The iron bars of the city prison were cold, but the fire burning in Elara Vance's chest was hotter. On the other side of the glass, her father—once known as the 'Steel King' of the industry—sat huddled in a grey inmate's uniform, a ghost of the man he used to be.
"Stay away from the Vanes, Elara," his voice crackled through the intercom, thin and trembling.
"Silas will swallow you whole. He's not a man; he's a black hole."
Elara lifted her chin, her eyes hardening into flint. "He took our home, our dignity, and he put you in this cage, Father. I'm not staying away.
I'm going to take his peace."
In vane building
Vane Corporation Headquarters was a fortress of glass and concrete where even the wind seemed to whisper the name of its master. Elara walked through the lobby with no appointment and no invitation. All she had was an old, yellowed 'Marriage Contract'—a relic of a pact made by their grandfathers, a deal the Vane family had publicly spat upon years ago.
"Tell him Elara Vance is here to collect her debt," she said to the receptionist, her voice like ice hitting a glass.
When she stepped into Silas Vane's penthouse office, the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Silas was silhouetted against a floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights at his feet. He didn't turn around, but his presence was suffocating—heavy with the scent of expensive cedarwood and raw, unfiltered power.
"Your father has been rotting in that cell for three years, Elara. And you show up today?" Silas's voice was a low, melodic growl.
"Are the lawyers finally out of blood to suck?"
Elara slammed the ancient contract onto his mahogany desk. "I'm not here to beg, Silas. I'm here to claim what's mine. This contract is still legally binding. Marry me. I want the Vane name."
Silas turned, his movements slow and predatory. His eyes were the color of a winter sea—beautiful, but capable of drowning anyone who drifted too close. He let out a dark, mirthless chuckle as he walked toward her, stopping so close she could count the silver threads in his silk tie.
"You want to marry me? The man who systematically dismantled your father's empire?" He tilted his head, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.
"Why? To play spy in my bedroom? Or to cut my throat while I sleep?"
Elara didn't flinch. "I want the power that only Silas Vane's wife possesses. I want the heads of the people who framed my father. You are the ladder I'm going to climb to get to them."
Silas gripped her chin, his fingers tight and possessive. "You're either very brave... or incredibly delusional. You think you're using me? You think you're the Queen on this chessboard?"
"I know my moves, Silas," she hissed.
A chilling smile spread across Silas's face—one that didn't reach his cold eyes.
He picked up a gold fountain pen and, without a second's hesitation, scrawled his signature across the document.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Vane. You've just opened the gates of hell for yourself." He leaned down, his breath ghosting over her ear.
"You think you're here to destroy me, Elara? You don't even know that putting your father in jail was just the bait... to lure you right where I wanted you. You don't even know 1% of the game I've been playing for years."
Elara's heart skipped a beat. Looking into his eyes, she didn't see hatred. She saw something much worse. An ancient, terrifying obsession.
"Welcome to hell my baby"
The vow was signed. The trap was set. And Elara had walked right into it, thinking she was the hunter.
......