The rain hadn't stopped.
Callum Virell didn't remember driving. Just the thunder, the steering wheel, the silence that swallowed him as he crossed half the city with one name in his mind.
Dahlia.
His tie hung undone against his chest, his jacket crinkled from anxious neglect, and his hair refused all attempts at order. Each passing second twisted the veins of his heart tighter.
He slammed the car door shut when he arrived at the Virell estate—its towering gates already parted, as if expecting him. He bypassed the grand entrance entirely, heading toward the servants' wing nestled behind the main house. The old stone path was wet with rain, the ivy-covered side wall dimly lit by a single flickering lamp. Tucked beneath that light was the doorway to the quarters.
But she wasn't there.
Only a note waited.
Placed on a small, short brown table.
His name curved with gentleness was written. However, the pain wrecking him knew that a storm comes with it.
He read it once.
Then again.
His knees hit the floor by the doorframe before he realized he was falling.
** Callum,
I'm sorry I couldn't say this in person.
You love me without asking for more, and I will treasure you for the rest of my life.
But I've made my choice.
My mother is dying. And we both knew, at her age, and me not matching hers, it would be hard to have this chance again. And out of the thousand donors tested, Sera is the only one who matched.
Only her.
She has agreed to the transplant… on one condition.
You must marry her.
And I—selfishly or not—am choosing my mother.
This is not your failure, Callum. All those years you had done everything to help me and my mother.
This is a gift you gave me by building a world where I could choose, even if it's not the kind we dreamed of. I will not let my mother die when the answer is right in front of us.
Please… live.
And someday, maybe, forgive me.
—Dahlia**
The letter slipped from his fingers.
The hallway blurred.
He braced his hands on the floor, biting down a sob like it might kill him to let it out.
But it came anyway.
Raw. Uncontrolled.
Like everything inside him gave up holding back.
Somewhere near the entrance, his father stood in shadow, listening—an unspoken witness to every shattered syllable. When the sound of his despair subsided to an aching silence, Callum rose on unsteady legs and left, and so did his father.
The corridors of the estate stood eerily still, their vast archways swallowing the flickering glow of the lanterns nestled in wall sconces. Shadows stretched long across the polished floors, wavering like ghosts uncertain of their place.
When footsteps sounded, they came lightly—too light for a house so large, too fleeting to belong to those with any certainty. The servants moved in silence, careful, deliberate, as if the very walls might hear their unease. No laughter echoed from the upper rooms; no distant hum of conversation drifted through the halls. Only the quite remained, pressing down like an unspoken weight.
---
The morning arrived without color.
Callum stood beneath the towering arch of the Elion estate's great hall, the sharp scent of oiled steel and leather lingering faintly in the air. He took a breath, steadying himself, feeling the weight of expectations pressing down on him like the heavy stone overhead. Today would be pivotal. The decisions made within these walls could alter the course of his life—and the fate of those he cared for.
Unlike the Virell estate, which smelled of imported cigars and polished marble, the Elion estate reeked of precision—everything in line, everything in order. A place where even emotion was expected to be saluted.
He hadn't slept.
Not after reading Dahlia's letter.
Not after sobbing into the cold hardwood of the servant's wing, like a man he no longer recognized.
His father stood beside him now, crisp in a dark gray suit, phone tucked into one hand, silent but alert. A general in the field of numbers—strategy, his only religion.
Across from them, at the head of the Elion table, sat Commander Hadrian Elion, waving and smiling at Callum's father.
At his left, Seraphine entered.
Her posture was perfect. The uniform coat was gone, replaced by a simple navy dress that did nothing to soften the severity of her presence. She did not look at Callum.
He did not look at her.
The two heirs of power sat at the long, lacquered table, separated by a polished silence that felt more binding than any vow.
"Three days," Hadrian Elion said, breaking the stillness like a gunshot. "We will spare no cost. Security will be handled by my men. The rest—press, contracts, announcements—fall under your father's domain."
Callum's father nodded once.
"Very well."
Across the table, Seraphine folded her hands neatly in her lap. No veil, no diamonds, no pretense of joy. Only quiet, unnerving calm.
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Her silence said everything.
Callum's father cleared his throat, sliding forward a folder. "Pre-nuptial terms. Power delegation clauses. You'll both retain your separate assets, but your bodies should not—"
Callum didn't flinch, but something inside him twisted.
** A child.
This wasn't a marriage.
It was a treaty, written in grief, debt, and fading choices.**
Still—he signed.
So did she.
Not once did their eyes meet.
After discussing the details, Sera's father looked at him, then at her, and said, "Sera, we will be going to celebrate. As for the two of you, take this day to have your clothes tailored."
"Yes, father."
The men stood. Deals sealed. Timeframes declared. The wedding would happen within seventy-two hours. The guest list would be brief but prestigious. Press releases were already drafted.
When the two fathers had departed, silence lingered between Sera and Callum, their eyes locked an unspoken battle. At last, Sera broke the stillness. "The family tailor will arrive in an hour. Shall we take a walk?"
Callum's gaze darkened, his voice low. "Can I just go home?"
Sera smiled and stood. Her steps echoed an authority.
She led him down the corridor, her steps measured, deliberate. Callum followed, his senses prickling. The corridors seemed unusually empty of maids or butlers, only shadows stretching along the walls.
Sera suddenly turned and made him stop short. Her gaze was sharp, her words heavier.
"Dahlia is in the family's military hospital… in the city."
The revelation struck in. He closed the distance between them, his eyes burning, his hands trembling. "IS SHE SAFE? TELL ME... she isn't your prisoner."
Sera leaned close, her breath brushing his ear, her tone a whisper edged with danger. "Last night, my men said Dahlia wept until dawn… alone in the hospital's comfort room."
Callum's chest tightened. His mind raced with images of Dahlia's, the sterile walls of a hospital, the sound of her sobs echoing in the dark. He wanted to plea for answers, but before he could speak, Sera pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Shock rippled through him. He flinched, but she seized his collar, pulling him back into her orbit. Her lips brushed his other ear, her voice both a promise and a warning. "But she is strong, Callum. Stronger than you know. And she will endure."
Her words intoxicating and suffocating all at once.
The corridor seemed to close in around them, shadows stretching longer, silence pressing heavier. He realized then that he was trapped in her presence.