The car rolled to a stop at the front of the Blake estate—a mansion so grand, it looked like it belonged on the cover of a luxury magazine. The ornate gates, trimmed hedges, and polished marble steps gleamed in the sunlight.
Elara Blake sat still in the back seat, her fingers clutching the strap of her handbag as the driver opened her door. She stepped out slowly, heels clicking softly against the stone driveway.
"Miss Elara, welcome home," one of the butlers greeted with a stiff nod.
"Thank you, Mason," she replied gently, offering a small smile that wasn't returned.
She was used to that.
Everything about the Blake estate was cold, pristine, and distant—like her parents. It had been months since she'd last stepped foot here, and still, not a single thing had changed. Not the silence. Not the judgmental air. Not the feeling of being utterly... invisible.
She barely made it to the grand hallway when her mother's sharp voice rang out.
"Elara. You're finally here."
Elara turned. Margot Blake stood by the staircase in an elegant navy-blue dress, her arms crossed and her expression as unreadable as always.
"I came as soon as I could," Elara said, walking toward her. "You said it was important."
"It is. Come to the sitting room. Your father is waiting."
The words sounded simple, but Elara's stomach twisted. Her mother never called unless it benefitted the family.
Inside the sitting room, her father sat with a glass of aged scotch in his hand, legs crossed, phone on the table beside him. He didn't look up.
"You've grown," he said flatly, eyes still fixed on his screen.
Elara stood in front of him, her voice calm. "It's been a year, Father."
"You look... presentable." His eyes flicked up briefly. "The college is doing you good."
Presentable. She could've laughed if it didn't sting.
Elara Blake was more than just presentable. With her flawless ivory skin, delicate bone structure, and long auburn hair that spilled down her back like silk, she looked every inch the heiress she was born to be. Her eyes, a pale gold flecked with green, often drew compliments—just not from the people who were supposed to love her.
"Why did you call me home?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.
Her mother sat down across from her and folded her legs. "We've arranged a meeting. You'll be getting engaged."
Elara blinked. "Excuse me?"
"To Zayden Vale," her father said without pause. "CEO of Vale Corp."
"What?" Her tone cracked with disbelief.
"We've worked out the details," Margot added smoothly, as if they were discussing dinner plans. "Your name will help soften his image in the press. His resources will benefit our current financial restructure. It's mutually advantageous."
"You're marrying me off like a... like a pawn."
Her father looked up now, eyes cold. "That's what you are."
Elara took a sharp step back, the weight of the words settling in her chest. "You didn't even ask me."
"We don't need to," Margot snapped. "You should be grateful we're giving you purpose."
"I have a purpose," she shot back. "I'm graduating in six months—"
"From a degree we paid for," her father interrupted, his tone cutting. "You live under our roof, eat our food, use our name. You owe us, Elara."
A bitter silence fell over the room.
Margot stood again, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve. "Zayden Vale has agreed to meet you in a week. You will behave properly. Smile. Speak only when spoken to. Don't embarrass us."
Elara opened her mouth, but her father stood too, already done with the conversation. "Meeting's over."
The parents walked past her, their footsteps echoing down the marble hallway.
She remained frozen.
Engaged?
To a man she'd never met?
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Instead, she turned and walked out toward the rose garden behind the estate, where she could breathe.
---
"Miss Elara?" A voice called softly.
It was Clara, the housekeeper—one of the few people in this place who had ever shown her any kindness.
Elara wiped at her eyes quickly. "Hey, Clara."
"I saw your car... Are you alright?"
Elara gave a small laugh. "They're marrying me off to a man I don't even know. So... I'd say I'm doing amazing."
Clara frowned, stepping forward to place a gentle hand on Elara's arm. "You don't deserve this. You never did."
Elara looked down at her reflection in the garden fountain. Beautiful. Composed. Elegant.
A perfect doll in a gilded cage.
"Maybe one day," she murmured, "they'll see I'm more than just a name."
Clara hesitated, then leaned in slightly. "I've heard rumors about him. Zayden Vale. They call him... the Fox."
Elara's lips twitched. "Charming."
"No," Clara said softly. "They don't mean it kindly."
---