CHAPTER FOUR — A HOUSE BUILT ON SECRETS
Elara woke the next morning before sunrise.
Not because she slept well—she barely slept at all—but because the mansion carried a strange energy. A quiet intensity. As if everything inside it held its breath, waiting for orders.
Her room, beautiful as it was, felt too large for her small figure. The king-size bed swallowed her, the silence pressed in around her, and the unfamiliar luxury stirred more anxiety than comfort.
Today was the day of the engagement announcement.
Her fake engagement.
Her first step into Damian's world of power and danger.
She rose from bed and walked out onto the balcony. Dawn stretched across the horizon in pale gold and cold pink, brushing the gardens below with soft light. Birds chirped somewhere distant, but the estate remained quiet—too quiet.
Her thoughts drifted to her father, still in the hospital, unaware of the drastic choice she had made for his sake.
"I hope I'm doing the right thing," she whispered into the morning air.
A knock broke the silence.
"Mrs. Gray?" Lysa's voice came gently through the door. "May I come in?"
Elara took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, please."
Lysa entered with a warm smile and a folded set of clothes. "Good morning. Today will be a long day, so we should start early."
Elara sat on the edge of the bed. "What happens first?"
"Hair and styling," Lysa replied. "Then breakfast with Mr. Aurelius. After that, final briefing about the event schedule."
The words made Elara's chest tighten. "I'm nervous."
"That's normal," Lysa said kindly, setting the clothes down. "Just follow his lead. He won't let you fall."
Elara gave her a hesitant smile. "Sometimes I'm afraid of him."
Lysa paused—just for a split second—before answering.
"Everyone is afraid of him," she said softly. "But not everyone sees the man beneath."
Before Elara could ask what that meant, Lysa gestured toward a hallway door.
"Come, let's prepare you."
---
Two stylists worked on Elara's hair, makeup, and overall look. She sat quietly as they pinned her curls into a low, elegant chignon, brushed soft color across her cheeks, and lined her eyes with a subtle glow. They wanted her to look polished, expensive, and composed.
A woman who belonged beside Damian Aurelius.
When they finished, she barely recognized herself.
"You look beautiful," one stylist murmured.
Elara managed a small smile. "Thank you."
As she stepped out of the dressing room, she found Damian waiting for her in the hallway.
He was dressed in a deep black suit, tailored so perfectly it looked sculpted onto him. His dark hair was styled neatly, and his posture carried the confident dominance she was slowly growing used to.
But his eyes—when they landed on her—paused.
For a moment, something softened in them.
Barely.
Fleeting.
Then it was gone.
"You're ready," he said, voice controlled and even.
Elara nodded. "Yes."
He held out his arm. "Come. We'll have breakfast before going over the plan."
She hesitated only a second before placing her hand lightly on his sleeve.
His arm was firm beneath the fabric, his presence overpowering yet strangely steadying.
They walked through the mansion to a private dining room. A long table was set with breakfast options—fresh fruits, pastries, eggs, and steaming coffee.
Damian took the seat at the head of the table.
Elara sat to his right.
He poured her a glass of water, then spoke without looking at her.
"You will stay close to me throughout the event. Do not answer questions you're unsure about. If a reporter asks something personal, look at me. I will speak."
She nodded. "Okay."
"Do not allow anyone to separate us. That includes family members."
"Family?" she repeated quietly.
He finally looked at her.
"Yes. My relatives will attend. They… have opinions."
"What kind of opinions?"
He sipped his coffee. "Opinions you don't need to worry about, as long as you stay beside me."
Elara shifted nervously. "Do they know this marriage is… contracted?"
"No," Damian said sharply. "And they won't."
She swallowed. "I won't say anything."
"Good."
A beat of silence passed.
Then his voice dropped lower.
"Elara, this announcement is the first move on a very delicate board. You'll be seen. You'll be photographed. People will judge you, dig into your past, analyze your words and actions. You must be prepared."
Her chest tightened. "I'm trying."
Damian's gaze lingered on her, unreadable.
"You are doing more than trying," he said quietly. "You are stepping into fire."
Elara's breath caught at his unexpectedly honest tone.
Before she could respond, a buzz sounded from Damian's phone. He checked it, his expression shifting into something colder, sharper.
"What is it?" she asked carefully.
Damian locked the screen. "A message from someone who shouldn't be contacting me today."
"Someone dangerous?"
He didn't answer—but that was answer enough.
Elara looked down at her hands. "I don't want to cause you trouble."
"You are not trouble," Damian said firmly. "You are a tool I chose. A shield I require. Don't think of yourself as a burden."
His words were blunt—maybe even harsh—but not cruel.
She nodded slowly.
"Now," he continued, "finish eating. Then we leave for the venue."
---
The drive to the event took thirty minutes, and every second made Elara more anxious. Cameras flashed outside the hall entrance where press and invited guests gathered. Security formed a tight perimeter as the car rolled to a stop.
"Elara," Damian said beside her, "look at me."
She turned.
"Breathe."
His voice, usually so unyielding, carried a quiet steadiness that surprised her.
"You will walk beside me," he said. "You will hold my arm. And if you feel overwhelmed, tighten your grip. That's my signal to take over completely."
Her heartbeat fluttered. "Okay."
He opened the door first, stepping out. The crowd erupted with noise—flashes, murmurs, camera shutters. He extended his hand toward her.
Elara placed her hand in his, and he helped her out gently, carefully, almost protectively.
The moment she stepped into the open, dozens of photographers aimed their lenses at her.
"Mr. Aurelius!"
"Is she your fiancée?"
"Miss, what's your relationship with him?"
"Is this an alliance marriage?"
"Is she the mystery woman we've heard about?"
Elara froze.
The noise was overwhelming.
But Damian's arm wrapped around her waist—firm, steady, unmistakably claiming.
"Stay close," he murmured.
They walked together into the hall, his body shielding hers from the chaos.
Inside, a hush fell over the room as guests turned to look at them.
Whispers filled the air:
"That's her?"
"She's… ordinary."
"Why her?"
"She's so young."
"Did he really choose someone outside the social circle?"
Elara felt every stare like a needle.
Damian leaned down slightly.
"Don't look at them," he said. "Look at me."
She did—and the world steadied.
He guided her to the center stage where the announcement would be made.
The host waited. "Mr. Aurelius, shall we begin?"
Damian nodded.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the host announced grandly, "we are honored to present Mr. Damian Aurelius… and his fiancée, Elara Gray."
Shock rippled through the crowd.
Some clapped.
Others whispered louder.
Damian took the microphone, his hand never leaving Elara's waist.
He spoke calmly, confidently.
"Elara Gray is the woman I have chosen to stand beside me," he said. "Her presence in my life is not a matter of business, nor politics. It is personal."
Elara's breath stopped.
Personal?
He glanced at her then—brief but intense—as if the words held a meaning only he knew.
"And I expect the world," Damian continued, "to respect my fiancée."
The hall erupted with murmurs.
Elara stared at him, caught between confusion and awe.
He lowered the microphone.
Then leaned toward her, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Do not forget," he said softly, "from today on, you are mine to protect."
But the way he said it—
low, certain, dangerous—
made her realize something else.
This marriage may have started as a contract…
…but Damian Aurelius was beginning to play by his own rules.
— END OF CHAPTER FOUR —