(The First Meeting – A Battle of Wills and Silent Wars)
The Sinclair estate was eerily quiet. A silence that spoke of unease, of a storm rolling in.
Lydia stood at the top of the grand staircase, her hands clenched at her sides. She had dressed with purpose—her silk gown tailored to perfection, her heels sharp enough to make each step a declaration. If she was to be paraded like a prize, she would at least look untouchable.
But inside, she was anything but.
Her stepmother's words still rang in her ears. You should be grateful, Lydia. This marriage will save us all.
No.
It would save them. But who would save her?
The heavy front doors creaked open.
And there he was.
Adrian Devereaux.
He entered with the kind of presence that made the air feel heavy, his sharp suit tailored to fit his imposing frame. Everything about him was measured, controlled. Like a man who never made a move unless it was calculated to perfection.
Their eyes met.
Lydia felt the world shift.
His gaze was cold, assessing, like he was peeling away layers of her soul without permission. But she refused to look away. She would not be small beneath his stare.
She descended the staircase slowly, her every step measured, deliberate.
Adrian watched her, unmoving.
She hated that he gave away nothing. No emotion. No weakness. Just quiet power wrapped in a man who looked as if he ruled the very air they breathed.
When she reached the final step, he spoke.
"Lydia Sinclair."
His voice was smooth, deep, but there was something else beneath it. Something dangerous.
She lifted her chin. "Adrian Devereaux."
Silence. A battle unspoken.
Their families watched from the sidelines, but in this moment, it was only them.
"You're smaller than I expected," he said, his tone unreadable.
"And you're colder than I imagined," she shot back.
A flicker of amusement. Gone in an instant.
He extended a hand.
Lydia hesitated. Just for a second.
Then, with the grace of a queen, she placed her fingers in his.
The moment their skin touched, a current shot through her. Not warmth—something sharper. Something she didn't want to name.
His grip was firm. Not forceful, but unyielding.
"Shall we?" he murmured.
Lydia lifted her gaze to his, silent d
efiance in her eyes.
This was not a beginning. This was a war.