The evening shimmered with opulence. The Blackwood estate, perched on a hill that surveyed the glowing skyline, was dressed for power—velvet drapes, golden candlesticks, and guards that blended into the shadows like a second skin. At the heart of it all sat two families, bathed in wealth and secrets.
The men had claimed a corner of the grand dining room, whisky glasses in hand, laughter simmering low beneath the hum of dangerous conversation.
Victor Blackwood leaned back in his leather seat, his voice cool and commanding. "The auction in Marseille went well. We moved six crates under the radar. The gallery owner never saw it coming."
"Of course not," Maxwell Blackwood, Adrian's older brother, chimed in, twirling the drink in his glass. "When you own half the customs officials, doors open themselves."
Antonio Castellano smirked, resting one arm on the table. "Rumour has it you've been pushing into the art world harder than usual. Collectors are starting to talk."
Victor gave a slight nod. "Art's the cleanest front we've found lately. Priceless paintings, forged provenance... A few gallery shows, and dirty money starts to sparkle."
"Smart," Antonio admitted. "We're sticking to ports and pharmaceuticals on our end. It's not as glamorous, but it pays in gold."
Maxwell chuckled. "You've always had a grip on distribution, Antonio. If it touches a coast, it's probably got your men watching."
Antonio raised his glass in mock salute. "We Castellanos do enjoy keeping our reach long."
Adrian, silent until now, tilted his glass slightly. "And deadly. We both do."
All eyes shifted to him. His voice was calm, his words precise—measured like a man who didn't waste breath.
"The new transport route through the Pyrenees is running clean. Paintings, stones, even a few 'rare books'—they all move fast when the chain is tight. Maxwell's boys keep the border quiet, and I handle security once it hits the channel."
"Efficient," Antonio said, nodding with approval. "So the younger Blackwood speaks."
Adrian met his gaze without flinching. "Only when necessary."
Victor chuckled. "He's more like me than I care to admit."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Adrian said smoothly, lifting his glass.
Maxwell raised his brow with a grin. "Don't worry, Antonio. If Adrian's quiet, it only means he's already two steps ahead of the conversation."
"Good," Antonio said. "He'll need that instinct, especially once this marriage binds our empires."
The word "marriage" hung for a moment. Adrian's expression didn't falter, but his gaze flicked for a split second in Elina's direction, across the room. She was laughing politely with the women, unaware that her life had just been referred to as an "empire merger."
Maxwell followed his brother's gaze and leaned in slightly. "You're certain about this, Adrian?"
Adrian's jaw tightened for a beat, then loosened with a lazy smile. "I'm not in the habit of changing my mind."
Victor gave a satisfied nod. "Good. When power marries power, nothing stands in its way."
The men clinked their glasses quietly, the unspoken deal already inked in blood and intention.
Just then, a sharp voice cut through the room.
Isabella Castellano cleared her throat and rose gracefully, her wine glass in hand. "Gentlemen," she said with a well-rehearsed smile, "perhaps we should pause the business talk before this dinner turns into a boardroom meeting."
Her voice was sweet, but the steel behind it was unmistakable.
Lady Marianne Blackwood gave a knowing nod and followed suit, her long, bejewelled fingers resting lightly on her chair as she stood. "Isabella is right. We're here to celebrate a wedding—not conduct a merger."
The men exchanged glances, the laughter low and civilised, but the message had been received.
Paloma Blackwood, Maxwell's wife and Adrian's sister-in-law, joined the moment with effortless poise, sweeping into the conversation with a playful smirk. "Besides, there's enough drama in planning the event itself. Have you seen the guest list? It's practically a battle roster of the city's elite."
Antonio chuckled under his breath, muttering something about how even weddings had become tactical.
Isabella laughed lightly, flicking her dark hair over one shoulder. "And the venue, Marianne? The Blackwood estate is majestic, no doubt. But perhaps something even more... dramatic would suit a union like this?"
Lady Marianne's thin smile returned. "I've considered a few options. The Grand Marquee downtown offers scale and sophistication. But Ashton Hall..." she let the words linger, "has the gardens, the lineage, and the press connections. For a wedding that needs to send a message? It's perfect."
Paloma leaned in with excitement. "Ashton Hall has the terrace view, the capacity for a full orchestral entrance, and can handle the fireworks. I say we go big. The media won't stop buzzing for weeks."
"Fireworks," Isabella mused, lifting her glass. "Very fitting."
Elina sat between the women, her hands clutched lightly in her lap as they chattered around her, weaving tales of grandeur. Their words felt like silk laced with iron—every detail soaked in status, every suggestion a statement of dominance.
She tried to smile when the attention turned to her, but her lips barely moved.
Paloma's eyes sparkled as she leaned a bit closer, her tone turning playful but pointed. "And the dress? You'll need something unforgettable, Elina. Something that screams Blackwood. Nothing soft. No pastels. This isn't just a marriage—it's a coronation."
Elina swallowed, feeling a rush of heat rise in her neck. She nodded faintly, though her mind was spinning.
A coronation, she thought bitterly. Or a damn funeral.
The contract replayed in her head, word for cruel word. She wasn't here because she wanted to be. She wasn't being celebrated—she was being packaged, presented like an heirloom to be locked in the Blackwood vault.
"I'm sure Elina will do justice to the family name," Marianne said with a satisfied glance. "She'll learn what it means to be a Blackwood woman—poised, strong, graceful under pressure."
"Paloma has set a fine example," she added, turning towards her daughter-in-law. "She transitioned beautifully into the family. Handled the press. Managed the estate's charities. Even oversaw last winter's gala."
Paloma smiled, modest but sharp. "It wasn't easy. But I understood my place. I knew what was expected of me, and what I could expect in return."
"And what would that be?" Elina asked before she could stop herself. Her voice was low, cautious.
Paloma's smile didn't waver. "Respect. Power. Protection. And access to a world most women only dream of."
Victor Blackwood's voice boomed from across the table, as if on cue. "The Blackwood name demands loyalty, Elina. But it rewards it tenfold."
Isabella quickly interjected, her voice sugary-sweet. "Elina's always been obedient. She listens well, never talks back, and carries herself with dignity. She was born to be a good wife—and an even better daughter-in-law."
Antonio chuckled. "She's ready. There's nothing to worry about."
Elina's heart pounded in her chest. The room felt suffocating, the perfume and candlelight pressing in on her like a velvet noose. Everyone had something to say about her future—but none of it was hers.
She looked up briefly and caught Adrian watching her. He lifted his glass again, gaze burning, lips curved in a smile that felt more like possession than affection.
She looked away.
The night wore on. More wine, more laughter, more discussions of cake flavours and guest seating. But Elina didn't taste the food. She didn't hear the music. Her mind was somewhere else entirely.
And then, just when she thought the evening couldn't become more suffocating, she heard her name.
"Elina," Adrian said, rising from his seat.
The room quieted instantly.
He pulled something from his jacket pocket—a small, sleek black velvet box.
Elina's stomach dropped.
He opened it slowly, revealing a diamond ring so large it sparkled like a star under the chandelier light. Oval-cut, surrounded by a halo of tiny stones, sitting on a platinum band—it was bold, exquisite, and screaming wealth and ownership.
She froze.
"I wasn't planning to do this here," Adrian said smoothly, voice dipped in honey. "But I realised tonight that I can't wait anymore."
Everyone turned towards them. The women gasped. Isabella covered her mouth in mock surprise. Lady Marianne beamed. Antonio leaned back in satisfaction, arms crossed.
Adrian turned to Elina and dropped to one knee beside her chair. The Blackwood mafia prince, on his knee.
Elina's spine went rigid.
"You're the calm in my chaos," Adrian said, gazing up at her. "And you've reminded me what it means to want something just for myself. Not for the family, not for business—but for me."
God, how many hours did he rehearse this garbage? she thought.
"You've changed everything, Elina. From the moment I saw you, I knew—I knew I wanted you to be mine. Not because of alliances or family pressure... but because I can't imagine another day without you. I want to spend every moment with you. As my wife. As my partner. Will you marry me, Elina?"
A beat of silence. Her heart thudded violently, not with joy—but dread.
Everyone was watching her.
Liar, she cursed him inwardly. Manipulative, cold-blooded, twisted liar. Elina forced a smile—tight and trembling—and nodded slowly.
Adrian slid the ring onto her finger, his touch cold despite the warmth he faked in his eyes.
"I want to marry you as soon as possible. Not in months. Not in weeks. Days, if I can have it my way. I want to call you my wife—not just in name, but in every sense of the word."
Gasps, soft applause, and knowing smiles broke around the room. Lady Marianne wiped away a tear. Paloma clapped her hands together in delight. Isabella dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, pretending to be moved.
I hate you. I hate every word you just said.
But she said nothing.
Adrian bent slightly, brought her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers like a devoted lover. His lips lingered a second too long.
Elina resisted the urge to yank her hand back.
You snake, she hissed internally. You don't want love. You want ownership. Power. And I'm your trophy.
The families around them clapped again, charmed and satisfied.
Adrian looked at her like she was his whole world—pretending, performing, every look carefully rehearsed.
And Elina looked at him like he was her prison.
________________________________________
The dinner wound down with polite chatter and rehearsed smiles. Once it was over, Elina returned home with her family in silence.
Upstairs, she slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the diamond ring on her finger. It felt like a shackle more than a promise. Her stomach twisted at the memory of Adrian kneeling down, pretending love, while all she could think about was that cursed contract.
Her phone buzzed. She picked it up with numb fingers.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:Three weeks from now. Be ready. I'll come to take what's mine.
—A
Her eyes stayed locked on the screen.
No name. No kindness. Just a threat dressed as a promise.
She swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the phone.
The storm had only just begun.
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