The Callisto estate was a fortress of wealth and secrecy, its towering walls whispering of power long before Adrian Callisto was born. Tonight, however, those walls carried something heavier—expectation.
The wedding was days away, and the world watched.
Inside the vast study, Adrian stood with a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid untouched. The room was dimly lit, the flickering fire casting shadows against the mahogany walls.
Across from him, his grandfather, Victor Callisto, sat in his leather chair, exuding the authority of a man who had built empires. He studied Adrian as if weighing his worth, the same way he had done since Adrian was a child.
"You met with her," Victor finally said, his voice calm but laced with scrutiny.
Adrian didn't look away. "I did."
"And?"
A smirk touched Adrian's lips, but there was no humor in it. "She despises me already. That should make things interesting."
Victor gave a low chuckle, swirling his own drink. "That girl is smart. She knows what's at stake, but she won't break easily."
Adrian leaned against the desk, setting his glass down. "Then why her?"
Victor's gaze sharpened. "Because she is strong. Because she has something to lose."
Adrian remained silent, waiting.
His grandfather exhaled, leaning forward. "This marriage is not just a union of wealth, Adrian. It's control. Influence. Lydia's family is desperate, and desperation breeds obedience. But Lydia herself… she's the wildcard. She will fight, and in doing so, she will bind herself to you."
Adrian knew better than to question the old man's strategies. He had been molded under this very roof to be ruthless, to wield power like a weapon. But something about this arrangement unsettled him in ways he refused to admit.
Lydia was not the type of woman to be owned.
And that meant one of them would have to break first.
---
Elsewhere…
Lydia sat in her private quarters, the candlelight flickering against the marble walls. A stack of bridal magazines lay untouched on the table, and across from her, her stepmother, Evelyn, sat with a cup of tea.
"You should smile more," Evelyn remarked, setting her cup down with delicate precision. "It would make things easier."
Lydia clenched her jaw. "Easier for whom?"
Evelyn tilted her head, feigning concern. "For you, of course. The Callistos do not tolerate weakness, my dear. If you go in there with defiance, you will only suffer for it."
Lydia swallowed the bitter taste of anger. "So I should surrender?"
A slow smile curved Evelyn's lips. "I didn't say that."
The words sent a chill through Lydia's spine.
Evelyn was no fool. She played her games in the shadows, weaving manipulations with a careful hand. Lydia had spent years learning not to trust her, but tonight, something about her stepmother's tone felt different.
Something dangerous lurked beneath those words.
Lydia rose from her chair. "If that's all, I'd like to be alone."
Evelyn studied her for a moment before standing as well. She smoothed the silk of her gown, stepping closer.
"Just remember, Lydia," she murmured, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust from Lydia's shoulder. "Not everyone in that house is your enemy… but not everyone is your ally, either."
Lydia's breath hitched.
By the time she turned, Evelyn was already gone.
---
Meanwhile, in the unseen corners of power…
A message was delivered. A single note placed into an unsuspecting hand.
"The wedding will happen. But the war has already begun."