The following morning should have felt like a new beginning.
Instead, Evelyn Marlowe woke to the heavy silence of a gilded cage. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Vale estate, spilling across marble floors and velvet drapes. The house looked as immaculate as always, a palace of perfection, but she felt nothing except suffocated.
Her father hadn't spoken to her since the disastrous engagement party. Not a word. Not a glance. He had merely issued orders to the staff, his jaw clenched so tightly Evelyn thought he might break his teeth. The message was clear: she had humiliated the family. Again.
Her mother, as always, had chosen silence. A perfect wife, a perfect hostess, but never a mother who would take her side. Evelyn had stopped expecting comfort years ago.
She sat up in bed, her fingers pressing against her temples. Sleep had barely touched her—her mind replayed the stranger's words from last night in a relentless loop.
"When you finally get tired of being their pawn, will you dare to play your own game?"
His voice, low and smooth, still echoed as if he had whispered it into her ear moments ago. It unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
Who was he? Why had he spoken to her like he knew her, like he could see right through the carefully constructed armor she wore?
Shaking the thought away, Evelyn forced herself through the motions: shower, dress, step into a carefully curated mask. She slid into a pale silk blouse and pencil skirt, garments chosen more to appease her father's expectations than her own comfort. Her reflection in the mirror looked composed, but the faint tremor in her hands betrayed her.
Today, the newspapers would be merciless. Her humiliation was public, and there would be no hiding from it.
She hadn't even reached the dining room before her father's voice boomed from his study.
"Evelyn. Inside. Now."
Her stomach dropped, but she obeyed.
Mr. Vale sat behind his mahogany desk, the morning light glinting off the gold inkwell at his side. The air smelled faintly of cigars and old leather, heavy and suffocating. A newspaper lay open before him, the headlines screaming betrayal:
"Marlowe Heiress Abandoned at the Altar of Engagement."
Her photograph—tears barely hidden, eyes distant—was splashed across the front page.
"Do you see this?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.
"Yes," she said softly.
"You've made us a laughingstock. Do you have any idea what this does to the family name? To our business?"
The words cut sharper than any knife, but Evelyn had heard them all before. Family name. Business. Reputation. Never her. Never her happiness.
"I didn't choose for him to walk away," she murmured, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.
Her father's glare hardened. "No, but you chose to be weak. To let it happen in front of everyone."
Evelyn's throat tightened. Weak. That was what she was to him—always too fragile, too emotional, too much of a liability.
"From this day on," Mr. Vale continued coldly, "you will have no freedom to embarrass us further. I've arranged—"
But the sharp chime of his phone cut him off. He answered with clipped irritation. A pause. Then his expression shifted—first to surprise, then to something Evelyn had never seen before: unease.
He ended the call abruptly and stood. "Stay here."
Evelyn blinked as he left the study without another word. Moments later, she heard voices in the hall. Deep, commanding, unfamiliar.
She crept closer to the door, heart hammering.
"…unexpected visit," her father was saying tightly.
And then—that voice.
Smooth, confident, unmistakable.
"Consider it a courtesy. I prefer handling business face-to-face."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. It couldn't be.
She pushed the door open slightly, peering into the grand foyer.
There he was.
The stranger from last night, standing beneath the chandelier as if he owned the house. He looked sharper in daylight—black suit perfectly tailored, dark hair slicked back from his forehead, and those piercing eyes that had unsettled her beneath the rain.
Lucian Drake.
The name hit her like a bolt when her father uttered it. Of course she knew who he was. Everyone in the city did. CEO of Drake Enterprises, a conglomerate so vast that even the Vale family's fortune looked small beside it. Ruthless. Untouchable. A man whispered about in equal parts admiration and fear.
What was he doing here?
Her father forced a polite smile. "Mr. Drake, if I had known you were coming—"
"No need," Lucian cut him off smoothly. "I don't care for pleasantries. I came here for one reason."
His gaze flickered, just briefly, toward the study door where Evelyn stood. Her breath caught.
"For your daughter."
The words rang through the hall like thunder. Evelyn nearly dropped the door handle.
Her father stiffened. "Evelyn?"
"Yes." Lucian's lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smile. "I'll be direct, Vale. I want her."
Evelyn's blood turned to ice. Want her? For what?
Her father's voice grew sharp. "She's not some… commodity you can simply demand."
Lucian's smirk deepened. "Everything in this city is negotiable. You, of all people, should know that."
Evelyn stumbled back into the study, her pulse racing. The room felt suddenly too small, the walls closing in. She didn't know what terrified her more—that Lucian Drake had appeared in her home the day after he'd spoken to her like a challenge, or that he now declared he wanted her as though she were part of a business deal.
Moments later, the door opened, and her father entered with Lucian behind him.
"Evelyn," Mr. Vale barked, "come forward."
She obeyed stiffly, though every instinct screamed at her to run. The marble floor felt icy beneath her slippers as she stepped closer.
Lucian's eyes locked onto hers, and for the briefest second, she saw it—the recognition, the flicker of memory from last night. He knew she remembered too.
"Miss Marlowe," he said smoothly, his voice softer now, but still threaded with that same challenge. "It's a pleasure to see you again."
Her lips parted. "Again?" she echoed, feigning ignorance.
His smirk was faint but knowing.
Her father looked between them suspiciously. "You've met?"
Lucian answered before she could. "Only briefly. Fate has a way of arranging meetings at the right time."
Fate. The word sent a shiver down her spine.
"Mr. Drake has proposed…" Her father's jaw tightened, as though the words tasted foul. "…an arrangement. A contract marriage."
Evelyn's knees nearly buckled. She stared at Lucian, horrified.
"You can't be serious."
But Lucian's eyes never wavered. "Deadly serious."
Her father's glare silenced her. "You'll do as you're told. This family cannot afford another scandal. If Mr. Drake wants you, then so be it."
Evelyn's chest constricted. She wanted to scream, to refuse, to say no. But one look at Lucian, standing calm and composed, told her there was no escape.
Last night, he had asked if she would play her own game. She hadn't understood then.
Now she realized: the game had already begun.
And Lucian Drake had just made his first move.