Elena barely slept. Every time her eyes drifted shut, she heard it — the whisper of her name in the dark.
Elena…
It had followed her into dreams until she'd woken in a cold sweat, clutching the sheets like a lifeline. By dawn, exhaustion weighed on her limbs, but when Grace, the soft-spoken maid, tapped on her door with a reminder, she forced herself to rise.
"Mr. Blackwood expects you for breakfast, ma'am," Grace murmured, almost apologetically, as though she knew what awaited Elena on the other side of the grand dining hall doors.
Elena straightened her shoulders. "Then let's not keep him waiting."
The Blackwood dining hall was cavernous, sunlight streaming through high arched windows. Portraits of ancestors loomed, their painted eyes judgmental, as though mocking her place at the table.
Adrian sat at the head, black suit flawless even this early. His presence filled the room more than the towering walls did. He sipped his coffee with the calm of a man untouchable by the world's storms.
Marcus sprawled in a chair opposite, dressed casually but carrying the arrogance of a man who thought himself untouchable for different reasons. He looked up when Elena entered, his lips curving in that wolfish grin that already made her want to throw her plate at him.
"Well, well," Marcus drawled, eyes glinting. "Good morning, sweetheart. Still breathing? That's a surprise."
Her stomach twisted. He knows about the whispers.
Elena's voice was steady despite the tremor in her chest. "Disappointed?"
Marcus leaned back, smirking. "On the contrary. Watching you survive will be more entertaining. Like throwing a kitten into a den of wolves and seeing how long it lasts."
"Enough," Adrian said without lifting his eyes from the newspaper. His tone was sharp steel, cutting across Marcus's words.
Marcus only chuckled, unfazed, and bit into a slice of toast.
Elena moved to the seat at Adrian's right — a deliberate position, she realized, chosen to show hierarchy. She wasn't beside him as an equal, but not far enough to be dismissed either. She wondered if that was his way of saying you're here, but don't get comfortable.
The servants lifted silver domes, releasing the scent of smoked salmon, buttered pastries, and sweet fruit. Elena's stomach growled, but the memory of last night soured her appetite.
Marcus leaned slightly toward her, lowering his voice though not enough that Adrian couldn't hear. "Did the whispers find you, Elena? They usually do."
Her fork froze mid-air. She looked at him sharply.
Marcus's grin widened, slow and cruel. "They always find the new bride. I wondered how long it would take."
Elena's pulse hammered, her lips parting to demand what he meant, but Adrian's voice sliced in again.
"Eat." His command was directed at her this time, his eyes lifting from the paper just long enough to pin her in place.
It wasn't unkind — but it wasn't gentle either. It was an order.
Elena forced herself to nibble at a croissant, though every bite felt like swallowing sand.
The heavy doors opened with a dramatic creak, and the air shifted.
A woman stepped in.
She was tall, draped in champagne silk that clung to her curves like liquid fire. Red lips curved into a smile sharp enough to cut glass, emerald earrings glittering against her dark hair.
"Cassandra," Adrian said, voice unreadable.
Elena didn't need anyone to tell her who she was. Every instinct screamed it. The ex. The rival. The threat.
"Darling," Cassandra purred, sweeping across the room like she owned it. She leaned down and kissed Adrian's cheek, her perfume lingering in the air. "Imagine my shock when I heard you'd gone and married. Without so much as a courtesy call."
Her eyes slid to Elena with icy appraisal, scanning her dress, her tired eyes, the way her hands clenched in her lap. A slow smile spread across her painted lips.
"And this must be… the bride."
Elena's spine stiffened. "Elena Rivera."
Cassandra tilted her head as though tasting the name. "Rivera? I've never heard of that family. Tell me, dear, did you meet Adrian while delivering his coffee?"
Marcus chuckled into his cup. "Close enough."
Heat burned in Elena's cheeks, but she forced herself not to shrink back. She lifted her chin instead, her voice crisp. "At least I don't spend my life clinging to men who don't want me."
The room went utterly still.
Cassandra's smile faltered — only for a second — before she recovered, laughter dripping with venom. "Oh, how quaint. A kitten with claws."
Adrian finally set his coffee down, his gaze flicking between them. "Enough."
Two words, quiet but final, the kind that carried more weight than shouting ever could.
Cassandra smoothed a hand over her silk dress, as if brushing off invisible dust. "Well then. You must come to the gala tonight, Elena. Everyone in society is simply dying to meet Adrian's… bride."
Her tone made it clear: this was no invitation. It was a summons, a public trial.
Elena's stomach twisted. She wanted to refuse, to stay hidden in the shadows of this cursed house. But when she glanced at Adrian, his eyes met hers — cold, unreadable.
"You'll attend," he said, sealing her fate.
Elena swallowed hard. Cassandra's smile sharpened. Marcus's eyes glittered with amusement.
For the firs
t time, Elena understood: the whispers weren't the only thing she had to fear in this house.
Tonight, the real hunt would begin.