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CHAPTER 1
(Elisa's POV) I stormed my way down the hall, headed for my father's office, eyes blazing with fury as I marvelled at the audacity of the Greyhounds to demand my hand in marriage despite our decade old rivalry. I finally arrived at the entrance of my father's office with only a wooden door standing between me and the impending confrontation. I forcefully kicked the door open, strutting in without a single sense of decorum as my gaze landed on our incredibly unwelcomed guests. “Elisa! Darling, you're here” my father voiced, signaling for me to compose myself as he walked towards me with open arms, ushering me into the room. I shoved right passed him, taking a seat at the very top of the conference table. All eyes landed on me as I melted into the seat reserved for my father, roughly placing my feet on the table whilst staring directly at the envoys sent from the rival gang (The Greyhounds) to propose marriage. “So…you're the envoys those bastards sent to demand my hand in marriage, right?” The older looking one of the bunch sighed in disappointment as our eyes met. “It seems the rumors were true, the white rose of the darkhorse clan is indeed nothing but a pretty face masking a nasty personality. Little girl you should try restraining your unpleasantness and show some respect for your elders” he mocked. I chuckled upon hearing his words. “Elders?” I repeated, pulling out a loaded gun, pointing it directly at him. “Would you like me to show you exactly what it means to be an elder?” I questioned, my fingers teasing the trigger right before his eyes. “When you're an elder, doesn't it mean you'll have the privilege of kissing your gravestone long before the rest of us? Because my nasty personality is really urging me to put a bullet right in that wrinkly old mouth of yours” My father immediately stepped in, snatching the gun from my grasp. “Compose yourself Elisa” he pleaded in an attempt to calm my anger. “Sir Eliot, it seems your daughters presence isn't of much use as it proves difficult for her to show some restraint. I suggest you excuse her inorder for us to reach an agreement regarding the matter at hand” the old man chimed. “It seems you really do have some balls Old man, I mean they might be worn, dried up and wrinkly but it's still there so I commend you for that. Now listen and listen very careful, I'm guessing my father has already told you this but I'll repeat it once more only for the sake of your obvious hearing deficiency, I will not under any circumstances marry into your pathetic excuse for a bloodline. Now… why don't you take your stupid self and go report everything I've said to your master, like a good dog” “INSOLENT!!!” He barked, slamming his hands on the table. “Shuuu…don't yelled too loud” I interrupted “you could raise your blood pressure to a dangerous level with that much anger. Please consider you age before acting out next time” Father's fury finally boiled over as he raised his voice, desperate to call me to order. “ELISA!!!” He yelled “WHAT!!!” I responded, matching his energy. “Apologize, now!!!” He demanded. “Apologize? Are you seriously siding with him over me? Don't tell me you're actually thinking of entertaining their proposal?” I question but my retort was met with heartbreaking silence from dad that subtly gave away his thoughts. “Tell me you're joking? you really intend to marry me off to the same people responsible for mom's death?” “Elisa that's enough, the matter hasn't been decided yet” he responded, still avoiding my gaze. “Hasn't been decided? Why are you even considering it!!!? Have you forgotten what they did to mom, how they ruined our family? Why are you…” unwilling to continue indulging my antics, he interrupted. “If you're not willing to sincerely apologize to our guests, then leave. Your opinion on this matter will remain irrelevant as long as you continue behaving in such an undignified manner” just as he responded, the head of the Greyhound's family (Nicholas Greyhound) finally arrived. “What an interesting girl” he commented. My father immediately rushed over to his side. “Mr Greyhound, I didn't expect you to personally attend the meeting to discuss such a trivial matter. Please, have a seat” I watched in confusion as my father attentively severed the same man that had brutally murdered my mother right before my eyes. “Dad, what do you think you're doing?” I question barely holding back my tears but he completely ignored me and continued tending to his guests. In a fit of rage I stormed up to them, grabbing a cup filled with scotching hot tea and dumped it all over Mr Greyhound. His eyes blazed with fury as he raised his hand to strike me but before he could make contact, my father's hand came crashing down, landing a crisp slap that echoed across the room. My body went stiff as my vision began to blur, it was the first time my father had ever raised a hand at me and he did it just to defend my mother's murderer. I stared at him in disbelief as tears streamed down my face. Before I could even say a word, he forced me head down whilst apologizing on my behalf. “Mr Greyhound, please forgive her foolishness, after all young kids often tend to make mistakes” My gaze still remained fixed on the floor as my father roughly shoved me out of his office, the force causing me to twist my ankle. “Dad, it hurts” I cried out in pain, expecting him to support me but instead he shoved me to the ground and shut the door behind him. I sat there silently in pain as I listened to my father sign my life away to my mother's killers. Feeling disappointed, I finally opted to leave but I unfortunately lost my balance whilst heading up the stairs and was about to fall when a strange man caught me, gently carrying me up the rest of the way. I was about to express my gratitude when I looked up at him only to notice a striking resemblance between him and Mr Greyhound. “Elisa, right?” … “I'm Damian, your fiance. It's a pleasure to finally meet youThe bathroom door was closed.Elisa leaned over the sink, gripping the porcelain so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Her reflection stared back at her—pale, hollow, eyes rimmed red. Sweat clung to her temples, damp strands of newly dyed black hair sticking to her cheeks.Her stomach twisted violently.She barely managed to turn before retching again, her body convulsing as bile burned her throat. The sound echoed too loudly in the quiet space. She coughed, gasping, eyes watering as she straightened with trembling hands.“Pull yourself together,” she whispered hoarsely.For days now, every meal had betrayed her. Her body, weakened from months of starvation, rejected nourishment like poison. Eat—vomit. Eat—vomit. Over and over again.She rinsed her mouth, pressing a shaking hand to her aching stomach, breathing through the nausea until it dulled.That was when she heard a different voice, not that of the assistant and receptionist she had met earlier on. This one sounded more mascul
Darkness swallowed her.The gunshot echoed endlessly, louder and louder, until it became—“Ma'am. Mrs. Rowan.”Her eyes flew open.“Elisa—we’ve arrived.”She gasped sharply, hand flying to her chest. Her heart was racing violently, her breathing uneven, shallow. For a moment, she couldn’t move. She was soaked in cold sweat, her hair clinging to her temples, her hands trembling uncontrollably.The driver turned slightly in his seat, concern flickering across his face.“Are you alright, ma’am?”She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as the image of Leonard’s smile, the gun, the alley, all dissolved into the dim interior of the car.“…Yes,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m fine.”A dream.Just a dream.She pressed her fingers into her palms, grounding herself, forcing her breath to slow. Leonard wasn’t here. He hadn’t found her. She was safe. She had been safe for three months.Still, it took effort to open the car door.The towering building loomed before her, glass and steel reaching into th
Three months had passed.Three months since Elisa had crossed the gates of Rowan’s villa.Three months since she had last stepped into the outside world.The days blurred together inside those walls—quiet, heavy, suffocating. Curtains were always drawn. Doors always locked. Footsteps always made her flinch. Even sunlight felt dangerous, like it could betray her location to the wrong eyes.She hadn’t left.Not once.Not for air.Not for walks.Not for freedom.Fear had become her second skin.The phone rang.Elisa stared at it for a long time before answering.“…Hello?”“Elisa.” Rowan’s voice came through, calm but firm. “You didn’t eat again, did you?”She swallowed. “I wasn’t hungry.”“You haven’t been hungry for three months,” he replied quietly.She said nothing.“I want you to come have lunch with me,” Rowan said. “At my office.”Her heart dropped.“No.” The word came out sharp, instinctive. “I can’t.”“Why?”“You know why,” she whispered. “I don’t go out.”“Elisa—”“I don’t leave
For a moment, Damian didn’t move.He simply stared at her as though the words had struck him physically.“…What?” he whispered.Elisa sat rigid on the edge of the bed, her hands folded tightly in her lap, fingers trembling so badly she had to press them together to keep them still. Her eyes were lowered, her shoulders hunched inward like she was bracing for impact.Damian took one step toward her.“I—what did you say?” he asked again, louder this time, disbelief sharpening his voice. “Elisa, what did you just say?”Before she could answer, he rushed forward and grabbed her arm.His grip was firm—too sudden.She flinched violently.Her breath hitched, eyes widening in instinctive terror.Damian froze instantly.“I—I’m sorry—!” He released her at once, hands lifting in surrender. “God—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. I just—I thought I misheard you.”He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of her again—this time keeping a c
A week had passed.Seven days since Elisa had woken up in a strange bed, in a strange house, with the ghost of death still clinging to her skin.Seven days of quiet.The house Damian lived in was nothing like the Greyhound estate. It was large, yes—clearly expensive—but it didn’t feel like a fortress. There were no armed guards standing at every corner, no suffocating silence laced with threat. Sunlight streamed freely through wide windows. The walls were painted in warm, neutral tones. Everything felt… lived in.Safe.And yet, safety was something Elisa still didn’t know how to exist inside of.She spent most of her days in one of the guest bedrooms—her room now—sitting by the window or curled up on the bed, lost somewhere between memories and exhaustion. Damian never forced her to talk. Never demanded explanations. He moved around her carefully, as if afraid a single wrong step might shatter her.Their relationship changed slowly, cautiously.Every morning, without fail, Damian brou
Leonard sat alone in his home office, the world reduced to silence and soft breathing.The room was vast, lined with dark mahogany shelves filled with leather-bound volumes and framed oil paintings—artifacts of power, wealth, and history. Heavy curtains filtered the afternoon light into a warm amber glow, casting elongated shadows across the polished floor. Normally, the room felt cold, suffocating. A place where orders were issued and lives were ended with a flick of his wrist.But today, it was different.Cradled carefully in his arms was a small bundle wrapped in pale blue fabric.His son.Leonard’s grip was firm yet strangely gentle, one hand supporting the infant’s head, the other curled protectively around his tiny back. His posture—so often rigid, predatory—had softened. His shoulders were relaxed. His breathing slow.The baby stirred slightly, making a small, content sound, and Leonard instinctively adjusted his hold, his thumb brushing against the child’s cheek with an unfami







