Elina walked into the dimly lit restaurant, her posture straight and her chin held high. Another blind date. Another tedious charade she would play until the man fled with polite excuses and a hasty farewell.
By now, the routine had become almost effortless. She could tell within moments what kind of man she was dealing with and exactly how to drive him away. All she had to do was present the worst version of herself, and the men would inevitably flee.
But as her gaze landed on the man seated at the far corner table, something in her stomach twisted.
He sat with the kind of authority that demanded respect, his posture relaxed yet alert, as if he could strike with lethal precision at any moment. Dressed in a tailored black suit, his dark hair fell carelessly over his forehead, framing sharp, brutal features. But it was his eyes that unsettled her the most—grey and cold, like steel tempered by fire. They gleamed with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.
"Elina Castellano?" His voice was deep, smooth, and yet laced with something darker.
"Yes," she replied, forcing her own voice to remain steady.
"Adrian Blackwood." He extended a hand, his grip firm and unyielding when she accepted it.
The name struck a chord of recognition. Blackwood. The infamous leader of the Blackwood family. A man whose reputation was drenched in blood and terror. A man her parents would consider the ultimate prize.
But she couldn't afford to falter. Not now. Not when she was so close to freedom.
She didn't bother with another glance after the handshake, her attention shifting to her phone as she dropped into her seat with practiced indifference. "Let's make this quick, shall we? I have better things to do."
"You're certainly not shy about being rude," Adrian replied, his voice laced with amusement.
The sound of it drew her attention, her gaze snapping up to meet the man sitting across from her. Her rehearsed indifference faltered, her pulse stuttering at the intensity of his gaze.
He was younger than most of the suitors her parents had thrown at her, but something about him was far more dangerous. His sharp, handsome features held an almost cruel edge, and those eyes—piercing and unreadable—studied her like a puzzle he was determined to solve.
But it was the way he looked at her that unsettled her. Like he was already unravelling her secrets, tearing down the façade she had carefully constructed.
"Elina Castellano," he said, her name rolling off his tongue with a confidence that felt both thrilling and terrifying. "I must admit, you've been quite the challenge to track down."
"Adrian Blackwood," she replied, her voice steady despite the uneasy flutter in her chest. "And yet, here you are."
His lips curled into a smirk, the kind that spoke of control and arrogance in equal measure. "Here I am."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with something she couldn't quite define. She swallowed, forcing herself to remember why she was here. Why she had to make him leave, just like all the others.
"Shall we get this over with?" she said, her voice taking on a careless tone. "I doubt you'll find me much to your liking."
Adrian's gaze didn't waver. If anything, his eyes grew sharper, more focused. "Oh, I think I'll be the judge of that."
Elina's defences rose instinctively. This was not how the game was supposed to go.
But she wasn't about to back down.
"Fine. Let's see if you can keep up."
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Elina's carefully constructed façade began to crumble the moment Adrian Blackwood looked at her like she was prey.
He lounged in his seat with the kind of confidence that made her skin prickle. His gaze was fixed on her, unyielding and appraising, his lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. Most men flinched or stammered when she launched into her ridiculous monologues, but Adrian only seemed amused.
"Go on," he prompted, folding his hands on the table. "I'm curious to hear what nonsense you'll conjure up next."
The challenge was clear, and it ignited something stubborn within her. "I have a pet tiger. His name is Mr. Fluffington," she said with a casual shrug. "He's terribly temperamental, though. Doesn't like strangers. Especially men."
"Good thing I'm not a stranger anymore," Adrian replied smoothly, his gaze unwavering.
Her brow twitched. She tried again. "I don't plan to ever settle down. I prefer adventure. Wild, reckless nights. No attachments, no responsibilities."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not asking you to." The words were spoken like a trap snapping shut, his voice rich with amusement. "Though I do wonder if you're truly as reckless as you claim."
Elina's smile faltered. He wasn't supposed to respond like this. Where was the disapproval? The disgust? The irritation that sent all the others scurrying away?
Instead, his interest only seemed to deepen. Those grey eyes studied her with a curiosity that felt invasive, as if he could see straight through her lies to the truth beneath.
"If this is your way of getting rid of me, you'll have to do better than that," he continued, leaning forward just enough to close some of the distance between them. "I've seen spoiled heiresses throw tantrums before. But you... you're different."
"Different?" she echoed, a flicker of genuine surprise slipping through her mask.
"Yes." His eyes gleamed with something she couldn't quite place. "You're trying to scare me away. And I must admit, I find it rather fascinating."
Elina felt a chill run down her spine. This man wasn't playing her game. He was playing his own.
"Why haven't you left yet?" she snapped, her irritation finally breaking through. "Most men would've bolted by now."
"Most men bore easily," he replied with a shrug. "I'm not most men."
He was calling her bluff, tearing apart her performance like it was nothing. And worse, he seemed to be enjoying himself.
"What do you want, then?" she asked, her voice sharp.
His smile grew, slow and predatory. "You."
The single word left her speechless. And for the first time since this entire ordeal began, Elina felt like she was the one caught in a trap.
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Days slipped by in silence. Nearly a week had passed since that unsettling dinner with Adrian Blackwood, and to Elina's relief, there had been no word from him. No calls. No letters. No formal rejection.
She had expected a response—some curt note declining the arrangement, a firm refusal from a man who surely found her behaviour unacceptable. But nothing came. And while part of her rejoiced in the possibility that she might have scared him off, another part remained on edge.
The silence felt... dangerous.
Adrian Blackwood was not the type to be ignored or to ignore others without reason. Each passing day of uncertainty gnawed at her nerves, even as she tried to convince herself it meant she was free.
Then one night, just as she was beginning to feel the tension in her shoulders ease, a sharp knock echoed against her bedroom door. "Elina, come downstairs. Now." Her father's voice was rough, his tone carrying an urgency that sent a chill down her spine.
When she reached the grand sitting area, her parents were both there, their expressions tense. Her father's eyes blazed with a strange mix of triumph and calculation.
"It's done," he said, his words clipped. "You will marry Adrian Blackwood."
The words echoed like a gunshot. Elina stared at them, uncomprehending for a moment. "What?"
"Mr. Blackwood has accepted the proposal," her mother said with a gleam of delight. "You should be grateful, Elina. This union will secure our family's future."
Her disbelief quickly turned to anger. "Grateful? You think I should be grateful you're trading me off like some pawn?"
Her father's gaze hardened. "You've tested our patience enough. Adrian Blackwood is willing to marry you despite your childish antics. You should consider yourself lucky."
"No." Her voice trembled—less from fear, more from fury. "I won't marry him. He's—he's insane."
"Enough!" Antonio Castellano's voice boomed through the room like a gunshot. The heavy silence that followed was suffocating. "This is not up for debate. You will marry him, and you will do it without complaint."
Elina felt the floor tilt beneath her feet. Her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms. Rage churned with disbelief in her chest, but beneath it all was something colder. Deeper. A terrifying stillness that settled behind her ribs.
She didn't speak again. Didn't argue. Didn't cry. Instead, she turned on her heel, her legs moving before her brain could catch up.
"Elina!" her mother snapped, rising from the sofa. "You will not walk away from this conversation!"
But Elina didn't stop.
"Elina Castellano, don't you dare!" Isabella's voice rang out, sharp and furious, but it only fueled the fire burning inside her daughter.
Her heels struck the marble like gunshots as she stormed through the corridors, chest heaving, and pulse a war drum in her ears.
She reached her room, slammed the door behind her, and locked it with a force that seemed to echo through the silence. Without a second thought, she threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in the pillows, her body wracked with sobs.
The weight of everything crashed down at once, and Elina finally gave in. Tears spilled fast, hot, unstoppable. She buried her face in the pillows, her body shaking with sobs she could no longer hold back. For the first time, she felt it—defeat. Not just anger or grief, but a hollow, helpless despair. She cried for everything she had lost, and for the life she never got to choose.
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