Lemon polish. The smell I knew wasn't about clean, it was about chains. It bit sharp in my throat. Eighteen years old, kneeling on marble that felt like ice against my skin, scrubbing away my life in Victoria Beaumont's echoing mansion. Less than dust, that was me, Elara.
"Scrub, Elara! Don't tickle it!" Victoria's voice – fingernails on slate. She stood framed in the library doorway, silk pooling around her feet, her face a familiar mask of tight dissatisfaction.
My rag dug into the marble. Tears pricked. Useless. The word echoed her thoughts, probably mine too. Just like my mother, the ghost Victoria tried to erase. After my father brought us here, after Mom died, after he died, Victoria, wife number two, had made me the shadow servant. Promises forgotten.
The heavy oak door creaked open. Mr. Anderson, the lawyer. Grey suit, grey face, briefcase brimming with unspoken things.
Victoria's mask shifted. Fake smile deployed. "Mr. Anderson! A surprise."
"Mrs. Beaumont." A curt nod. His gaze flickered past her, landed on me. Unreadable. "Miss Elara. A word is required. The Beaumont estate."
My heart hammered a painful rhythm. The estate? Years closed. Done. Victoria got everything. Didn't she?
She tried to steer him into the library alone. He stopped. "Miss Elara's presence is necessary. It concerns her."
A wave of dizziness hit as I stood, the threadbare grey of my uniform suddenly feeling paper-thin under his gaze. Victoria's lips pressed white, but she waved me in, impatient.
Inside, surrounded by leather-bound spines I'd only ever dusted, Anderson clicked open his briefcase. The silence felt heavy.
"Finalizing Mr. Beaumont's international assets," Anderson stated, his voice cutting the quiet, "brought a confidential trust to light. Established before your marriage, Mrs. Beaumont." He met her gaze briefly. "Designated solely for his firstborn child."
Air hitched in my throat. Firstborn. Me.
Color drained from Victoria's face. "Impossible! He promised…"
"The documents are quite clear." Anderson laid papers on the gleaming mahogany. "Miss Elara. Sole beneficiary. The 'Seafoam Trust'. Control transfers upon her eighteenth birthday – provided she establishes independence."
Independence. A cruel joke flung in my face. I owned nothing, not even myself.
Victoria surged to her feet, fury blazing. "Independence? Under my roof? She signs it over!" She rounded on me, eyes spitting fire. "Now!"
"That would be illegal," Anderson countered, his voice hardening. "The trust is secure. However," his eyes pinned me, a warning clear as ice, "proof of independence is crucial. No duress. Means to manage her affairs. Until then, assets are frozen."
Victoria's laugh was like shattering glass. "Means? She has nothing! She'll scrub floors until she's old and grey. Right here."
The trap snapped shut. She was right. How could I break free? She'd block every path, twist every attempt. Panic, cold and sharp, sank its claws in. I needed help. Needed a shield. Now.
Later, an envelope clutched in my sweaty palm – Anderson's quiet instruction, papers for a Mr. Sebastian Thorne – desperation tasted metallic in my mouth. Victoria, perhaps unnerved by the lawyer, had let me go. A fool's errand, she probably thought.
Thorne Industries scraped the sky. Steel and glass intimidation. The lobby floor gleamed, reflecting my worn shoes like accusations. The receptionist's eyes skimmed over me, dismissing. "No unscheduled appointments."
"Mr. Anderson sent me," I choked out, holding the envelope like a flimsy shield. "The Beaumont estate…"
A name, it seemed, could unlock doors. A hushed call, a disapproving nod. Executive elevator.
It shot upwards, pressing me back. Doors slid open. Silence, expensive and heavy. An assistant, sharp angles and sharper gaze, led the way. Double doors loomed. They swept open.
A man emerged. Tall, broad, suit fitting like a second skin. His voice, a low rumble discussing millions, vibrated down my spine. Midnight eyes swept the corridor, snagged on me. Froze me. He paused.
And I tripped. Over air, over carpet, over my own stupid feet. The envelope flew. Papers scattered. Heat flooded my face. I scrambled, grabbing at fluttering sheets.
"Clumsy," a cool voice stated, right above me.
I looked up. Sebastian Thorne. Predatory stillness. Sharp cheekbones, firm jaw, eyes that saw too much. Power radiated off him, a controlled storm. My heart tried to beat its way out of my chest.
"S-sorry, Mr. Thorne," I stammered, hands shaking as I shoved papers back into the envelope.
He watched. Didn't help. Just… assessed. "Anderson? Beaumont." His gaze flickered from the envelope to me, lingering, dissecting. He saw the tremor, the lip bitten until it was raw. "Elara?"
"Yes, sir."
He took the envelope. His knuckles brushed mine. Not static this time. A current, deep and humming, shot up my arm. Did he feel it? No reaction. "Anderson mentioned your… predicament." His voice lowered, intimate despite the distance. "Victoria Beaumont. Tenacious. You need leverage. Protection."
My head snapped up. How?
He leaned in, just slightly. The air crackled. Sandalwood, old leather, ozone before a storm, and something… wild. "I find myself requiring… an arrangement. Temporary. A fiancée." His eyes swept over me, calculating now. "Presentable. Unassuming. You need a shield. I need a convenient fiancée for a merger."
My breath hitched. Fiancée? This man? This… force?
"A contract," he continued, voice smooth as silk over steel. "Business. Six months. You play the part. I provide everything – resources, safety, my name as your shield. Victoria wouldn't dare."
Insane. Impossible. But the word escape pulsed behind my eyes. Protection. Independence. It was right there, offered by this dangerous stranger. The price? A lie. Pretending to adore him? "Why me?" The whisper was barely air.
A flicker in those dark eyes. Amusement? "You possess," he murmured, gaze pinning me, "a certain… unexpected quality. And your situation is… convenient." He extended a hand, palm up. A demand, not a request. "The deal, Elara. Yes or no?"
His hand waited. His eyes held galaxies of power and shadow. Madness. But the only door I saw out of Victoria's cage.