Blake Ancestral Estate — The Day Before the Gala
The Blake ancestral estate stood like a monument to centuries of wealth and power — silent, sprawling, and cold. Ivy crawled up its stone walls like time refusing to let go. Iron gates creaked open with slow elegance, revealing a manicured path that split through towering hedges and marble statues.
The black car eased to a stop before the grand steps of the estate. A butler in a dark suit opened the door, but Adrian didn't wait. He stepped out — tall and composed — a tailored coat draped across his shoulders like armor.
The manor loomed before him, all shadowed stone and watchful silence. He had been summoned here by Elias from his business meeting.
And Elias Blake didn't summon unless it was important.
Adrian entered.
Inside, the air was colder — not from the weather, but from the weight of history. Oil paintings lined the high walls, every ancestor watching with judgmental silence. Velvet curtains muted the light, and the scent of aged leather and old books lingered in every corridor.
The vast hall smelled of polished wood, dusted marble, and age-old expectations. The portraits on the wall seemed to stare down at him, some with the same cold eyes he'd inherited.
This was not a home.
It was a throne carved from generations of blood, deals, and silence.
His steps echoed against the checkered floor as he followed the butler to the drawing room.
Elias was already waiting, seated like a king in a high-backed leather chair, a glass of dark liquor in hand. His white hair was combed back, his cane resting beside him. Despite the frailty of age, his presence filled the room.
Victor was there too, lounging on the opposite chair with an untouched glass beside him. His navy suit was impeccable, his smile polite — but his eyes glinted with something else.
Adrian greeted them with a nod.
"Grandfather."
"Adrian." Elias's voice was gravel wrapped in authority. "You took your time."
"I came as soon as I could," Adrian replied coolly.
Victor tilted his head, lips curving slightly. "Too busy with wedding planning, I assume?"
Adrian ignored him.
Elias motioned for him to sit. "We've heard troubling things."
Adrian raised a brow. "Such as?"
"Seraphina," Elias said simply.
Victor leaned in, casual but sharp. "It's been weeks. No public appearances. No updates online. Even her mother mentioned she hasn't heard from her. The dress fitting was weeks ago. She didn't show up."
Adrian's jaw tightened ever so slightly.
Elias studied him with the same gaze that had broken men in boardrooms. "Is it true?"
Someone must have tipped them off. Does he have a mole? Or did he just not cover his tracks well enough?
Adrian didn't flinch. "She's fine. Just needed space. All the attention, the press, the expectations — it overwhelmed her. I gave her time to breathe."
Victor let out a soft chuckle. "That's sweet. I thought you two had a fight the day she disappeared."
Adrian turned to him, his smile cold. "You seem awfully interested in my fiancée, Victor."
Victor's grin faded.
Elias tapped the rim of his glass. "You do understand, Adrian — Seraphina is more than just a bride. This engagement secured alliances. Her presence at the gala is essential. If you plan to inherit this empire…"
"You'll see her tomorrow," Adrian cut in calmly. "She'll be at the gala. As promised."
A long pause.
Elias's eyes narrowed slightly. "She better be."
Adrian stood. "Is that all?"
Victor scoffed lightly. "You make it sound like a business transaction."
Adrian's gaze flicked to him. "That's because it is."
Everything between him and the Blake family was a transaction — nothing more.
He turned and walked out without another word, his footsteps measured, unhurried.
They wanted Seraphina Hart. They would get Seraphina Hart.
But time was running out. Even if Calder could fit in for Seraphina now, he still needed the real Seraphina.
As the door shut behind him, Elias said to no one in particular:
"He has his mother's cunning."
Victor muttered, "And they both didn't have her class."
Elias gave him a warning look.
Even if Adrian's mother was a mistress, she was still a woman Elias respected — only that she didn't deserve to be the Blake daughter-in-law.
Victor took a sip of his drink, looking at the path Adrian had just left through.
He knew — when Adrian said Seraphina would be at the gala, she would be.
Even if she was no longer the real Seraphina Hart.
---
Raya's Room – Adrian Mansion
The knock came just after sundown — soft, precise.
Raya had been sitting by the window, the phone in her lap, scrolling mindlessly through Seraphina Hart's world, her chest tightening with each photo and perfect caption. Now, she rose, wary.
Jace stood at the door with a bright smile and a black box in his hands. "For you, miss," he said before turning away, looking oddly shy.
Raya looked at him, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She closed the door and set the box on the bed.
The black ribbon unfurled with a whisper, the lid lifting with the faintest creak.
Inside was a gown.
Dark emerald — deep and haunting under the golden light. The fabric shimmered faintly, like secrets woven into silk. Sleek and form-fitting, with subtle silver beading along the neckline and waist. Not just elegant — commanding.
Next to it was a small velvet clutch and a pair of matching heels. Polished. Deadly in height.
And on top, a single note on thick white paper.
Just two words.
For tomorrow.
No signature. No instructions.
She stared at the handwriting — clean, cold, unbothered.
No need to guess who had written it or told someone to.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the dress, then curled into fists.
Tomorrow was the gala. Her debut as Seraphina Hart.
And if she failed...
Her throat tightened. Then she exhaled deeply.
Anna.
Her father.
They didn't deserve this. Especially not Anna — dragged into a life she knew nothing about, all because of Raya's blood, her resemblance, her existence.
She sat back on the edge of the bed, staring at the dress, the heels, the bag.
It wasn't just fabric. Not just fashion.
It was a test.
A warning.
A cage.
Her jaw clenched. She wouldn't give Adrian the satisfaction of seeing her crack.
Not yet.
She would become Seraphina Hart.
Even if it killed her.
All for the people she cared for.
Maybe it was time to debut as a live actress. She had always been a stand-in in movies — maybe it was time to be the leading actress where the only director was Adrian Blake.
---
Giovanni Romano's Private Chambers — Evening
The heavy oak doors opened with a soft creak as Alessia stepped inside. She hadn't been summoned to her father's quarters since before her last diplomatic trip, so she knew immediately this wasn't a casual chat.
Giovanni stood near the window, back straight, a glass of dark scotch in his hand. His tailored suit, unbuttoned at the collar, did nothing to dull the weight of command he carried.
"You called for me, Father?" Alessia asked, her voice poised — almost bored.
Giovanni turned to face her, eyes sharp under thick brows. "Yes. Sit."
She crossed the room slowly, one leg in front of the other like a queen approaching her throne, before lowering herself into the velvet armchair opposite him.
Giovanni didn't waste time. "We received an invitation. From the Blakes. Their annual gala — tomorrow night. All Romanos were invited."
Alessia arched a brow. "How thoughtful of them."
He ignored her sarcasm. "With your brothers still in Europe handling the Berlin situation, that leaves only you and me. You know Luca only does what he wants."
She leaned back, arms crossing lazily. "Then I suppose it leaves just you."
His brow twitched. "You're refusing?"
"I have no reason to attend. Especially not to parade myself in front of Adrian or make things easier for Victor."
Giovanni exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. "I already asked the butler to check with your younger brother — perhaps Luca…"
Before he could finish, a quiet knock interrupted. The butler entered briefly, bowing slightly. "Young Master Luca declined, sir. He said he's… 'not in the mood for noise.'"
Giovanni's lips thinned. "Useless brat."
Alessia smiled faintly. "He was never one for pretense. You should've expected this. You know he doesn't like Adrian."
"Business doesn't care if you like someone or not," Giovanni said with a frown. Out of his children, Alessia and Luca gave him the most headaches.
"Preach that to Luca," Alessia said, as though whatever Giovanni had to say didn't concern her — as if Luca was the only one refusing to go.
He walked slowly toward her, placing the glass down on a nearby table. "Alessia, tell me what this is. Your brothers are away. I'm left with a daughter choosing spite over strategy."
She met his gaze, calm and unshaken. "It's not spite. It's clarity. Adrian made his choice — he turned down my offer. And Victor is circling like a vulture. I won't make things convenient for either of them."
Giovanni sat across from her now, eyes fixed on hers. "You play a dangerous game."
"I'll make sure to play it well."
"You're risking the family name—"
"No," she cut in smoothly, "I'm ensuring the family name ends up in the right hands. I'll give you the best son-in-law, Father. One who wins — not one who hesitates."
His fingers tapped the armrest once, slowly. "You think Victor Blake is better than Adrian?"
"I think neither are worthy yet. But one of them will burn to reach me. I'm just choosing which one deserves the fire."
Giovanni studied her, long and hard. "You like playing with fire too much, figlia mia."
Her lips curled. "It's my favorite game, Father."
He sighed deeply and stood. "Very well. You won't go."
"I won't."
"Then I'll attend alone. Someone must maintain diplomacy."
She stood too — elegant, unbothered. "Do what you must. But make no promises. I have my own."
They stared at each other — a father and daughter alike in more ways than either would admit.
"Watch yourself, Alessia," he murmured as she walked to the door. "Fire doesn't care who it consumes."
She paused, glancing back with a smirk. "That's what makes it fun."
The door closed softly behind her, leaving Giovanni with his drink, his silence, and the slow, cold realization that his daughter was no longer just a player in this game —
She was becoming the game itself.