ELENA'S POV

The sound of silverware clinking was louder than it ought to have been.

Perhaps because the dining room was so enveloped in silence that if you breathed incorrectly, it felt like it could choke you.

Ten people were seated at the long mahogany table. Golden chandeliers and pricey smiles were reflected on every polished surface. Once again, my stepmother had surpassed herself. glasses made of crystal. imported napkins. Hours ago, the best wine was decanted.

Then there was I.

shifting between them while using shaky fingers to carefully balance a tray. wearing a white apron and a basic black dress. My hair was pulled back into a tidy, uninteresting bun. No jewelry. Not a voice.

Just being there.

similar to the furnishings.

Unaware—or perhaps indifferent-that the girl replenishing their glasses was the daughter of the guy seated at the head of the table, the guests spoke and laughed.

Brooks, Victor.

My dad.

According to biology, that is.

Wearing a navy suit so crisp it might cut skin, he sat straight and calm. My stepmother, Clarrise, was standing next to him, dressed in false grace and red satin. The darling of the Brooks empire, her daughter, was standing opposite them.

Seraphina.

The heir. The ideal one.

The media was only aware of one.

Every item... Each headline... "Victor Brooks's dazzling daughter stuns at gala." Never to me. Never once. He had another daughter, but no one was supposed to know about it. The actual one.

Me.

But tonight, I wasn't a daughter. I had callused hands and was a shadow.

As if on cue, Seraphina tossed her honey-blonde curls and giggled gently. She avoided even glancing at me. She didn't.

Because I was the maid at this house. The key. The error.

"Forgive me, Victor, but... who is she?" a man with gentle eyes and real curiosity said, tilting his head slightly as I walked to serve the guests at the far end of the table.

Quiet.

For a fraction of a breath too long, the globe tilted.

Victor didn't blink at all.

"The maid," he remarked bluntly as he cut his steak without pausing.

Not a name.

No identity.

There's no shame in lying.

Only two words. brutal. Lastly.

It burnt in my throat. Compared to a few seconds previously, the air felt denser. I did not, however, drop the tray. I didn't gasp or speak or cry. I only gave a single nod and turned away.

Because when you're taught that silence equals survival, that's what you do.

The visitors didn't press any further. They resumed their lunch as if nothing had happened. Behind her wine glass, Seraphina grinned. Reaching out, Clarrise tenderly stroked a lock of her daughter's hair.

Additionally, I

I took a position in the corner.

similar to wallpaper.

invisible.

However, my hands?

My hands were trembling.

Something darker than pain started to build inside.

Not anger. Not quite yet.

Just a query.

How much longer will I allow myself to be erased?

The first crack in the night crept into the quiet just as the visitors were leaving.

I was wiping down the last wine glass, the chilled crystal fogging beneath my fingers, when I heard his voice from the hallway.

"Elena," he murmured, just loud enough to reverberate.

"Come to my study. After you're done."

I froze.

I let go of the fabric.

That voice... icy, calm, emotionless. However, it wasn't the voice that made me uneasy. The words were the problem. I was never called by Victor Brooks. Not unless I'd broken some unspoken rule. Not unless another accusation from Clarisse poisoned his ears.

Nevertheless, tonight... He had held out.

I slowly raised my head.

With her arms casually crossed and a soft smile that seemed to have been cut there with a knife, Clarssie stood at the doorway.

"Oh, do be quick, dear," she pleaded. "He doesn't like to wait."

She had a sweet voice. acid with added sweetness.

With her phone in one hand and her eyes fixed on me, Seraphina sat on the edge of the stairs behind her, still wearing her scarlet evening gown. Without blinking. Similar to a predator that is too bored to pursue but too protective to let its prey flee.

I muttered, nodding, "Yes, M-mother."

What more could I possibly say?

After cleaning, my fingers went numb, and my thoughts raced. Each second was more burdensome than the last.

Why right now?

What did she tell him?

What did he want?

I had no idea.

However, I was aware of one thing.

Unless he was reminding me that I shouldn't have been born, he never called for me.

When I arrived at his study, the door was partially open.

The only sources of light were the lamp next to his desk and the fireplace's gentle glow, which cast flickering shadows on the walls covered in bourbon and books. With his fingers clenched and his eyes impenetrable, Victor Brooks sat behind his oak desk like a monument of authority.

The room was cold. You're not welcome. I had been able to swallow that bone-deep cold since I was twelve.

I intervened.

"You called for me, Father?" I said, sounding less confident than I would have liked.

He didn't raise his head. simply pointed to the chair across from him. I took a seat.

There was a long period of stillness.

With her legs crossed and her ruby nails tapping regularly on her wine glass, Clarssie was already seated in the corner like a queen at rest.

Pretending not to listen, Seraphina stood by the hearth, adjusting a hairpin. However, I was aware of this.

Even before they said anything, I could sense the trap closing.

At last, Victor raised his eyes to meet me. "There's been a decision made."

Not a conversation.

Not a discussion.

a choice.

I tightened my fingers in my lap.

"You'll be marrying Sebastian Blake."

Time. halted.

I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. "W-What?"

"Sebastian. Blake," he said again, as though I had misheard. "The engagement will be announced soon."

I gave a blink. Just once. twice. "I-I don't even know him-"

His voice sliced like ice as he said, "You don't need to." "It's not a matter of romance, Elena. It's business."

Clarssie grinned into her glass. "And family duty."

obligation to the family.

Yes.

I wasn't even permitted to leave these confines, so why was I suddenly valuable enough to be exchanged?

With my throat constricted, I muttered, "Why me?" "Why not Seraphina?"

At last, Seraphina turned, a mocking expression of sympathy lighting up her face. "Oh, sweetheart... Blakes aren't gentlemen. They're powerful, dangerous. Sebastian's known to carry a gun to board meetings. He doesn't do delicate."

Like silk, Clarssie's words trailed behind. "We couldn't possibly risk Seraphina with a man like that. She's the face of our family, after all."

My blood became icy.

That was it.

Because I was disposable, they were sending me-the undesired, the hidden, the backup-to marry into a family based on wealth and blood.

So no one would miss me.

Victor bent over. "This union strengthens both families. It gives us political and corporate protection. It places the Brooks name beside theirs-and ensures Seraphina's legacy remains untouched."

I choked, "And what about me?"

Unmoved, he blinked. "You will fulfill your role."

My part.

I'm quiet.

My submission.

My offering.

I got up too quickly. My chair scraped across the marble, loud and jarring.

I began, "I'm not-," but Clarssie stood up as well, cool and collected.

"You are," she remarked as she approached me. Her well-groomed hand lightly touched my shoulder as if I were a young child who didn't yet comprehend the world. "You'll thank us one day. You've been nothing but a shadow, darling. Now you'll belong to something... greater."

Greater?

Or simply another cage?

Victor raised his voice one final time. "The Blakes want the announcement within the month. You'll behave accordingly or suffer the consequences."

Tears filled my eyes, and my heart pounded.

The room blurred for a second.

I was having trouble breathing.

I didn't cry, though. I refrained from screaming. I already knew the answer, so I didn't ask "why" again.

I lowered my gaze to the ground. Despite the burning in my throat, I forced it down.

I also gave a nod.

That was all.

After that, nobody spoke, as they were not required to.

They thought it was finished.

SEBASTIAN'S POV

I liked silence.

The kind that wrapped around my office like armor. No buzzing phones, no whining board members, no small talk-just the weight of power in every ticking second.

From here, the city looked tame. Tiny. Like a toy I could break and rebuild at will.

HIS CABIN

My cabin-if you could even call it that- was less of an office and more of a throne room. Black marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls. A sleek obsidian desk that held more secrets than files. The scent of leather and quiet dominance in the air.

I didn't let people barge in. Ever.

So when the door opened without a knock, I didn't have to look up to know who it was.

The only man alive who didn't need permission to enter my world.

Ezra Blake.

Grandfather.

"Thought you hated this place," I said, not turning. "Too cold, too modern, too far above your empire of cigars and scotch."

His chuckle was dry. "I still hate it."

"So why are you here?" I asked, still watching the skyline.

The sound of his cane tapped across the marble once, twice, then silence. He didn't answer right away.

When I finally turned to face him, his eyes were already on me. That look-the one that always meant trouble.

"You're getting married."

Just like that.

No warning. No buildup.

I stared at him for a second. Let the words sink in.

He wasn't joking.

"To whom?" I asked, voice flat.

"Elena Brooks."

My brow twitched. The name meant nothing.

"Victor's daughter," he clarified. "The other one."

I remembered Seraphina. The showpiece. The brat is always in the media. But this wasn't her.

"She's quiet. Doesn't speak unless spoken to. Out of the spotlight. A ghost."

A strategic move then. Of course.

"And why her?"

"Because her father owes me. Because she's expendable. And because Seraphina's too soft for this family," he said, eyes sharp. "But most importantly, because I said so."

There it was.

The leash.

I could've refused. I had the power, the name. But I wasn't raised to rebel. I was raised to obey.

If Ezra Blake wanted me to marry a stranger with no voice, no face, and no choice... then I would.

Without flinching.

"Fine," I said simply.

He smiled. "Knew you'd be reasonable."

I didn't smile back.

This wasn't about love. It was business.

But for the first time in a long time, something itched beneath my skin. A whisper in the back of my mind I couldn't shake.

Who the hell is Elena Brooks?

And why the fuck did I feel like this was the beginning of something I wouldn't be able to control?

That Evening - Blake Estate, Private Lounge

"You don't like the wine?"

I leaned back on the velvet couch, legs crossed, one brow raised. The glass of vintage red was untouched in my hand. My stare locked on the man across from me, the new financial advisor Grandfather insisted I meet.

Young. Overconfident. Breathing too loudly.

He'd corrected me earlier. Said I "misread a percentage."

Me.

I hadn't said a word back then. Just smiled.

Now? Now it was my turn.

"I was told this vintage was your favorite," he said nervously, gesturing to the bottle he brought like a peace offering.

I swirled the wine slowly. "It is. Just not when it's served by amateurs."

His smile twitched.

He thought I was joking.

I wasn't.

"You know," I continued, tone smooth like poison in silk, "I always find it fascinating when people try to impress me with money... in my house... while working for me."

He blinked.

I sipped the wine, finally. Let the silence linger. Then I set the glass down as it offended me.

"Do you play chess?" I asked suddenly.

"Uh, yeah. A bit."

"Let's play."

A butler appeared without being called, trained that way. The board was set in under a minute. Marble and gold. Custom, of course.

He moved first.

I watched him struggle with strategy. Saw the way his fingers hesitated before every move. He thought it was about the game.

It wasn't.

Ten minutes in, I already had him cornered.

"I read your credentials," I said casually, as I took his knight. "Impressive on paper. Mediocre in presence."

He flushed. "I-"

"You wore a fake Rolex to a meeting with Blake. If you're going to lie, at least commit."

He stopped mid-move.

I gave him a cold smile. "Checkmate."

I hadn't even looked down at the board.

He stood abruptly, muttering something about getting back to work.

"Leave the bottle," I said, just as he turned. "It's the only good thing you brought tonight."

He left in silence.

I reclined in my chair, swirling the wine again. Didn't take another sip.

It wasn't about the drink. It was about the message.

I don't forgive slights. Not even small ones.

I file them away. One by one. Brick by brick.

Until I have enough to build your ruin.

I didn't move for a moment after he left.

Just listened to the faint sound of his footsteps fading down the hall... and then the front door clicking shut.

Then, slowly, I pulled out my phone.

One tap. One call.

"Kade," I said, voice smooth and deadly.

"Yes, sir?"

"The financial advisor. Freeze his accounts. All of them. I want him to be unable to buy a fucking candy bar without asking his mother for pocket change."

A pause on the other end. Then a chuckle. "Understood."

"And Kade?"

"Yes?"

"Find out where he parked."

Another beat of silence. "...You want the car?"

"No. Just the tires. Slashed, not too deep. I want him to drive a bit first. Let the betrayal sink in before the blowout."

A low whistle. "Anything else, boss?"

"Make sure he finds out it was me," I said, sipping the wine again. "But not through words. Through suffering."

Click.

I leaned back again, satisfied.

See, I don't raise my voice.

I don't throw tantrums.

I destroy you like a gentleman with silence, a smile, and paperwork that makes you choke on your next breath.

Petty?

No, sweetheart.

Strategic cruelty.

And I never waste it on the undeserving.

I stared into the glass in my hand. The wine had gone warm.

Elena.

Her name rolled through my mind like smoke-soft, almost fragile. Like the silk lining of a noose.

I hadn't thought about her again after Grandfather left the office. At least, I pretended not to.

But now?

I couldn't stop thinking.

A marriage. Arranged. Decided.

Like a deal. Like a merger.

Like, I didn't get a say, because I didn't.

And that should've pissed me off. Should've.

But instead... something coiled in my gut. Tight. Heavy. Familiar.

Instinct.

The same one I get before a storm hits.

The same one I felt the night I shot my first bullet and didn't blink.

Something's coming.

Something I can't control.

I've had women before. Beautiful. Dangerous. Clingy. Some are just there for a taste of the Blake name. None stayed. None were allowed to.

Because no one ever meant anything.

But now?

Now I'm being handed a girl whose name tastes like secrets, and whose face I haven't even seen.

And something in me whispers-she's not like the others.

This isn't just marriage.

This is war, dressed in lace.

And I don't know why...

...but I already know-I won't win this one clean.

ELENA'S POV

My hands shook as I picked up the shards of the broken vase I'd knocked over earlier. I hadn't even noticed it falling... not when Father said those words.

Marriage.

Like I was being traded. Like I was a problem he could finally be rid of.

I stared at the blood on my palm, thin lines from the porcelain cuts. But it didn't sting half as much as his voice had.

I'd never even seen the man I was supposed to marry.

And now I was being packaged up like a gift, a problem sent away in silk and silence.

I tried to blink the tears away when the door creaked open without a knock.

Of course.

"Cleaning up after another one of your dramatic meltdowns?" Seraphina's voice slid through the room like oil-smooth, venomous, and impossible to ignore.

I didn't answer. I didn't look at her.

She strutted in anyway, perfume trailing behind her like a warning. Hair curled to perfection. Lips painted in the same shade of red she wore when she wanted attention. She always wanted attention.

"Poor little Elena," she cooed mockingly. "You should be grateful, you know? Father could've sold you off to someone twice his age. But instead, you get a rich, powerful husband. You'll be somebody, finally. Not just the house ghost."

I pressed the glass into the dustbin, hands trembling.

"You're just jealous I'll still be here. The face of the Brookss. The one who actually matters."

She walked behind me, fingers trailing across the top of my dresser, knocking over my only bottle of perfume.

It shattered.

"Oops," she said sweetly.

My jaw clenched.

"You'll love being a wife, Elena. Quiet. Obedient. Pretty little thing locked in a golden cage. Oh wait-" she paused, leaning close to my ear, "you've already been practicing that your whole life."

I flinched. She laughed.

"You should wear something black to the engagement dinner," Seraphina whispered with a smirk. "Might as well mourn your freedom properly."

She walked out without another word.

The silence that followed was louder than her laughter.

I sat down on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, glass still in my hands, and whispered to myself-

"This is just the beginning, isn't it?"

THE NEXT DAY...

The clinking of cutlery and low murmurs filled the breakfast table.

I stood by the side, pitcher in hand, quietly refilling everyone's glasses. Like always.

Just another morning where I was part of the furniture. Present, invisible.

Clarssie was laughing softly at something Seraphina had said-probably mocking someone again. Seraphina was glowing in her designer nightrobe, with perfectly done hair, barely acknowledging my presence as I poured her orange juice.

And then... Victor cleared his throat.

The air shifted. A stillness.

"I've made a decision," he said flatly, eyes locked on his plate. "There will be no engagement ceremony."

My fingers tightened around the glass pitcher, confused.

Clarssie looked up. "Darling?"

Victor raised his gaze. Cold. Final. "The wedding will happen directly. Within the week."

I froze.

The juice sloshed too quickly-my hand jerked.

A splash.

Clarssie gasped, jerking back as a stream of cold orange juice spilled down her silk robe.

Silence.

The kind that wraps around your throat like a noose.

"Oh, you clumsy little bitch!" Clarssie hissed, dabbing furiously at her chest with a napkin. "Are you insane?! This is silk, you idiot!"

My mouth opened, but no words came out. I didn't know what to say. I didn't even feel like I was here anymore.

Victor slammed his palm on the table.

"One more mistake, Elena. One more-and you'll regret it," he snapped, his voice like a lash across my skin.

Seraphina chuckled. "She's just excited, Father. Her first and only spotlight moment. Let the maid have her slip-up."

They all laughed.

And I stood there-wet, humiliated, heart pounding like a drum inside a ribcage made of glass.

Inside, I screamed.

Outside, I bowed my head.

"Yes, Father," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

But all I could think about...

No engagement.

No time to breathe.

No time to run.

Just a wedding... with a stranger who already feels like a nightmare.

The laughter at the table died down, but the echo of it still rang in my ears like a cruel lullaby.

Clarssie was still dabbing at her silk robe dramatically, shooting me glares like I'd dumped acid on her.

I wanted to shrink into the floor. Disappear.

But instead... I swallowed the stone in my throat, took a shaky breath, and stepped forward.

"Father..." My voice came out softer than I meant it to. "I-I had a question."

His fork paused midway to his mouth.

Seraphina raised a perfectly shaped brow. "Oh? The maid speaks."

Victor didn't look at me. "Speak."

I clenched my fingers behind my back, nails digging into my palm.

"I just wanted to ask... after the wedding, will I be allowed to continue university?"

Silence.

Heavy. Pressing.

Victor finally looked up-his eyes sharp, like knives honed over years of disappointment.

"You won't need a university where you're going."

I blinked.

"But-"

"Enough." His tone was final. "Your husband's family will decide what you need. And trust me, they won't want a wife gallivanting around classrooms pretending to have dreams."

Clarssie smirked behind her teacup. "You're marrying into legacy, not chasing fairy tales."

Seraphina leaned forward, her smile dripping with sugar-coated poison. "Besides, darling... wives don't need degrees to make babies and pour tea."

A tightness bloomed in my chest, painful and bitter. I lowered my gaze.

So that was it.

Even that piece of me... was being taken.

I nodded slowly. "Yes, Father."

But deep inside?

A storm had started.

Quiet now.

But storms don't stay quiet forever.

...

I clutched my bag tightly, the campus gates looming ahead of me like a memory I wasn't ready to let go of.

It felt surreal.

The buildings I used to rush through. The laughter echoes down the halls. The late-night cramming sessions. It all felt... distant. Like another life. A better one.

I kept my head down as I walked. Not many people noticed me here either. I'd always been the quiet one, the girl with too much in her eyes and too little in her voice.

But today, I wasn't here for lectures or coffee.

I was here to say goodbye.

My dorm room was mostly packed already. I only had a few books and my sketchpad, the things I'd once dreamed of building a future with. Things that felt useless now.

I was just zipping my bag when I heard the voice I'd been hoping for and dreading all at once.

"Elena?"

I turned.

There he was-Ezrael.

Tall, broad-shouldered, that familiar crooked grin softening the sharp edges of his face. His black hair was a little messy, like always, and his brown eyes searched mine with worry.

"You didn't tell me you were leaving."

I tried to smile. "I found out yesterday."

He frowned. "You're not coming back?"

I shook my head.

He stepped closer. "What happened?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. How could I explain that I was being sold in lace and silk?

"I just... have to go," I whispered.

Ezrael's jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to scream or punch something. But instead, he said, "Come with me. Just for a bit."

I hesitated.

"Please," he added. "I won't get another chance to see you."

That... got me.

We walked silently across campus, down the path behind the art department, where trees lined the quiet garden. He always brought me here when I was sad. When I failed my first test. When Clarssie tore up my painting. When I needed to breathe.

We sat on the stone bench. I placed my bag on the side.

He didn't look at me at first. Just played with the ring on his finger. Then-

"I didn't want to say this, Elena," he said, voice low, "but I can't let you go without knowing."

My heart skipped.

"I like you. No-scratch that. I love you. I've loved you for a long time."

I stared at him.

"I never said it because I thought you needed a friend more than anything. But now? You're leaving. I don't even know where you're going or what's happening, but... I can't stay quiet anymore."

My chest ached.

He looked at me, finally, those eyes full of pain and hope all tangled together.

"Run away with me," he whispered. "We'll figure it out. Just say the word."

I wanted to cry.

But I didn't.

I just reached out and held his hand gently. "Ezrael..."

He looked at me like he was waiting for a miracle.

"It's too late," I said softly. "I wish I could... but my life isn't mine anymore."

He shook his head, eyes glassy. "That's not fair. You deserve better than whatever this is. You deserve someone who sees you."

"I know," I whispered, voice cracking. "But want and reality... they're not the same in my world."

A tear slipped down my cheek. He caught it with his thumb.

"I'm sorry," I said, voice barely audible.

He looked down, then gave a hollow laugh. "Then let me say goodbye before I lose you forever."

He didn't let go of my hand.

Not yet.

"Just tell me why," Ezrael murmured, voice barely holding itself together. "Why can't you fight this? Why can't you choose you for once?"

I looked away. The tears were stinging now, but I refused to let them fall.

Because if I cried, I'd shatter.

And if I shattered... I wouldn't make it out of this goodbye.

"I'm engaged," I said.

His breath caught.

He blinked, as if the word had slapped him. "Engaged...?"

I nodded, slowly. "It's arranged. Final. I didn't have a choice."

A cold silence fell between us, thick with everything we didn't say.

"To whom?" he finally managed.

"It doesn't matter," I whispered. "It's done."

He stood, running a hand through his hair. Angry. Confused. Crushed. "You could've told me. I deserved to know, Elena."

I stood too. "I know. But if I told you... You'd try to stop me."

He laughed bitterly. "Damn right I would. I still want to. I still will."

I smiled, broken. "Then I did the right thing by not telling you sooner."

He looked at me like he hated the world for turning me into this-into someone who had to apologize for being caged.

"I wish I could hate you for this," he said quietly.

I stepped back, heart tearing with every word. "I wish you could, too."

Then I walked away.

And this time, I didn't look back.

 SEBASTIAN'S POV

The room was too warm.

Mahogany walls, dim lights, the long conference table filled with suits and fake grins-my boardroom, my table, yet all I could hear was the ticking of the gold watch around my wrist and the scraping of a pen that someone should've stopped dragging five minutes ago.

I sat at the head. Always. Where I belonged.

My Glock rested heavy beneath my blazer, comforting. Familiar.

I didn't come here for games. My time was war, not wasted air.

One of the new executives cleared his throat and leaned forward, adjusting his overpriced tie with trembling fingers. "With all due respect, Mr. Blake, we believe your recent decisions may be... emotionally compromised. Perhaps due to the upcoming engagement."

I froze.

Emotionally... compromised?

My jaw ticked.

Slowly, deliberately, I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward, elbows on the table, steepling my fingers. "What did you say?"

The room went silent. All eyes flicked to the man who didn't know how to shut his damn mouth.

He gulped. "I-I just meant, maybe the pressure is-"

"I heard you the first time," I interrupted, my voice calm. I stood up.

Dead quiet.

My chair scraped back with a soft leather hiss as I reached inside my coat, slow and steady.

He paled.

The glint of the gun hit the light as I placed it on the table in front of me, right beside the reports he'd so kindly critiqued.

Then I leaned closer.

"Do you know what I hate more than incompetence?" I asked softly.

No one dared breathe.

"Disrespect," I answered myself. "Especially when it hides behind concern."

The man opened his mouth. I tilted my head.

"Go on. Say it again. Tell me I'm emotional. Tell me I've lost my edge."

He shook his head, sweat dripping.

"No?" I smiled coldly. "Then let me make something very clear."

I raised the gun.

Cocked it.

The sound echoed like thunder in that silent, suffocating room.

"If you ever question me again in my company, in my presence, in this life, I will not hesitate to show you how ruthless I can be. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes, sir," he stammered, nearly choking on the words.

I nodded once.

Then, they turned to the rest. "Does anyone else want to play Brave today?"

Silence.

"Good," I murmured, sliding the gun back into place.