The pearls around Evelyn Moreau's throat gleamed like a choke chain.
Her mother tugged them tighter, fingers pinching her skin with the delicate cruelty of someone who called it "love."
"Lift your chin," Lady Isolde said, her voice cold as polished marble. "You look tired. And don't do that thing with your mouth — Damien hates when you look nervous."
Evelyn forced her lips into something presentable. A smile that wasn't a smile at all.
The mirror showed a young woman dressed in white silk and quiet misery.
Behind her, chandeliers dripped golden light across the room like honey over glass — beautiful, sticky, and impossible to escape.
Downstairs, her father's laughter echoed. Loud. Performed. Expensive.
The house smelled of lilies and old money — both suffocating in their own ways.
Evelyn smoothed her gloves even though her hands weren't shaking. She'd trained herself out of trembling long ago.
Tonight should've been simple.
Smile. Sit beside Damien. Pretend.
Pretend she wanted to marry the bastard.
Damien arrived like a storm pretending to be a gentleman.
"Evelyn." His voice slid across her skin, too smooth to trust. He kissed her knuckles, eyes flicking over her body the way one might assess a piece of art they already owned. "You look… very obedient tonight."
Her heart dropped like a stone.
She hated how he always said things that seemed harmless until you actually processed them.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He leaned down, lips brushing her ear — an intimate gesture dressed in poison.
"Don't fuck this up," he murmured. "Your parents are desperate, and I'm not in the mood to deal with your little moods. Smile, sweetheart. You know what happens if you don't."
Her stomach twisted. She nodded.
Of course she knew.
Her parents had made that painfully clear:
Marry Damien, or our contract collapses. Our reputation goes with it. You'll ruin everything.
The night her father told her, she'd cried so hard she couldn't breathe.
He looked at her like she was a business meeting gone wrong.
"Stop this nonsense, Evelyn," he had snapped. "You don't have to love him — you only have to marry him."
Dinner was a glossy hell.
Evelyn sat beside Damien as he kept a possessive hand on her thigh beneath the table — a silent warning disguised as affection.
His thumb stroked her skin in slow, deliberate circles that made her want to disappear.
Her parents were all smiles and pride, discussing wedding plans.
Evelyn barely tasted the food. Every clink of silverware sounded like a countdown.
At one point, Damien dipped his head toward her, voice low enough for only her.
"You know why I picked you?" he asked.
She didn't answer. She didn't want to know.
He gave a soft laugh.
"Because you're so fucking easy to control."
The words hit her like cold water.
Her fork slipped from her fingers and clattered against the plate. Her mother's eyes flashed a warning — a silent Behave.
Damien smirked, clearly pleased with her reaction.
"You should thank me," he whispered. "After all, someone has to teach you how to be a proper wife."
Her blood boiled, but she stayed still, silent, perfect.
Perfect.
Always perfect.
Hours later, when the house finally went quiet, Evelyn escaped to her room.
She shut the door, locked it, and leaned against it like it was the only thing holding her upright.
Then she ripped the pearls off her neck.
They fell into her hands like broken promises.
In the mirror, she barely recognized herself — the flawless makeup, the sculpted hair, the dress chosen not for her but for Damien's taste and her mother's ego.
She looked like a bride in a painting.
Pretty.
Silent.
Owned.
Anger built in her chest — raw, acidic, dangerous.
For a moment, she imagined running.
For a moment, she imagined screaming, breaking things, throwing the pearls into the fire.
Instead, she whispered to the empty room:
"I fucking hate this. I hate him. I hate all of this."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
No one heard her.
No one ever did.
Outside her window, the garden was quiet. The night air brushed the white roses gently — and then, as if touched by her despair, the petals began to wilt.
One by one.
Soft, silent, dying.
Evelyn watched them fall.
A chill slid down her spine, and she didn't know why — only that something in the darkness was shifting.
Something… watching.
Something that would change everything.