Chapter 4: The Devil’s Family

The estate was a palace carved into the countryside—manicured gardens, marble fountains, and old money woven into every inch of stone. Isla sat rigid beside Ezekiel in the backseat of the limousine as the iron gates groaned open.

“Whatever you’re thinking, hide it,” Ezekiel said, staring out the window. “My mother can smell weakness from a mile away.”

“Charming family,” Isla muttered under her breath.

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t amusement—it was warning. “Do not mistake this for a game, Isla. You’re here to convince the world you belong beside me. That includes my family.”

She swallowed her bitterness, steeling herself. She didn’t need them to like her—she just needed to survive.

The car rolled to a stop before the grand manor. The butler opened the door and Ezekiel stepped out first, tall, commanding. Isla followed, plastering a smile on her face as she took his hand. Inside, the air smelled like fresh lilies and polished wood. It looked exactly like she imagined—cold, grand, lifeless.

Then she appeared.

Vivienne Veylin descended the sweeping staircase, every step exuding grace and intimidation. Dark-haired, regal, and dressed in icy blue silk, her gaze landed on Isla like a blade.

“Mother,” Ezekiel greeted, his voice colder than usual. “This is Isla. My wife.”

Isla stepped forward and offered her hand. Vivienne didn’t take it. Instead, her lips curled in distaste as her eyes swept Isla from head to toe.

“I expected… more,” Vivienne said flatly.

Ezekiel’s jaw flexed, but Isla beat him to it.

“Well, you’ll learn to manage expectations,” Isla said sweetly, smiling through the sting.

Vivienne’s brows lifted in surprise, but she said nothing, turning on her heel. “Lunch is served. Follow me.”

They sat in a lavish dining room, too many forks, too many eyes. Vivienne wasted no time slicing through the small talk.

“And how exactly did you two meet, Isla?” she asked, sipping her wine with calculated poise. “I doubt your… worlds crossed naturally.”

Ezekiel opened his mouth but Isla rested a hand on his thigh, stopping him. She could feel his surprise.

“I served Ezekiel coffee,” Isla said, smiling politely. “Every morning before his meetings downtown.”

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, yes. I suppose some men enjoy… novelty.”

The insult landed hard, but Isla didn’t flinch. She was used to judgment—poverty had taught her how to carry shame without letting it crack her surface.

“I imagine it’s refreshing, isn’t it?” Isla replied smoothly. “Someone who sees Ezekiel for who he is, not for his bank account.”

For a moment, the room went still. Then Ezekiel chuckled, low and dark. Isla couldn’t tell if it was amusement or something more dangerous.

Lunch continued, but the tension stayed. Vivienne picked apart Isla’s background, asking invasive questions about her education, family, her ambitions. Isla answered calmly, even when her pride bled beneath every polite smile.

When the meal ended, Vivienne stood gracefully, her expression carved in ice.

“You’ll learn your place, Mrs. Veylin,” she said softly, like a threat coated in silk.

Isla didn’t flinch. “I already have.”

Vivienne’s lips twitched before she turned to Ezekiel. “A word, son.”

They left Isla in the drawing room. Her knuckles whitened against the armrest as she forced herself to breathe. She didn’t expect to be embraced like family, but being treated like a stain felt worse than she’d prepared for.

Minutes later, Ezekiel returned, his expression tight.

“Come,” he said shortly.

In the car, silence stretched between them. Finally, Isla couldn’t hold it in.

“Your mother hates me.”

“She hates everyone who doesn’t bleed Veylin blue,” Ezekiel replied, eyes on the road. “She was born for power, raised to protect it. To her, you’re disposable.”

Isla swallowed. “And to you?”

He glanced at her, and something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

“To me… you’re useful,” he said.

Isla’s chest squeezed, but she forced herself to nod. This was what she signed up for—a contract, not love.

But then Ezekiel surprised her.

“You held your ground,” he muttered. “I expected you to break.”

“I don’t break easy,” she said quietly.

Ezekiel’s jaw relaxed slightly, his stare lingering before he looked away.

“Good,” he said, voice low. “Because in my world… you either break or learn to bite back.”

As the city skyline rose ahead of them, Isla realized this marriage wasn’t just survival anymore—it was war.

And she was done playing defenseless.