Elara sat before the ornate vanity, her reflection obscured by a cascade of dark curls. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine from the bouquet on the table. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her plain, charcoal dress, a stark contrast to the opulence of the room. The door creaked open, and her stepmother, Marianne, swept in, her face a mask of urgency.
"Elara, why are you still in that drab thing?" Marianne's voice was sharp, her eyes narrowing at Elara's unadorned appearance. "The Valmonts are waiting downstairs. You must be presentable!"
Elara adjusted the silver hairpin holding back her hair, her expression calm but her heart racing. "Marianne, are you certain you want me to marry Lysander's betrothed?" Her voice was soft, almost lost in the room's grandeur.
Marianne's lips tightened, her hands wringing together. "Elara, please. Your stepsister, Celeste, deserves a better match. You know this marriage is… necessary." Her tone softened, but the plea carried a weight that pressed against Elara's chest.
Elara's gaze grew distant, her fingers stilling. Marianne, though her stepmother, had always favored Celeste, the daughter of her late husband's first wife. The Valmonts, the most powerful family in Eldridge, had arranged for Celeste to marry their elusive heir, Cassian Valmont—a man rumored to be scarred and reclusive after a tragic incident years ago. But Celeste had recoiled at the thought, and Marianne had turned to Elara, the quieter, plainer daughter, to take her place.
"They're coming up," a servant called from beyond the door, voice tinged with nervousness.
Elara stood, smoothing her dress. "I'll go." Her words were resigned, but her eyes flickered with a quiet defiance. She had given much to this family—her dreams, her voice—but this was the final surrender.
She stepped into the hall, where a group of stern-faced men in dark suits waited. The Valmonts' emissaries, sent to escort her to Cassian's estate. No wedding, no ceremony, just a transaction sealed in silence.
"Miss Elara," one of them said, his voice clipped. "This way."
She followed, her steps echoing in the marble corridor. The Valmonts were a name whispered in awe and fear, their wealth unmatched, their influence vast. Cassian, their only heir, was said to live in seclusion, his face marred and his spirit broken after a betrayal a decade prior. Rumors painted him as a monster, a man whose heart had turned as cold as the stone walls of his mansion.
Elara's thoughts churned as they led her to a sleek black car. Betrayal by family cut deeper than any blade, and yet, here she was, delivered to a stranger by those meant to protect her. If Cassian was a devil, so be it. She was already forsaken.
The car wound through the misty hills to Cassian's estate, a sprawling manor nestled in a forest of ancient oaks. The air grew cooler as they approached, the silence oppressive. The emissaries ushered her inside and left her in a dimly lit chamber, its walls adorned with faded tapestries.
Elara waited, the ticking of a distant clock her only company. As dusk painted the windows in shades of violet, the door opened. A man stepped in, his presence filling the room like a storm. He was tall, his frame broad beneath a tailored black coat. His dark hair fell in waves, and his face—far from the monstrous visage of rumors—was striking, with sharp cheekbones and eyes like polished obsidian.
He studied her, his gaze piercing. "You're not what I expected," he said, his voice low, devoid of warmth but not cruel.
Elara met his eyes, unflinching despite the knot in her stomach. "And you're not what the rumors claim, Cassian Valmont."
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly masked. "You know who I am?"
"Who else would walk into this room like he owns it?" She tilted her head, her tone steady. "I'm Elara, your… bride."
His lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Bold for someone who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else." He stepped closer, his boots silent on the polished floor. "Why are you here, Elara? Truly?"
She hesitated, the weight of her family's betrayal pressing against her ribs. "Because I had no choice. My family decided my place, and it's here."
Cassian's eyes narrowed, searching her face. "No choice," he murmured, almost to himself. "Yet you stand here, unafraid. Curious."
He turned, pacing to the window, his silhouette framed against the twilight. "They say I'm a beast, you know. That no woman leaves this house whole. Do you believe them?"
Elara's breath caught, but she held her ground. "I believe people see what they want to see. And I see a man, not a monster."
He turned back, his expression unreadable. "Careful, Elara. Words like that might make me think you're more than the meek girl they sent."
She lifted her chin, a spark igniting in her chest. "Maybe I am."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken challenges. Then Cassian stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "We'll see about that."
As he left, the door closing softly behind him, Elara exhaled, her heart pounding. She was alone in a stranger's house, bound to a man who was both enigma and threat. But something in his eyes—something beyond the rumors—stirred a flicker of hope. Whatever this marriage was, it would not break her. Not yet.