The house had fallen into an uneasy silence after the storm of the day. Vivian had stormed out of her room earlier in a fit of anger, her words still echoing in Elena's mind like sharp, poisonous arrows. But Elena could not afford to dwell on her sister's jealousy. There was someone more important waiting for her attention—someone who didn't have much time left.
With heavy steps, she made her way down the dimly lit hallway and pushed open the door to her mother's room. The scent of antiseptic and faded roses clung to the air, and the sound of the small machine by the bedside hummed softly. Catherine Harrington lay against a pile of pillows, her skin pale, her breath shallow. The once elegant woman who had hosted grand parties and graced charity galas now looked fragile, a shadow of the force she had once been.
"Mother…" Elena's voice cracked as she moved closer, sitting gently on the edge of the bed. She reached for her mother's hand—thin, cold, and trembling beneath hers.
Catherine's eyes fluttered open, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. "My darling… you look troubled." Her voice was barely above a whisper, every word an effort.
Elena swallowed hard, forcing back the tears that burned her eyes. She couldn't tell her mother the truth ,not yet. Not that her future had been bargained away to a man who hated them. Catherine needed hope, not the cruel weight of the deal hanging over her.
"I'm fine, Mother. Just… tired," Elena lied softly, brushing back a stray strand of her mother's silvering hair.
Catherine gave a weak laugh, the sound bittersweet. "You've always been strong. Stronger than me, stronger than anyone gave you credit for. Sometimes I worry you carry too much on those small shoulders."
The words pierced Elena's heart. If only her mother knew the burden she was about to take on. Her lips trembled, but she kept her smile in place, nodding as though reassured.
They sat together in silence, Elena clutching her mother's hand, pretending to draw strength from her while in truth, she was the one holding on, terrified of letting go.
When Catherine drifted back into a light sleep, Elena rose quietly, pulling the blanket higher over her mother's frail frame. Her throat tightened. Time was running out.
Back in her own room, Elena paced restlessly. The walls felt too close, suffocating her with memories of the life they used to have,the laughter, the endless parties, the world that had once seemed unshakable. Now, their empire was nothing but ashes, and she was the one expected to rise from them as a sacrifice.
Her father's weary face flashed in her mind, the desperation in his voice as he confessed their ruin. He had always been her hero, a man of strength and wisdom. But today, for the first time, she saw him broken. And it terrified her.
Elena closed her eyes, pressing her hands against her chest as if to still the storm raging within. She didn't want this life. She didn't want Damien Blackwood,cold, ruthless, dangerous. He was the man who had every reason to despise the Harringtons, the man who could destroy what little dignity they had left with a flick of his hand.
And yet, wasn't that exactly why she had to do it?
Her mother's fading breaths, her father's weary defeat, her family's name teetering on the brink of disgrace ,all of it weighed on her. She had no choice.
Tears slid down her cheeks as the realization settled like chains around her heart. This wasn't love. It wasn't freedom. It was a vow made of desperation, sealed in sacrifice.
Squaring her shoulders, Elena wiped her tears and left her room. Her legs felt like lead as she descended the stairs to her father's study. The door was ajar, the glow of his desk lamp spilling into the hallway.
Richard Harrington sat at his desk, head bowed, a glass of untouched brandy beside a pile of unopened letters. He looked up when Elena entered, his eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion.
"Elena?" His voice was hoarse, uncertain, as though he feared to hope.
She stood in the doorway for a long moment, gathering every fragment of courage within her. Then, with a trembling breath, she stepped inside.
"I'll do it, Father." Her voice shook but did not falter. "I'll marry Damien Blackwood."
The silence that followed was deafening. Richard's eyes widened, pain and relief colliding in his gaze. He rose slowly, as if afraid she might take the words back.
"Elena… are you certain?" His voice cracked.
She nodded, though her heart screamed otherwise. "For Mother. For our family. I'll do whatever it takes."
Her father's shoulders sagged, the weight of his failure pressing down even as gratitude filled his expression. He moved around the desk and gathered her into his arms, holding her as though she were both his salvation and his greatest regret.
Elena closed her eyes, her tears falling silently into the fabric of his shirt. She knew what she was giving up. Her freedom. Her dreams. Perhaps even her happiness.
But she also knew there was no turning back.
And as her father whispered, "Thank you, my brave girl," Elena's heart broke in silence.
Because she knew her life was no longer hers