The car slid through the morning fog like a dark blade, slicing across the quiet streets of Belgravia. Isabella pressed her palm against the cold window, letting her breath bloom in a pale mist over the glass. London hadn't changed, yet somehow everything felt sharper the buildings, the silence, even the air. Maybe it was because she was heading toward a life she had never asked for, with a man she barely knew, in a game whose rules were written long before she existed.
Elanor Vance sat beside her, unreadable as ever. His posture was perfectly straight, his eyes fixed forward, jaw steady, expression carved out of aristocratic stone. He didn't speak, not because he had nothing to say, but because silence was his armor. And Isabella didn't dare disturb it.
The world outside blurred into elegant white façades and wrought-iron fences. A London postcard, beautiful and distant. Sterile. Like the man next to her.
She adjusted her gloves, trying to count her breathing. One, two. Inhale, exhale. She reminded herself of the deal she agreed to. Three years. A marriage on paper. Protection in exchange for reputation. Hers, to survive. His, to maintain the empire carrying the Vance name.
But as the car slowed at a stoplight, Elanor finally spoke. His voice was low, measured, almost too calm.
"You're trembling."
Isabella stiffened. She hadn't realized she was. "It's cold," she muttered.
"No," he replied, turning his head slightly toward her. "You're afraid."
Her heartbeat jolted. "Of what?"
"Of me." He didn't say it as an accusation. More like a fact he had already accepted.
Isabella looked away. She didn't want him to see the truth in her eyes. "I'm not afraid. Just… uncertain."
"Good." Elanor leaned back. "Uncertainty means you still have choices." A pause. "Fear means all your choices have been taken from you."
The words hit deeper than she expected. She opened her lips to respond, but the driver spoke first.
"We've arrived, sir."
The gates of Vance Manor swung open with mechanical precision, as if welcoming royalty. The estate rose like a fortress, glass and stone intertwined with centuries of lineage. Isabella stepped out of the car, boots touching the pavement as she breathed in the faint scent of winter roses lining the walkway.
This was going to be her home.
Or her cage.
Elanor extended a gloved hand. She hesitated but only for a breath before taking it. His grip was firm, grounding in a way she hadn't expected.
Inside the manor, warm lights flickered across high ceilings and polished marble floors. Staff members lined the hallway, bowing their heads with rehearsed discipline. The moment Isabella entered, every gaze subtly shifted toward
her assessing, measuring, cataloging.
A stranger entering a dynasty.
Elanor didn't slow his pace. "No one will disrespect you here," he said quietly. "They answer to me."
She nodded, unsure how to respond. Power radiated from him not loud or boastful, but cold, controlled, and absolute. And Isabella needed that protection now more than ever.
They walked through a corridor framed by ancestral portraits. Men and women from generations past stared down at her with oil-painted judgment. Elanor's voice broke the oppressive silence.
"We need to establish the conditions of the arrangement," he said, leading her into his study. The door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing them away from the world. He removed his gloves, revealing hands elegant but calloused at the knuckles surprisingly imperfect for a man groomed by wealth.
Isabella held her breath as he met her eyes.
"There are three rules," Elanor began. "First: in public, we act as a married couple. United. Unshakable. No exceptions."
She nodded.
"Second: your safety comes before everything. If I tell you to leave, you leave. If I tell you not to trust someone, you don't."
"And the third rule?" she asked.
Elanor stepped closer, his shadow overlapping hers. "Do not lie to me."
Her throat tightened. She knew he wasn't talking about petty lies. He meant the kind that could destroy reputations, contracts, families everything the Vance empire stood on.
"I won't," she whispered.
He studied her, searching for cracks. Then he handed her a small velvet box. "Wear this tonight. The engagement dinner starts at seven."
She opened it.
A ring diamond white, framed by two obsidian shards. Cold brilliance and dark fire. Just like him.
"It's beautiful," Isabella breathed.
"It's binding," Elanor corrected. "Once you put it on, the world will know you belong to me."
Something in her chest stuttered. Not out of romance. Out of realization. The moment she stepped into that dinner, her past would no longer belong to her. Her future would depend on the choices of a man who never asked for love only loyalty.
"Elanor…" she hesitated. "Why me? Out of everyone you could've chosen?"
For the first time, something raw flickered in his eyes. Something human.
"Because you," he said quietly, "stand alone in a world that tries to break you."
The confession startled her. Before she could respond, he turned away.
"Get ready," he said, voice returning to its usual controlled tone. "You'll need strength tonight."
She watched him leave, unable to calm the storm inside her. She closed the velvet box, pressing it against her chest. Three years. That was the deal she accepted. But standing inside the Vance estate, surrounded by cold opulence and shadows of a century-old legacy, Isabella sensed something shifting beneath the surface.
Three years might not be enough.
Not to escape him.
And not to understand him.
Because the deeper she stepped into his world, the more she realized she wasn't entering a contract.
She was walking straight into a man's buried war.
A war where she might become the prize
or the weapon.
The closer Adrian walked toward the river, the colder the night became, as if London wanted to remind him that every truth demanded a price. The streetlights formed a wavering line along the path, their halos trembling like they were tuned to the same unease pulsing inside him. The city wasn't asleep; it murmured cars, footsteps, drunken laughter far away yet somehow, in the middle of all that noise, Adrian felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
He slowed down.
Not because he was afraid fear came later but because something in the air felt weighted, deliberate, almost like a hand pressing against the back of his neck. He turned his head slightly, pretending to admire the Thames, but his eyes swept the reflection-spattered walkway. Nothing. No shadow breaking formation, no footsteps behind him. Still, his pulse hammered unevenly.
He walked again. Faster this time.
As he reached the old pedestrian bridge, a single sound sliced the air a metallic click. Soft, sharp, unmistakable. The kind of sound that didn't belong to the night. Adrian halted. The wind pushed against his coat, and for a heartbeat, the world stood unnaturally still. He didn't know what he expected a figure emerging, someone calling his name but instead, the silence hit him harder than noise.
Then… a second click.
Followed by a low hum.
Adrian's eyes locked onto the narrow maintenance door beneath the bridge, slightly ajar. He didn't remember it ever being open. The city usually kept these sealed. Before he had time to think, a warm orange glow pulsed from inside, faint but rhythmic, like a heartbeat caught behind steel.
His instincts screamed to turn back.
But grief had rewired his courage, and exhaustion had burned away the part of him that cared about self-preservation. So instead of walking away, Adrian stepped closer. The concrete felt colder under his shoes, and each breath painted a quick, dissolving cloud in front of him. When he reached the door, he hesitated just a moment then pushed it wider.
The glow deepened.
Inside, the narrow corridor descended into the underground with harsh, unfinished steps. Something about the air smelled
old damp metal, forgotten dust, maybe even rusted memory. Adrian's hand brushed the wall to steady himself, and he felt vibrations thrumming through the concrete, distant but growing.
Someone had been here. Recently.
He took one step down.
Another.
And the instant his foot hit the third step, a soft gust of wind extinguished the street noises behind him. Like the city itself had closed its eyes. In the heavy quiet that followed, Adrian realized one terrifying thing:
Whatever waited for him below… had been waiting for him specifically.