanted to call him. Tell him to leave town, change his number, and go anywhere they couldn't follow.

But if they were watching him already, if they saw one wrong move from me... it would only make things worse.

At 6:47 a.m., my phone buzzed.

Private Sender:

Be ready by 9. Black car. No delays.

That was all it said. No name. No threat. But I didn't need it either. I already understood.

I looked across the room at the suitcase near the door. My mother packed it for me. Neatly and silently. Like this had been the plan all along. I didn't even think about touching it.

I stood up quietly and went to my desk. I pushed aside a few books until I found my journal. I tore out a page from the back and sat down.

If I were leaving, if they were taking me, Clinton deserved to know why I didn't fight.

I wrote the words quickly. No names. Just enough for him to understand. That this wasn't about giving up on my love for him, but love wasn't enough when someone was pointing a gun at him to keep me in line.

When I was done, I folded the note and placed it in the middle page of a book I'd borrowed from him months ago. One, he probably forgot I still had it. Then I sealed them both in a padded envelope and wrote his name across the front.

I wasn't sure if I'd deliver it. But if there was a chance, I wanted it ready.

He hadn't called.

Not once since I showed him the message.

But I knew him. He wouldn't sit still after something like that. He'd be out there already. Driving and thinking.

He always moved fast when something didn't feel right.

I just hoped he wouldn't try to protect me in a way that would get him hurt.

And I pray that whoever was watching him wouldn't take any further decision against him before the day was over.

When it was 9:00 a.m., A black car pulled into our driveway.

The engine didn't shut off.

My mother walked me outside. Her heels clicked against the tiles. Her face looked calm, almost pleased. She handed the driver my suitcase like she'd done this before.

"Keep your shoulders straight," she said to me. "And remember, speak only when spoken to. The Vales value restraint."

I didn't answer. I didn't trust my voice not to crack.

I entered the car. The driver didn't say a word. He just pulled away from the house and joined the main road, his hands steady on the wheel.

The car was quiet. Too quiet, and every second in it felt heavier.

A few minutes passed before I leaned forward.

"I need to make a stop. At the university," I said. "I left something important."

He didn't respond at first.

Then, without looking back, he said, "Mr. Vale gave strict instructions."

"I'm not trying to run," I said. "It'll take less than a minute. I swear."

He didn't speak again. But five minutes later, the car turned off the road.

We stopped near the back of the university mailroom. I stepped out, walked to the faculty drop box, and slipped the envelope inside. It would be sorted and delivered to Clinton's department. He would get it.

That was all I could do.

I got back into the car.

Still no words from the driver.

But I was sure he'd report the stop.

Vale estate wasn't what I expected.

It was big, yes. But not old or dramatic. Everywhere looked sleek and expensive. Glass, steel, Clean lines and empty spaces.

The estate didn't feel like a home, it felt like an estate meant to impress anyone who sets his eyes on it.

I noticed a woman was standing at the door when I came down from the car. She is probably waiting for someone. Her face looked like someone in her mid-forties. She was wearing a grey suit and holding a clipboard in one hand. Her hair was tied in a bun. It was so tight, tight enough to hurt.

"Miss Cole," she said, not smiling. "Welcome. I'm Elara. I'll be in charge of your preparation until the engagement dinner."

"Preparation?" I asked.

She didn't slow her pace as she turned and walked into the house.

"There are expectations. Mr. Vale is very particular. You'll be briefed."

I followed her through the house. Every room we passed was spotless and cold. No family pictures. No sign of life.

We stopped at a door on the third floor.

"This will be your room until further notice," Elara said. "Meals are scheduled. You'll be escorted when necessary."

She handed me a keycard and turned to leave. Then paused.

"You'll be summoned when Mr. Vale is ready. Until then, rest. You'll need it."

She turned and left immediately after the instruction. As if she knew I had many questions to throw at her. I needed to know what that meant.

As I stepped further in, my eyes scanned through the room. It was beautiful, painted in neutral colors which I had always loved. Soft lighting hangs in the appropriate places. Everything was perfectly in place.

But it felt empty. More like a hotel room no one had ever stayed in.

I placed my bag in a corner of the room and advanced to the glass window to take a glance at what was happening outside.

The window had a direct view of the garden, which also looked as polished as the rest of the house. Trimmed hedge, straight paths, no flowers. No mess.

That's when I saw him.

Lucian Vale.

He was walking on the stone path with another man beside him, whom I didn't recognize.

Lucian stood out.

Black suit. Sunglasses. Calm steps. Phone in one hand.

He didn't look up at first. But then, suddenly, he did.

Right at me.

Looking up at my window for a second, then smiled. Not wide, not cruel.

Just a smile that said, I see you. I know why you're here. I know what you mean to me even if you don't yet.

I stepped back from the window. My fingers felt cold.

I know that smile meant a lot more. It wasn't kindness and whatever it was, it didn't feel safe.

He didn't look away even when I hid by covering my body with the curtain.

Lucian Vale was still standing in the garden. But his posture changed just slightly as soon as he noticed I wasn't visible anymore.

"He hadn't even stepped inside yet, and the temperature of the room was this cold? What would happen if he came in"? I asked myself.

I moved away from the window curtain where I was hiding and sat on the single couch close to the bed. My hands were placed on my lap. I didn't know what I was expecting when I saw him. Maybe someone older. Maybe someone colder. But what I saw... was worse.

Lucian wasn't just intimidating; he was unreadable. And his unreadability was what made him dangerous.

Just one knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts.

Elara entered without waiting for permission. "Mr. Vale will see you now. Follow me."

Without hesitation, I followed. She took me through a part that was made of glass and polished floors. We walked until we reached a private study room. Then she stopped, and I did too. The place looked nothing like I expected. There were no family photos on the walls, no books out of place. Just sleek furniture, dim lighting, and a single decanter holding whiskey on a side table.

Lucian was backing us. Standing facing the window with one hand in his pocket and the other holding his phone.

He didn't turn when we walked in.

"Elara," he said, his voice low and calm. "Give us the room."

"Yes, Mr. Vale."

She quietly moved out and shut the door.

Then Silence.

Lucian finally turned.

Without the sunglasses, his eyes were dark and stormy but cool. They were deliberate and disturbingly calm. He scanned me like I was something expensive on display for sale. Not beautiful. Not desirable. Just acquired.

"Seraphina Cole," he said, as if tasting my name.

I kept mute. I needed not to respond.

Then suddenly, he gestured for me to the chair across from his desk. "Sit."

I remained standing.

His mouth curved, just barely. "Defiant already. That's charming."

"I didn't come here to be charmed," I said.

"No," he agreed. "You came because you were told to."

I stared at him. "Why me?"

"Why not you?" he responded almost immediately.

"That's not an answer," he continued.

He walked to the desk and leaned against it, arms folded. "I hope by now, you must have learnt that your father owed a debt. And your name bought him silence. Your face bought him favor, your compliance keeps your family name from being dragged through headlines and lawsuits."

"You talk like I'm some kind of asset."

"You are."

I blinked.

No apology. No hesitation.

"I never agreed to this," I said quietly.

"That doesn't matter anymore," he said. "Your signature won't be needed until after the wedding. And I don't need a wife who consents. Just one who cooperates."

The words landed like a slap.

"Then why even meet me?" I asked.

"Because this is the part where I make it clearer to you," he said and stepped closer to me, closing up the space between us.

"You're not here to be loved, you're not here to be courted. You're here to be useful. You play your role, I play mine. We both get what we need."

"And what exactly do you need from me?" I asked, my voice a notch above a whisper.

His eyes flicked to mine, sharp and precise. "Obedience. Silence. And the appearance of a wife who knows her place."

I didn't flinch. Not outwardly.

But something inside me cracked.

"You could've chosen anyone," I said. "Why me"?

Lucian didn't blink. "Because marrying you benefits me. And ruining you... benefits me more."

There it was.

Not just indifference but Intent.

I took a step back. "What did I ever do to you?"

He looked almost bored now. "It's not what you did. It's what your family costs mine. This isn't about love or hate, Seraphina. It's about leverage."

He walked past me and opened the study door. "You'll have breakfast with my father tomorrow morning. Wear something understated. Don't speak unless addressed. And do not embarrass me."

I didn't move.

"Do you understand?" he asked.

I swallowed the little saliva remaining in my mouth before responding. "Yes."

"That sounds nice. Don't worry you'll get through this faster if you learn not to care and stick to what you are here for."

He shut the door behind me before I could spill out another word.

I didn't go back to my room immediately. Instead, I wandered the walkway. Numb, furious and exhausted all at once.

His words I could still hear clearly in my ear: "You're not here to be loved."

I should've expected it earlier and prepared my mind for it; at least it wouldn't hurt much. But now I heard it from his mouth with such a calm surgical tone, I am not the same anymore.

I wasn't a person to him. I was a strategy, a punishment. A possession.

And the worst part? He didn't even care enough to hate me properly. I was a tool. Disposable.

I got lost in thought to the extent of not remembering when I got outside barefoot, walking along the cold stone pathway behind the mansion. The wind blew cold on my skin. I welcomed it. Did I even care? After all, it reminded me that I was still alive, still breathing. Still mine if only I were given another chance.

A voice interrupted my thoughts.

"You shouldn't wander alone."

I turned sharply. And discovered that it wasn't Lucian. It was someone else.

Younger. Golden-skinned. Brown hair neatly arranged backwards, shirt collar slightly unbuckled. He leaned against a marble column like someone posing to take a picture.

"I'm Dante," he said with a smile on his face. "Lucian's cousin". He continued. And you must be the new Vale trophy."

I didn't answer.

"Don't worry. We're all actors here. Some of us just happen to be better at pretending than others."

I took a step back.

He raised his hands. "Hey. I'm not here to bite. Just curious. You're different from the last one."

"The last one?" I asked warily.

He chuckled. "The ex. Juliet? Pretty. Cold. And very good at playing the long game. But you... You've got fire. I can see it. Wonder how long you'll last before Lucian snuffs it out."

I turned to leave, not paying attention to what he had said. But his next words made me freeze.

"If you ever want to be out," he said, voice dropping low, "then you'll find me."

I still pretended not to pay attention to what he had said. And returned to my room. I felt so weak and tired.

So I decided to take a glance at what was in the closet, and when I opened its door, I found dozens of new dresses neatly hanging. All my sizes. All tagged with luxury labels.

Now I knew they'd planned this long before the engagement was announced, and my parents never bothered to let me know.

I reached for the plainest one. A dark gray sleeveless shirt, wear it and sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the floor blankly.

Dinner with the Vale patriarch tomorrow.

Juliet's name lingered in the air like perfume.

A cousin who offered me an escape with a smile.

And a fiancé who promised to ruin me.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

It was a blocked number.

I opened the message and read through it.

It said: Tomorrow, 7:00 am. Formal dining room. Do not be late. And do not wear white. That was hers.