Elara's POV
The world stopped.
Dorian Ashcroft—arrogant, insufferable Dorian Ashcroft—was on one knee in a dirty alley, holding out a ring, asking Elara to marry him.
Her brain couldn't process it. This had to be a nightmare.
"Say something," Dorian whispered urgently, still holding the ring.
The enforcers looked confused. Marcus's face had gone purple with rage.
"This is ridiculous!" Marcus sputtered. "She's a criminal! She—"
"She's the daughter of Master Alchemist Caius Veylin," Dorian interrupted smoothly, standing but keeping the ring visible. "And as my future wife, she's under the protection of the Ashcroft family. You can't arrest her without charging her with a specific crime. Do you have evidence of wrongdoing, officer?"
The lead enforcer hesitated. Everyone knew the Ashcroft name. One of the richest families in the city. Powerful connections to the Crown.
"Mr. Thorne reported seeing her sell illegal potions," the enforcer said, but his voice was less certain now.
"Did he?" Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Strange. Mr. Thorne was in an illegal market himself. I wonder what he was doing there? Surely not buying illegal potions for his own use?"
Marcus went pale. "I was there to investigate—"
"Without official authority?" Dorian smiled coldly. "That sounds like a violation of Guild protocol. Perhaps the enforcers should question you instead."
The tension crackled like lightning about to strike.
Elara's mind finally caught up. Dorian was protecting her. Using his family name and money as a shield. But why? And what did he expect in return?
Nothing was free. She'd learned that the hard way.
"Well?" Dorian turned back to her, and his eyes held a warning. Play along or go to prison. "What do you say, darling?"
Every part of Elara wanted to tell him no. Wanted to spit in his face for the years of rivalry and insults. Wanted to refuse his help out of pure stubborn pride.
But prison meant never getting revenge on Marcus. Never clearing her father's name. Never proving her research was real.
She'd swallow her pride for that.
"Yes," Elara forced out. The word tasted like poison. "I'll marry you."
Dorian's smile looked genuine, but his eyes were calculating. He slipped the ring onto her finger—it was too big and cold against her skin.
"Congratulations to us," he said cheerfully, then turned to the enforcers. "Now, unless you're charging my fiancée with something specific, we'll be going. I have wedding plans to make."
The lead enforcer looked at Marcus, who stood frozen with fury.
"This isn't over," Marcus said quietly, staring at Elara. "You can't hide behind him forever."
"I'm not hiding." Elara met his eyes, letting all her hatred show. "I'm planning."
Before Marcus could respond, Dorian took her hand. "Come, darling. Lyra, you're welcome to join us."
Lyra, who'd been watching everything with her mouth open, nodded quickly. "Uh, yes. Sure. Wedding planning. Love that."
They walked past the enforcers, past Marcus's murderous glare, and into the street. Elara's legs felt like jelly but she kept her head high.
They didn't run. Running would look guilty.
But the moment they turned the corner and were out of sight, Dorian's pleasant expression vanished.
"Move. Now."
He pulled Elara into a run, Lyra keeping pace beside them. They raced through the dark streets, taking random turns. The first drops of rain started falling, quickly turning into a downpour.
Cold water soaked through Elara's thin coat. Her boots splashed through puddles. Her knee still hurt from falling earlier, making her limp.
"Where are we going?" she gasped.
"Somewhere safe," Dorian said again. That seemed to be his favorite answer.
They ran until Elara's lungs burned and her vision blurred with rain and exhaustion. Finally, Dorian stopped in front of an expensive-looking building with a doorman.
"Mr. Ashcroft!" The doorman's eyes widened. "Sir, you're soaked—"
"Not now, Gerard." Dorian pushed past him, pulling Elara inside.
The lobby was warm and dry and so fancy that Elara felt like a drowned rat. Expensive paintings hung on the walls. A crystal chandelier sparkled overhead.
"This is your home?" she asked.
"One of them." Dorian led them to an elevator. "Lyra, you can use the guest suite on the third floor. There's food in the kitchen."
"I... okay." Lyra looked as overwhelmed as Elara felt. "Thanks?"
They rode the elevator in dripping silence. Lyra got off at the third floor with a worried glance at Elara.
Then it was just Elara and Dorian, rising higher.
The anger Elara had been holding back finally exploded.
"How dare you," she hissed.
Dorian looked at her calmly. "How dare I what? Save you from arrest?"
"Propose to me! Use me in whatever game you're playing!" Elara wanted to rip off the stupid ring but it was stuck on her wet finger. "I'm not a pawn you can move around!"
"No," Dorian agreed. "You're a brilliant alchemist who deserves better than selling potions in alleys. You're also currently homeless, hunted, and out of options. So stop being proud and listen."
The elevator doors opened. Dorian's apartment was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city lights below. Everything was clean and organized and perfect.
It made Elara's burned workshop seem even more pathetic.
"I didn't ask for your help," she said through gritted teeth.
"But you need it." Dorian walked to a side table and poured two glasses of amber liquid. He held one out to her. "Drink. You're shaking."
Elara wanted to refuse, but he was right. She was shaking—from cold, from fear, from everything. She took the glass and drank. The liquid burned going down but warmed her chest.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked. "We hate each other."
"Do we?" Dorian studied her with those intense gray eyes. "I've spent the last two years watching your career burn while Marcus stole credit for work I know was yours. I've watched brilliant research get buried because people were too stupid to see its value. I've waited for someone brave enough to challenge the system."
"And you think that's me? I'm broken, Dorian. They destroyed me."
"No." He stepped closer. "They tried to destroy you. But you're still here. Still fighting. Still brilliant despite everything."
Elara's throat tightened. She couldn't remember the last time someone had called her brilliant and meant it.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered.
"I told you. I have a business proposal." Dorian set down his glass. "My father died six months ago. His will says I must be engaged by my thirtieth birthday or my brother Vincent inherits everything."
"So that ring—"
"Was real. The proposal was real. I need a fiancée, Elara. And not just anyone—someone smart enough to fool my family, strong enough to handle their cruelty, and who has as much to gain from this arrangement as I do."
"You want a fake engagement."
"A temporary one. Six months. Long enough to secure my inheritance and long enough for me to help you destroy Marcus." Dorian's smile was sharp. "I have resources. Money. Influence. Access to evidence even the Guild can't hide. Help me, and I'll help you get everything you've lost."
It was too perfect. Too convenient.
"What's the catch?" Elara asked suspiciously.
"The catch is my family. My brother Vincent is dangerous. He'll do everything he can to prove you're not really my fiancée. You'll have to live here. Attend society events. Pretend to be in love with me."
"I'd rather drink poison."
"I know." Dorian actually smiled. "That's why this will work. No real feelings. No complications. Just a business arrangement between two people who understand each other."
Elara looked around the beautiful apartment. Thought about her burned workshop. Her empty stomach. Her stolen research.
Marcus's smug face.
"If I agree," she said slowly, "I want full access to a laboratory. Real equipment. Rare ingredients. Everything I need to continue my work."
"Done."
"And you help me prove Marcus is a fraud."
"Gladly."
"And when the six months are over, we go our separate ways. No strings."
"Agreed." Dorian held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"
Elara stared at his outstretched hand. This was insane. Fake engagement to her old rival? Living in his home? Pretending to love someone who'd spent years insulting her work?
But what choice did she have?
She reached out and shook his hand. His skin was warm despite the rain.
"Deal," she said. "But if you betray me like Marcus did, I'll poison your coffee."
"Fair enough." Dorian's smile turned genuine. "Welcome to the Ashcroft family, fiancée. Try not to murder anyone at dinner tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes. We're having dinner with my brother Vincent." Dorian's expression darkened. "And I should warn you—he makes Marcus look kind."
Elara's stomach dropped. "You couldn't have mentioned that before I agreed?"
"Would it have changed your answer?"
No. It wouldn't have. She'd already made her choice.
"What's he like?" she asked.
Dorian walked to the windows, looking out at the rain-soaked city.
"Vincent is brilliant, ruthless, and he's hated me since we were children." His voice was quiet. "He's also the one who hired the people who burned down your workshop."
The glass slipped from Elara's hand and shattered on the floor.