1

"Look at you, Elena," Cassandra sneered, leaning against the doorframe of the dressing room while swirling a glass of expensive champagne. "A discarded rag wearing a discarded dress. How fitting for the future Mrs. Adrian Vance."

Elena didn't look up from her reflection. She adjusted the cheap, scratchy veil that was pinned haphazardly into her dark hair. "If the dress is so fitting, Cassandra, why aren't you the one wearing it? After all, the marriage alliance was originally yours."

Cassandra’s face contorted in disgust. She set her glass down with a sharp clink. "Marry him? Are you insane? Everyone knows what happened to Adrian after that accident. He’s a monster! Wheelchair-bound, completely disfigured, and word is... he can’t even perform as a man. I am destined for greatness, Elena. Not to be a nursemaid to a limp, useless freak."

"So you made me your substitute," Elena said, her voice eerily calm despite the fire burning in her chest.

"You should be thanking us," her stepmother, Rebecca, chimed in as she walked into the room, draped in silk and diamonds. She didn't even look at Elena, instead adjusting Cassandra's perfect hair. "The Vance family is a dynasty. Even their cast-away, crippled son has more money than a bastard child like you could ever dream of. You’ve been a burden to this family for years, Elena. At least now, your existence is serving a purpose for your father's business."

Elena turned around, her eyes locking onto Rebecca’s cold, calculating gaze. "A purpose? You framed me. You leaked those fake financial documents to the media to make it look like *I* was the one embezzlement-prone daughter, threatening to ruin the family name unless I agreed to this farce."

"Perception is reality, darling," Rebecca smiled, a viper in human skin. "And the reality is, you are going to that altar today."

The door slammed open, and Richard Hunt, Elena’s biological father, marched into the room. His face was flushed with anger, checking his gold Rolex. "Why isn't she in the car yet? The Vance family's lawyer is already waiting at the venue. Do you want to ruin my company, Elena?!"

Elena walked up to her father, the cheap lace of her train rustling softly. "Father, please. Look at me. You know Cassandra was the one who signed the initial betrothal contract. You know Rebecca set me up. How can you let them do this to me? Adrian Vance is a stranger, a man everyone says is cruel and broken!"

"Silence!" Richard shouted.

"I am your daughter!" Elena’s voice cracked, a rare crack in her armor. "Does my life mean absolutely nothing to you?"

SLAP!

The force of the strike spun Elena’s head to the side. The cheap veil tore slightly from her hair. The room fell into a dead silence, save for Cassandra’s muffled, delighted giggle.

Elena slowly turned her face back, her cheek burning a bright, angry red. She didn't cry. She stared at her father with a coldness that made the older man flinch for a fraction of a second.

Richard straightened his jacket, his voice dropping to a low, venomous hiss. "Listen to me, you ungrateful wretch. You will get into that car, and you will marry Adrian Vance. If you dare to run, if you dare to utter a single complaint to the media, I will revoke the lease on the cemetery plot."

Elena’s breath hitched. "What?"

"You heard me," Richard sneered. "I will have your mother's grave dug up. I will have her remains thrown into a mass grave, and I will ensure her name is dragged through the mud. Do you understand me?"

Elena felt the last remaining string of her affection for this man snap. It didn't just break; it disintegrated into ash. The man standing before her wasn't a father. He was a monster disguised in a tailored suit.

"You would desecrate her memory," Elena whispered, her voice trembling not from sadness, but from pure, unadulterated fury. "Your own wife."

"She is dead. My business is alive," Richard said coldly. "The choice is yours. A wedding, or a shovel."

Rebecca smirked, patting Richard’s arm. "Now, dear, don't get your blood pressure up. Elena is a sensible girl. She knows what happens to burdens who don't know their place."

"We're leaving for the main gala celebration now," Cassandra said, checking her compact mirror. "We wouldn't want to be late to celebrate our family's newfound fortune. Have fun at your... funeral, Elena."

Without another word, the three of them walked out of the room, leaving Elena standing alone in the center of the cold, empty dressing space.

Ten minutes later, Elena walked down the grand staircase of the Hunt mansion. There were no photographers. There were no bridesmaids. There was no father to walk her down the aisle. The grand foyer was empty, save for a single butler who looked away out of shame.

She pushed open the heavy oak doors herself. Outside, a plain, black sedan was idling in the pouring rain. No flowers, no ribbons. Just a dark vehicle waiting to transport her to her doom.

Elena gripped the cheap fabric of her skirt, lifting it slightly above the wet pavement. She didn't look back at the house that had been her prison for twenty-four years. She stepped toward the car, a lone figure in a pathetic white dress.

The driver didn't even get out to open the door for her. Elena pulled the door open herself and slid into the cold leather seat.

As the car began to pull away from the curb, a single tear escaped her eye, tracking through the light makeup on her face. She reached up, roughly wiping it away with the back of her hand, staring at her reflection in the dark tint of the window.

"Enjoy your laughter while it lasts, Richard. Rebecca. Cassandra," Elena whispered into the empty back seat, her eyes hardening into flint. "This is the very last time this family will ever make me cry. When I return, I will be the one holding the shovel."