The December wind cut through Elara's black dress like a knife. She stood at the edge of the crowd, staring at the empty casket covered in white roses. Christian's favorite.
No body. No goodbye. Just an empty box and three weeks of unanswered questions.
"He was such a bright light," someone whispered behind her.
Elara's jaw clenched. Christian Hartley had been many things. Bright wasn't one of them. At least, not in the last six months.
The Hartley estate loomed behind them—all stone and glass and old money. She'd been here dozens of times, but never felt welcome. The family treated her like temporary furniture. Pretty to look at. Easy to replace.
"Miss Hayes." Christian's mother appeared at her elbow, dripping in black Chanel and fake sympathy. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine, Mrs. Hartley."
"Victoria, please." The older woman's smile didn't reach her eyes. "We're practically family."
Were. Past tense. Elara caught it.
"The service was beautiful," Elara said, because what else could she say?
"Yes, well. Christian deserved nothing less." Victoria's fingers were ice-cold as they touched Elara's arm. "We should talk later. About your future."
Before Elara could respond, a ripple went through the crowd. Heads turned. Whispers started.
A man was walking up the path from the main house.
Elara's breath caught.
He looked exactly like Christian. Same height. Same build. Same dark hair. But everything else was different. This man moved like a predator—all controlled power and coiled tension. A scar cut through his left eyebrow down to his jaw. His black suit fit him perfectly, but he wore it like armor, not fashion.
"Logan," Victoria breathed. "He actually came."
Logan. Christian's twin brother. The one he never talked about. The black sheep who'd left at eighteen and never looked back.
Elara had seen exactly two photos of him. Both at least ten years old.
The man walking toward them looked nothing like those pictures. This man looked dangerous.
Logan stopped in front of the casket. He didn't touch it. Didn't bow his head. Just stared at it with an expression Elara couldn't read.
Then his eyes found hers.
The world tilted.
His eyes were the same crystal blue as Christian's. But where Christian's had been charming and distant, Logan's burned. He looked at her like he was memorizing every detail. Her face. Her body. The way she was barely breathing.
Heat crawled up her neck.
He crossed the space between them in four long strides. Up close, she could see the differences. The scar. The broader shoulders. The way he held himself—like violence was always an option.
"You must be Elara." His voice was rough. Lower than Christian's.
"Yes. And you're Logan."
"I am." He didn't offer his hand. Just kept looking at her with those burning eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss."
The words were polite. His tone wasn't. It sounded almost like an accusation.
"Thank you," she managed.
"How long were you together?"
"Two years."
"And he was going to marry you."
"Yes." Her throat was tight. "In three weeks. Christmas Eve."
Something flickered across Logan's face. Anger? Pain? It was gone before she could identify it.
"You deserved better than him."
Elara blinked. "Excuse me?"
But Victoria was already there, her hand on Logan's arm like a claw. "Logan. So glad you could make it. Let's give you a moment to pay your respects, shall we?"
She pulled him away before Elara could respond.
The rest of the service passed in a blur. Elara stood frozen, Logan's words echoing in her head. *You deserved better than him.*
What did that mean?
At the reception, she hid in a corner with a glass of wine she couldn't taste. The Hartley family circled like sharks. Friends of Christian's she barely knew offered hollow condolences. Everyone kept asking what she would do now.
She had no idea.
"Not a fan of crowds?"
Elara jumped. Logan stood beside her, holding a glass of whiskey. He'd materialized out of nowhere.
"Not particularly," she admitted.
"Me neither." He took a drink, his eyes scanning the room. "Vultures. All of them."
"They're mourning."
"They're calculating." His gaze cut back to her. "How much did Christian leave you?"
"I—what?"
"In his will. How much?"
Elara's face heated. "That's none of your business."
"So nothing." Logan's mouth curved, but it wasn't a smile. "He always was a selfish bastard."
"Don't." Her voice shook. "Don't talk about him like that. Not today."
Logan studied her. Then he drained his whiskey and set the glass down. "You're loyal. He didn't deserve that either."
"Why do you hate him so much?"
"I don't hate him." Logan stepped closer. Too close. She could smell his cologne—something dark and expensive. "I hate what he did to people. I hate that he got away with it because he smiled pretty and said the right things."
"You don't know anything about him."
"I know he kept you at arm's length. I know he made you feel small. I know he was planning something that would have destroyed you."
Elara's pulse hammered. "You're wrong."
"Am I?" Logan's voice dropped lower. "Tell me, Elara. In two years, did he ever make you feel like you were enough?"
The question hit like a slap. Because no. Christian hadn't. He'd loved her—she thought—but there was always a distance. Always a sense that she was being measured and found wanting.
"I didn't think so." Logan's jaw clenched. "You deserved better. You still do."
"Logan!" Victoria's voice was sharp. "A word. Now."
Logan didn't move. His eyes stayed locked on Elara's. "This isn't over."
Then he was gone, following his mother into the house.
Elara's hands were shaking. She set down her wine before she dropped it.
What the hell just happened?
She needed air. Space. She slipped out onto the terrace, into the December cold. The sun was setting, painting the Berkshire mountains gold and red.
"There you are."
Elara turned. Victoria stood in the doorway, perfectly composed. Behind her, Logan watched from the shadows of the house. His expression was unreadable.
"I think it's time we had that talk," Victoria said. Her smile was all teeth. "About your future."
"Mrs. Hartley, I appreciate the concern, but—"
"It's not concern, dear. It's business." Victoria gestured toward the house. "Shall we?"
Elara's instincts screamed at her to run. But where would she go? Her career was tanking—the Hartleys had made sure of that. Whispers that she was a gold-digger. That Christian had been planning to end things. Her reputation was in shreds.
She had nothing left to lose.
"Fine."
The study was all dark wood and leather. Victoria settled behind the massive desk like a queen on a throne. Logan leaned against the wall by the window, arms crossed. Watching.
Always watching.
Victoria slid a folder across the desk. "Christian's trust has a rather unique clause. To access the funds, a Hartley heir must be married by his thirtieth birthday."
"Okay?"
"Christian would have turned thirty on Christmas Day. In three weeks."
Elara's stomach dropped. "You can't be serious."
"The trust is worth five hundred million dollars. If the clause isn't fulfilled, the money goes to charity." Victoria's eyes were cold. "The family can't allow that to happen."
"Then petition to have it changed—"
"There's no time. The lawyers have been clear." Victoria leaned forward. "But there is a solution. Logan is also a Hartley heir. Also turning thirty this Christmas. If he marries by the deadline, the clause is satisfied."
The room spun. "You want Logan to get married."
"Yes." Victoria smiled. "To you."
Elara's laugh was brittle. "That's insane."
"Is it? You were prepared to marry a Hartley on Christmas Eve. All we're asking is that you marry a different one."
"I don't even know him!"
"You didn't know Christian when you first met either." Victoria pushed the folder closer. "Marry Logan. One year. Then divorce quietly. You'll receive ten million dollars and a clean slate. We'll restore your reputation, ensure you can work anywhere you want."
"And if I refuse?"
Victoria's smile vanished. "We've already begun dismantling what's left of your career, Miss Hayes. Refuse, and we'll finish the job. You'll be unhireable. Everywhere."
Elara's vision blurred. "You're blackmailing me."
"We're offering you a choice."
"That's not a choice!"
"No." Logan's voice cut through the room. He pushed off the wall, moving into the light. "But it's the best one you're going to get."
Elara stared at him. At those burning blue eyes. "Why would you agree to this?"
Logan's jaw worked. For a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. Then his mask slammed back into place.
"Maybe I have my reasons." He moved closer, until she could feel the heat of him. Until she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. "The question is, Elara—are you brave enough to say yes?"
Her heart was a drum in her chest. This was crazy. Impossible. Wrong in every conceivable way.
But what choice did she have?
Logan's eyes searched hers. Looking for what? Fear? Surrender?
She saw something else in his expression. Something hungry and desperate and entirely too intense.
He looked at her like she was air and he was drowning.
"I—" Her voice failed.
"Think about it," Victoria said smoothly. "But not for long. We need an answer by tomorrow."
Logan didn't move. Didn't look away.
"Say yes," he said quietly. So quietly only she could hear. "Please."
The please broke something inside her.
Elara's hands curled into fists. She looked at Victoria. At the contract. At Logan.
At her entire life falling apart.
"I need time," she whispered.
Logan's exhale was barely audible. Relief? Disappointment?
"Tomorrow," Victoria repeated. "Noon. Don't be late."
Elara fled.
She made it to her car before the shaking started. Before the tears came.
Christian was dead. His family was blackmailing her. And his brother—his identical twin—looked at her like she was something precious and forbidden all at once.
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
*You'll say yes. You know you will. —L*
Elara stared at the message. At the presumption. The arrogance.
She should be furious.
Instead, heat pooled low in her stomach.
She deleted the text.
Then sat in her car, in the Hartley driveway, and wondered if tomorrow she'd be promising to marry a man she'd met six hours ago.
A man who looked at her like he already owned her.
A man whose eyes haunted her all the way home.