The air in the Vale estate always smelled like secrets sweet and sharp, like roses wilting in hidden rot.
I hated it.
I hated the silence that wrapped around the walls, like they were holding their breath, waiting for someone to finally say it: He's gone, and it's your fault.
But no one ever said it out loud. They just stared. Whispered. Pitied.
Or worse, forgot.
Today marked five years since my brother, Eiran, died. Five years since the fall that shattered my world, left me gasping, trembling, and trapped in a body that never quite healed. People thought my weakness started with that fall.
They were wrong.
The real wound was invisible. It lived in my bones, in the cold that never left my fingertips. In the truth no one wanted me to find.
"You're doing too much, Elyra. Sit down before you faint." My aunt's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, sharp as glass. She stood by the window, sipping tea like we weren't preparing for the most humiliating dinner of my life.
"I'm fine," I lied, gripping the edge of the marble counter for support. The world tilted slightly before steadying again. My corset was too tight, but appearances mattered more than oxygen in this house.
Tonight was the engagement dinner.
My engagement dinner.
To a man I'd never met.
"Arranged marriage" sounded romantic in stories. Tragic, even. But the reality was far colder. My father was desperate to reclaim our family's former influence, and marrying me off to Valen Rivas,the infamous mafia heir was his final, desperate move.
Valen Rivas.
The name alone sent shivers across the city. He was power and peril wrapped in tailored suits and whispered rumors. Men feared him. Women fantasized. No one knew much, except that he'd inherited more than a kingdom of crime, he'd inherited enemies.
And now, apparently, me.
A knock echoed through the silence.
Our butler, Thomas, appeared. "The Rivas entourage has arrived, Miss Elyra."
My aunt's spine straightened. "Fix your posture. Smile. You're not a ghost."
But I was. I had been ever since Eiran died.
Still, I painted on a smile that didn't reach my eyes, adjusted the silver hairpin that held my curls in place, and walked slowly, deliberately toward the parlor.
They were already seated.
Three men dressed in black. One older, likely Valen's advisor. One broad shouldered and heavily scarred. And one, still as a shadow, legs crossed, head slightly tilted, his fingers resting over a glass of untouched wine.
Valen.
He wasn't what I expected.
No scars. No sneer. Just unnerving calm.
His hair was black silk, slicked back perfectly. Eyes the color of ash, not cold, but calculating. His suit was tailored like armor, his presence thunderous even in silence.
When our eyes met, something shifted.
Not the earth, not the air, me. Something inside me flickered. A sense of danger and something else.
Recognition.
He stood.
"Elyra Vale." His voice was smooth, deep, and disarmingly quiet. Like he didn't need to speak loudly to be heard.
"Valen Rivas," I replied, lifting my chin despite the tremor in my knees.
He reached for my hand. I gave it to him, letting his fingers wrap around mine.
Warm. Steady. Far too firm for a stranger.
"You're smaller than I expected," he murmured.
"And you're exactly as expected," I said coolly. "Terrifying."
He smirked, a slight twitch of the lips, not amusement but something darker. "You'll find I'm full of surprises."
His grip loosened. I took my hand back.
Dinner passed in a blur of pleasantries and political maneuvering. Our fathers discussed alliances, trade routes, old debts and new beginnings. I watched Valen through my lashes, trying to decipher the man behind the mystery.
He didn't eat much. He didn't speak often. But every time I did, whether it was a polite comment or a quiet disagreement, his eyes lingered just a second longer.
He was watching me. Studying me.
After dessert, my father made a toast. "To the union that will rebuild what was broken. To Elyra and Valen."
Glasses clinked. Smiles were forced.
Then Valen stood.
"Before I agree to anything," he said, and the room fell deathly silent, "I want five minutes alone with my bride to be."
My father's jaw tightened. My aunt looked scandalized.
But Valen's gaze never moved from me.
"That is, acceptable," my father said finally, though the stiffness in his voice betrayed his discomfort.
Valen extended a hand again. "Walk with me?"
I didn't hesitate.
Not because I trusted him.
But because if I didn't start taking risks, I'd drown in my own fear.
We walked into the garden, the cold night air brushing against my skin like a warning.
He stopped beneath the willow tree, Eiran's favorite place.
"Why here?" I asked softly.
"I don't care for small talk," Valen said, stepping closer. "And I don't like pretending. So let's make this simple."
"Alright," I whispered, though my heart was anything but calm.
"I don't want a puppet," he said. "Or a pawn. If I'm marrying you, Elyra Vale, I expect more than a porcelain doll with a fragile heart."
I stared at him, rage flickering like lightning in my chest. "Then you've chosen the wrong girl."
"Have I?" he asked, taking another step. His hand brushed my jaw. "Because I've been watching you all night. And I think, under all that silk and sorrow, there's a fire."
"You don't know me."
"Not yet. But I will."
He leaned closer, lips grazing the shell of my ear.
"And when I do, you'll either destroy me, or I'll burn the world for you."