"Okay, I promise you. I will stay here for a year and live with you," Evan said, his voice a low, steady anchor in the darkness.
He understood now that if he ever wanted to truly claim her heart, he couldn't just be the "pretty prize" or the "alpha husband." He had to start with friendship. He had to prove he was a person she could actually trust.
Hearing his words, Elara let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. A massive weight seemed to lift from her chest. Her greatest fear—that Evan would be so revolted by the marriage that he would do something desperate like running away—faded. If he ran, not only would it bring shame to her house, but the Black family would likely hunt him down and punish him for his "disobedience."
To have it out in the open, to have a pact, felt safer. "That's good," she whispered. "Now I can rest assured."
"Actually, you don't need to be so nervous," Evan said, his tone shifting back to that playful, slightly scolding edge. "Since we're married, we're husband and wife in name, no matter what. But think about it—if we sleep in separate rooms on our wedding nights and people find out, they'll think I'm the one who forced you out."
"No! I did it voluntarily," Elara quickly explained, pushing herself up on one elbow. "I just... I don't think I have the right to touch you."
"You think so," Evan countered, his eyes boring into her silhouette in the dark. "But what about others? Does Maya think so? Does the village? Since we're already married, if we're going to be a couple in the eyes of the world, we must sleep in the same room. No more floor, and no more running to the kitchen. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Elara replied seriously, her heart fluttering at the command. "I understand."
"Good. Now go to sleep." Evan rolled back over and closed his eyes.
Soon, the sound of his steady, rhythmic breathing filled the room. Elara lay there for a long time, the burden on her mind finally light enough to let her drift.
The surprise came with the morning sun.
When Elara opened her eyes, the room was bathed in soft, golden light. She felt a strange, comforting heaviness on her arm. When she looked, her breath hitched. Evan had somehow migrated during the night. He was sleeping peacefully, his head resting on her shoulder, his beautiful, porcelain-perfect face just inches from hers.
She froze. She forgot to breathe, forgot to think. For a few agonizingly sweet moments, she just stared at him—the way his long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the softness of his lips. Finally, with the precision of a master thief, she carefully slid her hand out from under him. The second she was free, she bolted from the bed and ran out of the room without looking back.
Behind her, Evan's eyes slowly opened. A small, triumphant smirk played on his lips. Yes, it's working. She's too cute when she's flustered.
He stretched, feeling energized, and headed to the kitchen to start breakfast, while Elara spent the next hour doing everything in her power to avoid eye contact with him.
Later that morning, Elara stood at her cake stall on the bustling village street. The air was thick with the smell of frying dough and the chatter of the market.
"Elara! I heard the news," one of the local women said, leaning over the counter with a grin. "You actually did it. You married the famous handsome man from the Black Mansion!"
Elara smiled modestly, nodding as she packaged a cake. "Well, yes. It was just good luck, really."
"Luck? It's a miracle!" another woman chimed in. "Mrs. Black has been guarding that boy like a hawk for years, waiting for her chance. And then you, of all people, end up with him. Everyone who laughed at you before is eating their words now. We're all dying of envy!"
Faced with the rare praise, Elara felt a spark of pride warm her chest. "Actually, it's nothing special," she said, though her smile widened.
"Yes, it is indeed just luck. There is nothing to truly envy."
The cold, sharp voice cut through the chatter like a knife. The crowd parted as a tall, striking woman in a shimmering silver brocade skirt approached.
"Miss Sophia," the two women whispered, bowing their heads respectfully.
Sophia Sterling. The eldest daughter of the kingdom's wealthiest family. She was legendary—not just for her fortune, but for her tall, commanding figure and her appetite for men. At only twenty-five, she already had six concubines. She was the golden standard of the kingdom, and she often used Elara as the "negative example" to make herself look better.
Sophia flicked her silk fan open, her eyes cold as ice. "I just returned from the neighboring county and stopped by the Black Mansion. I wanted to see Evan, only to find out he'd been forced into a marriage by the Master of the house."
She stepped closer to the stall, looming over Elara. "Oh? So you and Mr. Evan are acquainted?" one of the women asked.
"Acquainted? We are close friends," Sophia snapped, her teeth gritted. "We met last month and hit it off immediately. I had planned to redeem him from the Black family myself. I leave for a few days, and I come back to find this." She glared at Elara's leg, then her face. "Elara, you're quite the thief, aren't you? Stealing a man who was meant for me."
Elara's face paled. "Miss Sophia, I didn't know... the Master of the House gave me the marriage. I had no choice."
"She's right, Miss Sophia," the other women interjected. "Elara has been single for years; she wouldn't have the courage to steal a man from you!"
Sophia snorted, her gaze venomous. "Courage or not, she accepted. Elara, look at yourself. A short, limping baker? What do you think you're doing with a prize like—"
"What is she doing? She's being my sister. What's it to you?"
The market grew silent. The heavy, rhythmic thud of boots announced the arrival of Maya, still in her guard uniform, her supernatural aura radiating tension.
Sophia's arrogance wavered. In this kingdom, everyone knew the Ashcroft sisters were opposites. Elara was the target, but Maya was the predator. Born with terrifying strength, Maya had been breaking the bones of Elara's bullies since she was ten years old.
"Maya," Sophia said, trying to keep her voice steady while fluttering her fan. "You've returned."
"I have," Maya said, stepping into Sophia's personal space. With a lightning-fast flick of her wrist, she slapped the fan out of Sophia's hand.
"You—!"
Before Sophia could finish, Maya grabbed her by the expensive silver collar and lifted the noblewoman clean off the ground. Maya's eyes burned like torches. "What were you saying about my sister?"
"I... nothing!" Sophia stammered, her feet dangling. She was a warrior herself, but in Maya's grip, she felt like a child facing a mountain lion. "I just... I came to buy cakes! That's all!"
Maya stared at her for a beat longer, letting the fear sink in, before Elara rushed around the counter. "Maya! Stop! Let her go, please!"
Maya grunted and dropped Sophia like a sack of grain.
Sophia scrambled back, gasping for air. She turned to flee, but Maya stepped in her path. "You said you came for cakes. So buy them. Or were you lying to me?"
Trembling with rage and humiliation, Sophia pulled out a silver coin, snatched a bag of cakes, and vanished into the crowd.
"Maya, why did you do that?" Elara asked, her voice full of worry. "The Sterlings are powerful. We can't afford to offend them."
Maya just shrugged, picking up Sophia's fallen fan and snapping it in half. "I don't care about their money or their name, Sis. I only know one thing: anyone who tries to bully you gets a broken jaw. End of story."
Elara looked at her sister, her heart aching with a mix of fear for the future and deep, overwhelming love.