Elara's POV
The doorknob turned.
Elara's heart stopped beating.
Dorian raised the bookend, muscles tensed to strike—
The door swung open and a small old woman in a housekeeper's uniform stood there, holding fresh towels.
"Oh!" She jumped back, eyes wide. "Mr. Ashcroft! I didn't mean to startle you. I was just bringing—"
"Mrs. Chen." Dorian lowered the bookend, breathing hard. "You scared us half to death."
"I'm so sorry, sir." Mrs. Chen looked genuinely distressed. "I knocked but no one answered, and I thought—"
"It's fine." Dorian set down the bookend with shaking hands. "Just... announce yourself next time. Loudly."
Mrs. Chen nodded quickly, set the towels on a side table, and hurried out.
The moment she left, Elara collapsed onto the bed, her legs giving out.
"I thought we were dead," she gasped.
"So did I." Dorian ran his hands through his hair. "This is what Vincent does. He makes you paranoid. Makes you jump at shadows."
"Well, it's working." Elara looked at the crumpled note still in Dorian's hand. "What do we do?"
"We be smarter than him." Dorian's jaw set with determination. "Starting tomorrow, we move you to the main estate. My apartment isn't safe if Vincent has access."
"The estate? Where Vincent lives?"
"It's huge. Different wings. You'll barely see him except at meals." Dorian's voice softened. "And I'll be there. I won't let him hurt you."
Elara wanted to argue that she didn't need protection. But after tonight—the fire, the chase, the threatening note—she was too tired to pretend she was invincible.
"Okay," she whispered. "Tomorrow."
But sleep didn't come easy that night.
Morning arrived with harsh sunlight through the windows and Lyra shaking Elara awake.
"Get up! You're moving to a mansion today and I need details!" Lyra bounced on the edge of the bed like an excited puppy. "Is it true the Ashcroft estate has mechanical servants? And a laboratory? And—oh stars, Elara, what happened to your hand?"
Elara looked down. The ring from last night had left a red mark on her finger where she'd twisted it nervously for hours.
"Long story." Elara sat up, wincing. Every muscle hurt from yesterday's running and terror.
"I've got time." Lyra crossed her arms. "Start talking."
So Elara explained everything—Vincent's involvement, the threatening note, the plan to move to the estate. Lyra's expression grew darker with each word.
"I don't like this," Lyra said when Elara finished. "You're walking into the lion's den."
"I don't have a choice."
"You always have a choice." Lyra grabbed her hands. "You could run. Leave the city. Start over somewhere Vincent can't find you."
"And abandon my father's research? Let Marcus keep living off my work? Let Vincent win?" Elara shook her head. "No. I'm done running."
Lyra sighed. "You're so stubborn."
"You love me anyway."
"Unfortunately." But Lyra smiled sadly. "Just promise me you'll be careful. Rich people are dangerous, Elara. They play games we don't understand."
"Dorian's not like that."
"Isn't he?" Lyra raised an eyebrow. "He's using you to get his inheritance. That's pretty calculating if you ask me."
"And I'm using him to destroy Marcus. We're even."
"Are you?" Lyra studied her face. "Because the way you talked about him just now... that's not how someone talks about a business arrangement."
"You're imagining things." But Elara's face heated.
A knock interrupted them. Dorian's voice came through the door. "The carriage is here. Are you ready?"
Ready to move into a mansion with a man who tried to kill her? Ready to face Vincent at dinner tonight? Ready to pretend to be in love with her old rival?
Not even close.
"Ready," Elara called back.
The carriage ride took thirty minutes, climbing up into the hills overlooking the city. Elara watched through the window as her old life disappeared behind them.
Then the Ashcroft estate came into view and her breath caught.
It was enormous. Three stories of gleaming brass and crystal windows. Mechanical fountains danced in the courtyard. Gears turned in decorative patterns along the walls. It looked like a palace made of clockwork and dreams.
"This is where you're going to live?" Lyra whispered, awed.
"Temporarily," Elara reminded her. And herself.
The carriage stopped. A butler opened the door and helped them out.
"Welcome home, Miss Veylin," he said formally. "I'm Henderson. I'll be assisting you during your stay."
Home. The word felt foreign.
Henderson led them inside and Elara tried not to gape. Crystal chandeliers hung from ceilings painted with constellations. Mechanical birds sang in gilded cages. Everything gleamed.
"Your suite is on the second floor, east wing," Henderson said. "Mr. Ashcroft is in the west wing. The main laboratory is in the north tower. Dinner is at seven sharp."
They climbed a grand staircase. Lyra kept squeezing Elara's arm and whispering "This is insane!" every few steps.
Henderson opened a door and Elara's jaw dropped.
The bedroom was bigger than her entire old workshop. A four-poster bed dominated one side. Windows overlooked the garden. There was a sitting area with plush chairs, a writing desk, even a small library.
"The closet is through there," Henderson indicated a door. "We've prepared several dresses for tonight's dinner. Ring if you need anything."
He left them alone.
"Okay," Lyra said. "Maybe this fake engagement isn't the worst idea you've ever had."
Elara walked to the window, staring out at gardens and fountains. Two years ago, she'd had a life like this. Luxury. Comfort. Respect.
Marcus had taken it all.
But now she was taking it back. Different circumstances, sure. Fake instead of real. But standing here in this beautiful room, Elara felt something she hadn't felt in two years.
Hope.
"Help me pick a dress?" she asked Lyra.
They went to the closet and Elara gasped. Dozens of dresses hung there in every color. Silks and satins and fabrics she couldn't even name.
"Not the black one with silver trim," Elara said, remembering Vincent's note.
"Why not?"
"Because Vincent told me to wear it. Which means I definitely won't."
They finally chose a deep blue dress that made Elara's eyes look brighter. Lyra helped her into it, lacing up the back.
"You look like a princess," Lyra said softly.
Elara stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. The woman looking back was almost a stranger. Clean. Well-dressed. Almost... beautiful.
Not the broken alchemist from the slums anymore.
"I don't recognize myself," Elara whispered.
"Good." Lyra squeezed her shoulders. "That girl was surviving. This woman is going to win."
A knock on the door made them both turn.
"Come in," Elara called.
A young maid entered, curtseying. "Miss Veylin? Mr. Vincent Ashcroft requests your presence in the library. He'd like to meet you before dinner."
Elara's blood went cold. "Now?"
"Yes, miss. He's waiting."
This was it. Face to face with the man who'd killed her father. The man who'd tried to kill her.
"Tell him I'll be there in five minutes," Elara said, voice steady despite her racing heart.
The maid curtseyed again and left.
"You don't have to go," Lyra said urgently. "Wait for Dorian. Don't face Vincent alone."
"If I hide now, he'll know I'm afraid." Elara straightened her spine. "I won't give him that power."
"At least take this." Lyra pulled a small vial from her pocket. "Sleeping draught. If he tries anything, slip it in his drink."
Elara took the vial, tucking it into her sleeve. "Thank you."
"Be careful." Lyra hugged her tight. "And scream if you need me. I'll come running with something sharp."
Elara smiled despite her fear. "I know you will."
She left the room and walked down the grand hallway, following the maid's directions to the library. Her heart pounded harder with each step.
The library doors were massive oak carved with mechanical designs. Elara took a deep breath and pushed them open.
The room beyond was filled with books from floor to ceiling. A fire crackled in an enormous fireplace.
And standing with his back to her, looking out a window, was a man who could have been Dorian's twin.
Same height. Same dark hair. But when he turned around, Elara saw the differences.
Vincent's eyes were colder. His smile was sharper. Everything about him screamed danger.
"Ah," Vincent said smoothly. "The famous Elara Veylin. I've been so eager to meet my brother's... fiancée." He said the word like it was a joke.
"Mr. Ashcroft." Elara kept her voice level.
"Please, call me Vincent. We're family now." He walked closer, circling her like a predator studying prey. "That's a lovely dress. Though I'm disappointed you didn't wear the one I suggested."
"I don't take orders from men I don't know."
"Spirited. I like that." Vincent stopped in front of her. "Tell me, Miss Veylin—does my brother know you're here? Or did you sneak down to meet me alone?"
"I was invited."
"By me, yes. But Dorian doesn't know, does he?" Vincent's smile widened. "Which means we're having a private conversation. How... intimate."
Elara's hand inched toward the vial in her sleeve.
"Don't bother," Vincent said casually. "Whatever weapon your little friend gave you, it won't work on me. I've built up immunity to most poisons."
How did he know about Lyra? How did he know everything?
"What do you want?" Elara demanded.
"To make you an offer." Vincent walked to a side table and poured two glasses of wine. "You see, I know why you're really here. You want revenge on Marcus Thorne. You want your research back. You want the life you lost."
"And?"
"And I can give you all of that." He held out a glass. "Work with me instead of my brother. Help me, and I'll destroy Marcus for you. I'll make him confess publicly. I'll restore your position at the Guild. Everything you want."
Elara stared at the offered wine, mind spinning. "Why would you help me?"
"Because Dorian needs to learn a lesson. He thinks he can defy our father's legacy, waste his talents on sentiment and kindness." Vincent's eyes glittered with malice. "Help me break him, and I'll give you the world."
"And if I refuse?"
Vincent's smile vanished. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Then I'll destroy you the same way I destroyed your father," he said softly. "Only slower. More painful. And I'll make Dorian watch."
Before Elara could respond, before she could scream or run or fight, Vincent pulled out a small device from his pocket.
He pressed a button.
Every door in the library slammed shut and locked with a mechanical click.
They were trapped.
And Vincent's smile returned, cold and terrible.
"Now then," he said. "Let's discuss the terms of your surrender."