The sound of the pen scratching across paper felt louder than thunder in Elara's ears.
She stared at the contract.
Her name sat there so neatly in black ink, like it didn't belong to a human being.
Like it didn't belong to her.
"Elara."
Her stepfather's voice cut through the silence. Sharp. Nervous.
"Just sign it. You'll be taken care of. You'll live in luxury. You won't have to worry about anything."
She slowly lifted her eyes to him.
The man who had replaced her father.
The man who had gambled away their house.
The man who now couldn't even meet her gaze.
"You sold me," she said softly.
The word hung in the air.
He shifted in his chair. "Don't be dramatic. It's just a marriage contract. A powerful man wants a wife."
A man.
Not a person.
Just a thing being passed from one hand to another.
Elara's fingers trembled as they hovered over the pen.
She didn't sign because she wanted to.
She signed because she had no weapon. No escape. No one to save her.
The door opened silently.
And the air in the room changed.
She felt him before she saw him.
Heavy footsteps. Calm. Measured.
A presence.
She looked up.
Dominic Blackwood.
He didn't smile.
Didn't frown.
His eyes — dark and sharp — moved slowly over her.
Not hungry.
Not kind.
Just… assessing.
Like he was studying something valuable and fragile.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
Elara tried to still her hands.
"I'm fine."
He moved closer.
And for the first time, her breath shortened.
His voice lowered.
"You don't need to be afraid."
She almost laughed.
Need… not be afraid?
"I was sold to you," she whispered.
Something unreadable crossed his eyes.
He reached the table and placed his hand near the contract.
"I didn't ask for a weak bride," he said carefully.
He looked at her.
Really looked.
"I asked for one who could survive this world."
Her heart pounded.
The pen trembled between her fingers.
And she signed.
The ink soaked into the paper.
The room was silent.
And just like that…
She became his.