CHAPTER 2: THE VANCE'S MANSION

In my panic, my grip slipped. My bag fell flat against the floor. My mother's glass necklace inside hit the hardwood with a loud, chattering echo that shattered the quiet hallway.

Inside the room, the laughter died instantly. Both of their heads snapped toward the door.

“Elena?!” Cleo gasped.

But she didn’t pull away from him. A vicious, triumphant smirk spread across her face, and right before my eyes, she deliberately shifted closer to Ken. She threw her bare leg over his torso, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

And Ken? He didn't push her away. He didn't even look startled. He just stared out at me through the gap in the door, his eyes cold, dead, and utterly indifferent.

I searched his face, my heart hammering against my ribs, desperately praying to find a sign. Anything. A flicker of guilt, a trace of panic, a hint that he was being forced or drugged. But there was nothing. He was completely lucid.

“You heard everything?” he asked, his voice simple and casual, as if I hadn't caught him with my step sister. Not a single spark of regret touched his features.

My stomach dropped.

“Ken...” My voice cracked, catching painfully in my dry throat. I pushed the door open fully, forced to stand in the light of their betrayal. “What is this? Tell me this is a joke.”

He remained silent, his fingers lazily sliding through Cleo’s hair. He didn't bother to explain. His look told me everything I needed to know: Can't you see for yourself, you idiot?

Hot tears blurred my vision more, the finality of his betrayal striking my chest like a physical blow. The air left my lungs.

“How could you?” I whispered, the words tearing at my throat. “Three years, Ken. Three years... I gave you everything. You promised me a future. You swore you loved me.”

“That’s exactly the problem.” Ken gently untangled Cleo’s hands from his neck but kept them resting around his waist, never breaking eye contact with me.

“You think so highly of yourself, Elena. For three years, you wouldn’t even let me touch you. Kisses were all I got while you ranted about your morals and waiting for marriage. I stood by you when the whole town mocked you for being a charity case in your own home.” He paused, deliberately leaning down to plant a deep, bruising kiss on Cleo’s lips right in front of me—the same lips he used to profess his love for me!

Cleo let out a soft, purring sigh, her eyes locked on mine to ensure I felt every bit of the agony.

Ken pulled back, sneering at the oversized, tattered ivory dress.

“But Cleo? She isn't like you. She gives me whatever I want, whenever I want it. She is the one who deserves a real future. Not an impoverished, frumpy peasant like you who thinks she’s a secret queen.”

He spat the words with pure venom.

My throat ran completely dry. More tears spilled over my cheeks, hot and furious, but my lips just trembled, useless and silent. All my life, I had endured the cruel words of my stepfamily, but hearing them from the man I had dedicated my soul to made me violently sick.

I gagged, a dry heave racking my frame, but nothing came up. Just empty, hollow air. I had been so blind. So incredibly, hopelessly stupid.

Before I could spiral deeper into my thoughts, heavy, rhythmic footsteps pounded through the estate's entrance downstairs.

I snapped my head around to see a squad of imposing men dressed in sleek black suits marching into the main foyer. The leader stepped forward, unrolling a formal parchment that looked like an ancient mandate.

“Elena of the Stewart family, step forward!” His sharp, authoritative voice boomed, echoing through the entire mansion.

“The Vance escort has arrived. Bring out the candidate!”

A heavy, anxious tension gripped the air.

“They're here,” Ken whispered, his eyes glinting with twisted excitement.

Hurried footsteps scrambled down the stairs.

“Ken! I can’t find Elena anywhere inside the cupboard...” My father stopped dead in his tracks, his breath hitching as he saw me standing face-to-face with the Vance guards, tears still streaming down my face.

A wave of profound relief washed over his features. He glanced past me, his eyes landing on Cleo and Ken tangled together on the bed. He didn't look surprised. He just cleared his throat and looked away.

He knew.

He had known all along.

My stomach knotted into a tight, agonizing ball as the full weight of my family’s betrayal settled into my bones.

“Take her. She’s the candidate,” my father said, pointing a cold finger at me.

I turned to the men.

My martial arts training screamed at me to drop the first guard, sweep the second, and bolt for the door. But I looked at the assault rifles strapped to their chests. I looked at my father's cold face. I looked at Ken, who was already turning back to Cleo.

If I fought here, I would die in a dirty hallway for a family that hated me.

I forced my hands to my sides, letting the hidden strength drain out of my posture. I became the fragile girl they expected. As the guards' heavy hands clamped onto my arms, I reached down, numbly scooping up my canvas bag. I gave it a small shake. The glass necklace clinked, still whole.

I looked back at the bed one last time. Cleo gave me a mocking wave, her fingers wiggling.

“Bye, sister,” she mouthed, her eyes dancing. “Try not to let the beast eat you alive.”

---

The transport vehicle waiting outside was a flawless, white luxury car with heavily tinted windows. Stamped into the side panel was the prestigious Vance family crest: a striking eagle with its wings spread wide in a dominant pose.

I had heard whispered rumors of these custom armored cars, but I had never seen one in person.

I was ushered into the spacious back seat, clutching my bag tightly against my lap. Neither the driver nor the guard in the passenger seat uttered a single word. They merely glanced at my oversized, crumpled dress and pale, tear-stained face through the rearview mirror. Their expressions made it clear they deemed me completely unworthy to be a candidate.

I couldn't care less. I simply stared out the window, watching my father’s estate disappear into the distance.

My mind replayed Ken's venomous words on a loop. I had trusted him with my life since I was twelve years old, and this was how he repaid me. My fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

The drive to the primary Vance estate was entirely silent. I felt completely hollow inside.

But the moment the car breached the massive perimeter gates, my heart skipped a beat.

Massive, cascading waterfalls, grand architectural structures, and lush, manicured gardens stretched out as far as the eye could see. It looked like an absolute paradise.

As I stepped out of the vehicle, I was met by a gathering of women wearing uniforms—the estate staff. Some glared at me with blatant disgust, while others leaned together, whispering mocking insults just loud enough for me to hear.

“Look at that baggy outfit. She looks absolutely swallowed up in it.”

“It looks like Bruno will have an easy snack today.”

“Look at those worn-out shoes. How pathetic.”

I tightened my grip on my gown, letting their words wash over me without giving them the satisfaction of a reaction.

From what I could gather by the security ledger at the entrance, I was the first contestant to arrive. My name was the first one ticked off.

The guard guided me toward a woman standing perfectly erect near a grand fountain. Her posture was flawless, her expression frozen in a cold, emotionless mask.

The head maid.

“Miss Elena Stewart,” she murmured, circling me slowly. She used a small, polished silver rod to lift the hem of my dress slightly, inspecting me like property. “Present.”

She gave a sharp nod to the guard, and within moments, I was marched down a sterile corridor and placed in front of a door marked Examination Room.

Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, I pushed the door open.

Inside stood a woman clad in a clinical white medical dress that stopped at her knees. She turned around, her sharp eyes sweeping over me from head to toe. A brief flicker of condescension crossed her face before she masked it with cold professionalism.

“Lay on the table with your legs raised,” she commanded smoothly, snapping a pair of latex gloves onto her hands.

“And do be careful. Try not to break my table... I have actual high-tier contestants to examine after you.”

I bit my lip hard, forcing back my pride as I climbed onto the cold, stainless steel table, moving with careful, deliberate precision.

She stepped up to the table, roughly adjusting my stance, and began the invasive physical evaluation. She checked my vitals, drew blood, and measured my bone density, her movements rough and practiced.

After what felt like an absolute eternity, she stepped back, stripping off her gloves and picking up an official digital ledger.

“Miss Elena of the Stewart family,” she read aloud, ticking off boxes.