Elanor didn't wait for Isabella to respond. The echo of his footsteps filled the entire corridor as he turned and walked away, leaving the door half-open. His anger wasn't loud; it was cold, calculated, and far more dangerous than shouting. Isabella stood still for several seconds, her breath tightening in her chest, her fingers trembling at her sides. She wasn't afraid she refused to be but Elanor Vance had a way of pressing on the fragile spaces she worked so hard to hide.
She hated how he did that.
When she finally stepped into the penthouse living room, Elanor was already there, standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the London skyline. The city lights reflected in the glass behind him like a thousand tiny judgments. He didn't turn around when she entered. He simply said, "Sit."
Isabella clenched her jaw but obeyed. Not because he commanded it because she needed answers.
The space between them felt like it was stretched thin, almost humming with tension. He finally turned, his gaze sharp as a blade. "You disobeyed the terms of the contract."
She let out a breath, steady but defiant. "I didn't disobey anything. I stepped out to breathe. You're not my jailer, Elanor."
"That's where you're wrong." He crossed the room slowly, deliberate, like every step was part of an unspoken warning. "For the next year, Isabella, your life is tied to mine. Your actions affect my reputation, my negotiations, my strategic position. And I won't allow you to ruin it."
She lifted her chin. "You think too highly of yourself if you believe I have the power to ruin you."
"Oh, trust me," he murmured, stopping in front of her, "you do."
She hated the way his closeness affected her the reminder of a past she never asked to remember, a warmth she once believed in before it tore her apart. He leaned down slightly, his eyes locking with hers.
"You will follow the schedule I set," he said quietly. "You will attend what I need you to attend. You will stay by my side when required. And you will not disappear without informing me first. Is that clear?"
The fire inside her flared. "You're treating me like property."
"And you signed the contract like a willing participant."
Her breath hitched at that. Pain moved through her chest, sharp but silent. Yes, she had signed it under pressure, under threats, under promises she knew were lies. She wondered if he remembered that. She wondered if he cared.
"Why are you doing this, Elanor?" she asked, softer this time. "Why this marriage? Why this level of control?"
He didn't answer immediately. Something flickered in his eyes something almost human before it vanished as quickly as it came.
"You know why," he finally said.
Because of the past.
Because of the wound neither of them named.
Because of the mistake that destroyed everything.
But she shook her head. "No. I want to hear you say it."
His jaw tightened. "I don't owe you explanations."
"And I don't owe you obedience."
The air crackled. Elanor leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "Then why are you still here?"
Her heart stuttered. She didn't have an answer, not one she wanted him to hear. Not one she could voice without breaking.
"Elanor…" she began, but the door buzzed suddenly.
The butler's voice echoed through the intercom. "Sir, Mr. Kallum Vance is here."
Isabella froze.
Kallum Elanor's older brother. A man known not just for his coldness, but for the quiet, merciless way he handled the Vance family's political ties.
Elanor straightened. "Send him in."
The doors opened, and Kallum stepped inside, crisp suit, sharp eyes, presence heavy enough to change the temperature of the room. His gaze flicked between Elanor and Isabella, observing more than he let on.
"So," he said. "The contract marriage is real after all."
Elanor's expression didn't shift. "What do you need?"
Kallum walked closer, ignoring Isabella entirely at first. "The Moreau board is destabilizing. Rumors are spreading that Isabella was forced into this marriage. If the media picks it up, it could sabotage our plans."
Isabella straightened. "I wasn't forced."
Kallum turned to her, brows lifting slightly. "No offense, Mrs. Vance, but the world isn't going to believe that. Especially given your family's history of… unfortunate scandals."
Elanor shot him a warning look. "Enough."
Kallum smirked. "Relax. I'm on your side." Then, more serious: "You need to show unity. Both of you. Now more than ever."
Isabella crossed her arms. "Unity isn't something you can fake forever."
"You only need to fake it long enough," Kallum replied calmly. "Long enough for the Moreaus to break."
Her chest tightened.
So the truth was laid bare, brutally clear:
This marriage wasn't just revenge.
It was strategy.
A trap.
Elanor didn't deny it. He didn't even flinch.
"We have a charity gala in two days," Kallum continued. "A perfect opportunity to show that this is a willing marriage. The board members will be there. Investors. Media. It will silence the rumors."
Elanor turned to her. "You will attend."
She clenched her fists. "You're giving me orders again."
"I'm giving you responsibilities," he corrected.
Kallum watched them with interest two opposing storms in the same room, both refusing to break.
"You two should practice," Kallum said lightly. "You know smiles, subtle touches, pretending you don't despise each other."
Elanor shot his brother a look that could freeze fire. "Get out, Kallum."
Kallum chuckled and headed toward the door. "See you at the gala. Do try not to kill each other before then."
The moment the door clicked shut, silence fell again.
Elanor's gaze returned to Isabella.
"You heard him." His voice was quiet but firm. "We need to look united."
She swallowed. "How? By pretending we're in love?"
"By not acting like we're at war."
She let out a breath. "We are at war."
His eyes darkened. "Then call it a ceasefire."
She stared at him, unsure whether to laugh, scream, or run.
"A ceasefire?" she repeated.
"Yes." He extended a hand steady, controlled, commanding. "For the next two days, Isabella, we act like a married couple."
She hesitated. His hand didn't move.
She hated him.
She didn't trust him.
But she also knew she had no choice.
Slowly, she placed her hand in his.
His fingers closed around hers with a grip just a little too tight, as if reminding her who held the reins of this life she'd been forced into.
But the moment their hands touched, something flickered between them unwanted, undeniable, sharp.
A memory.
A ghost.
A wound reopening.
Elanor released her hand suddenly, as if the contact had burned him.
"We'll begin practice tomorrow," he said shortly. "For now, stay in the penthouse."
She frowned. "Why?"
"Because," he said, turning away, "I'm not giving you another chance to run."
She opened her mouth to retort, but he was already walking toward the hallway, his back rigid with tension anger, frustration… or something else she didn't dare name.
When he disappeared into his study, Isabella finally allowed herself to breathe.
A ceasefire, he said.
But the war between them had only just begun.