The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the estate when Elara heard the familiar click of heels echoing through the hallway.
Only one person walked like that.
"Elara," came a voice, warm and confident. "You're actually here."
She turned slowly. Vivienne Blake, the eldest daughter of the Blake family, stood in the doorway, radiant as ever. With her glossy chestnut hair pinned into a sleek twist, her flawless makeup, and the emerald silk dress that hugged her figure, Vivienne looked like she had just stepped out of a fashion spread.
Elara straightened. "Vivienne."
Vivienne strolled in, arms folded, eyes flicking over her like a critic assessing a painting.
"You've... matured," she said with a half-smile. "Did they teach you how to sit straight in college or are you still hiding behind books?"
"Still hiding," Elara said coolly. "But I've upgraded from libraries to empty gardens."
Vivienne let out a small laugh and sat gracefully on the armrest of a nearby couch.
"You always did love playing the misunderstood girl. You should be grateful, you know. Zayden Vale isn't exactly a downgrade."
"Grateful?" Elara echoed. "They just threw me into a business transaction without asking if I even wanted it."
"Oh please," Vivienne rolled her eyes. "This is how our world works. You think I chose Vincent? Love isn't part of the conversation, Elara."
"But you're praised for your choices," Elara said, voice sharp. "You're the face of the family. Everything you do is celebrated. Me? They remember I exist only when they need a pawn."
Vivienne's smile faltered.
"Don't be dramatic," she said, though her tone had cooled. "You've always been... different."
"That's one way of saying 'unwanted.'"
"Elara—"
"I'm not jealous of you," Elara interrupted. "I don't want your life. I just want to live mine without being handed over like a briefcase."
Vivienne stood now, walking slowly to where Elara sat near the tall window. She crouched slightly, eyes narrowing.
"You're beautiful," she said quietly. "Do you know that?"
Elara blinked.
"I always thought they kept you hidden because you were dull. But now... looking at you... maybe they feared you'd outshine the rest of us."
Elara didn't respond. The words weren't a compliment—they were a warning.
"I met Zayden Vale once," Vivienne added. "He's... not what he seems."
"Have you ever seen him smile?" Elara asked.
Vivienne tilted her head. "Yes. And it's terrifying. He smiles the same way someone holds a knife behind their back."
Silence stretched between them.
"Elara," Vivienne continued, voice lower now, "this marriage? It's not going to be simple. If you want to survive it—let alone win—you're going to have to stop acting like a girl who reads poetry in gardens and start acting like someone who knows how to play."
"I don't want to play games."
Vivienne's eyes glittered. "You don't have a choice."
A beat passed before Elara stood, chin raised, voice steady. "Maybe I won't play by their rules. Maybe I'll make my own."
Vivienne's lips twitched. "Then I look forward to watching you try."
---
Later that night, Elara stood alone on the balcony of her old bedroom, staring at the stars. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the glass door behind her.
Everyone saw her as a doll or a disappointment.
But if this Zayden Vale thought she'd be like the others—obedient, desperate, forgettable—he was in for a surprise.
Let him smile.
She'd be the one to see what was behind it.
---