Elara stood in front of the mirror, the blue dress now on. Her mother's careful stitches looked small and humble against the backdrop of the luxury room. She'd washed her face, tried to fix her hair. But she still looked exactly like what she was—a girl who didn't belong.
The clock on the mantle read 5:55.
Her hands trembled as she smoothed the fabric. She hated that they shook. Hated that he'd been right about her fear.
At exactly six o'clock, a soft knock came at the door.
Mrs. Linton stood in the hallway, perfectly composed.
"It's time, miss."
Elara followed her down the corridor, back toward the main staircase. The house felt different in the evening light. Shadows stretched longer. The portraits on the walls seemed to watch her pass.
They stopped at a set of carved wooden doors. Mrs. Linton knocked twice, then opened them without waiting for a response.
"Miss Elara, sir."
The room beyond was dimly lit. Heavy curtains covered most of the windows. A large desk dominated one side. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that looked more decorative than read.
Adrian sat in a high-backed chair near the fireplace, a book open in his lap. He didn't look up immediately.
Mrs. Linton stepped aside, and Elara entered. The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Adrian set the book down and looked at her. His gaze swept over the blue dress, lingering just long enough to make her self-conscious.
"Better," he said. "You almost look presentable."
Elara bit back her first response. "Thank you for seeing me."
"As if you had a choice." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
She walked over and sat, keeping her spine straight. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower.
Adrian leaned back, studying her with those cold, assessing eyes. "I suppose we should establish some ground rules."
"Rules?"
"For how this arrangement will work." He crossed one leg over the other, casual, in control. "You're here because your father couldn't pay his debts. That makes you collateral. Not a guest. Not family. Collateral."
"You've made that clear."
"Have I?" He tilted his head slightly. "Because you seem to have some confusion about your position here. Wandering the house. Exploring. Talking to staff."
So he'd heard about that. Of course, he had.
"I was just trying to understand where I am," Elara said carefully.
"You're in my home. That's all you need to understand." He leaned forward slightly. "You'll stay in your room unless summoned. You'll speak when spoken to. You'll present yourself appropriately at meals and any family gatherings. And you'll do exactly as you're told. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly."
"Good." He sat back again. "In return, you'll have food, shelter, and clothing. Everything you need. More than you had before, I'd imagine."
The words stung because they were true.
"What about my family?" Elara asked. "Can I contact them?"
"No."
"No?"
"They sold you to clear their debt. As far as you're concerned, that chapter of your life is closed." His voice was flat, indifferent. "You're a Dalton now. Or you will be, once the paperwork is finalized."
"Paperwork?"
"The marriage contract." He said it like he was discussing a business transaction. "It will be signed next week. A formality, really. The agreement your father made is binding regardless."
Elara's stomach turned. "And do I get any say in this?"
Adrian smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "What do you think?"
She looked away, trying to steady her breathing. The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, she could hear the faint sound of evening birds.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."
Her eyes snapped back to his.
"That's better." He stood, walking to the window. "I don't expect affection. I don't expect love. I expect obedience. Do what you're told, stay out of my way, and this will be tolerable for both of us."
"And if I don't?"
He turned, his expression darkening. "Then you'll learn very quickly that tolerance has limits."
The threat hung in the air between them.
Elara forced herself to hold his gaze. "You can control what I do. But you can't control what I think."
"I don't need to control what you think." He walked back toward her, stopping just in front of her chair. "Your thoughts are irrelevant. All that matters is your compliance."
He was close enough now that she had to tilt her head back to see his face. Close enough that she could smell his cologne, something expensive and sharp.
"Do we understand each other?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
Her jaw tightened. "Yes, I understand."
"Good." He stepped back, dismissing her with the gesture. "Dinner is at seven. Don't be late."
"Am I supposed to eat with the family?"
"Of course. You're going to be my wife." The word came out like an insult. "Mother will want to inspect you properly. Clarisse will want to make you uncomfortable. And my father will pretend you don't exist." He picked up his book again. "It should be a lovely evening."
Elara stood slowly. "Is there anything else?"
"Yes." He didn't look up from the page. "When you address me, you'll call me Adrian. Not sir. Not Mr. Dalton. Just Adrian." He paused. "I prefer my possessions to be familiar."
The word possession hit like a slap.
But Elara didn't react. She wouldn't give him that.
"Of course… Adrian."
"You may go."
She turned toward the door, her hands clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms.
"Oh, and Elara?"
She stopped but didn't turn around.
"That dress." His voice carried a hint of something that might have been amusement. "It's sweet. Innocent. Exactly the kind of thing someone from your background would wear." She heard him turn a page.
"Burn it. You'll find appropriate clothing in your wardrobe. Wear those from now on."
Her breath caught. The dress her mother had saved. The one piece of home she'd brought with her.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes." The word barely made it past her throat.
"Then go."
Elara walked out, closing the door carefully behind her. Mrs. Linton waited in the hallway, expression neutral.
"I'll show you back to your room, miss. You have thirty minutes before dinner."
Elara followed in silence, her mind spinning.
Back in her room, she went straight to the wardrobe and opened it. Inside hung at least a dozen dresses. All expensive. All perfectly tailored. All in colors and styles that weren't hers.
She touched one, the fabric smooth and cold under her fingers.
Then she looked back at the blue dress, crumpled slightly on the chair where she'd left it after changing.
Burn it.
Her mother's hands had sewn those flowers. Her mother had saved it for years, hoping for a wedding day that would mean something.
And he wanted her to burn it.
Elara picked up the dress, folding it carefully. She opened her bag and tucked it deep inside, beneath her other clothes.
She wouldn't burn it.
He could control her actions. Force her compliance. Make her play whatever role he wanted.
But this one thing? This she would keep.
She pulled out one of the dresses from the wardrobe. Dark green, simple but elegant. She changed quickly, her movements mechanical.
In the mirror, she barely recognized herself. The dress fit perfectly, like it had been made for her. Maybe it had been.
She looked like she belonged here now. Like one of them.
But inside, she was still the girl from the broken house. The girl who'd been sold.
And no amount of expensive fabric could change that.
A knock came at the door.
"Miss? It's time for dinner."
Elara took one last look at herself. At the stranger in the mirror.
Then she turned and walked toward the door.
Toward dinner with the family who'd bought her.
Toward Adrian, who thought he owned her.
Toward whatever new humiliation waited downstairs.
But with each step, something hardened inside her. Something cold and sharp.
He could dress her up. Make her play his perfect, obedient wife.
But one day, she'd find a way to make him regret it.
One day, she'd take everything he thought he owned.
Including herself.