TEN

The Castell mansion moved according to Hazel’s rhythm now.

Not Edwin’s. Not the board’s. Hers.

At twenty-six, Hazel Castell had mastered what the world worshiped, grace laced with quiet authority. Her words never trembled, her movements never faltered, and when she spoke, even Edwin’s most arrogant associates listened.

The press called her The Princess of Castell Industries.

Inside the mansion, the staff called her Miss Castell, and no one dared to speak her name with less than reverence.

The day began with routine perfection. The marble halls glowed in the early light, the fragrance of fresh lilies trailing behind her as she moved from one end of the mansion to another. Her silk blouse caught faint gold under the chandeliers, her expression serene.

“Miss Castell,” her assistant said, falling into step beside her. “Mr. Castell would like to see you in the study. Mr. Dimitri’s already there.”

Hazel’s hand paused briefly over her planner.

Of course he was.

She dismissed the assistant with a nod and continued down the corridor. Each step echoed like punctuation, steady, deliberate, unyielding. The portraits of her ancestors watched as she passed, their oil-painted eyes glinting under the morning light. She didn’t look back at them. They were Edwin’s legacy. She was his continuation.

When she reached the study, she didn’t knock. Hazel Castell never knocked.

The room was saturated with mahogany and quiet power. Edwin Castell sat behind his desk, the old-world titan in a dark three-piece suit, his signet ring glinting with authority. Across from him stood Dimitri Moretti, the charming heir who had turned charm into currency.

He looked perfectly at ease in Edwin’s domain, hands in pockets, tie slightly loosened, that faint, easy smirk curving his mouth as though nothing could touch him. The light from the tall windows brushed against his profile, catching in his brown hair and the gold of his wristwatch.

He looked like temptation manufactured in a boardroom.

“Hazel,” Edwin said, his voice warm but weighted. “Come in.”

She did. Her gaze flicked once to Dimitri, then back to her father. “You called for me.”

“Yes.” Edwin gestured to the seat opposite him. “Sit. Both of you.”

Dimitri obeyed with an almost lazy grace. Hazel remained standing for a beat before she sat, crossing her legs neatly.

Edwin leaned back, watching them both with the calm satisfaction of a man who’d already decided their futures. “You two have worked well together this past year. Investors trust you, the press loves you, Castell Industries is finally untouchable again.”

“Good,” Hazel said softly. “I prefer it that way.”

Dimitri’s smile deepened. “We do make quite the team, don’t we?”

Hazel didn’t answer. Edwin did.

“Which is exactly why,” he said, clasping his hands, “I’ve decided to make your partnership official. In every sense of the word.”

Hazel’s gaze sharpened. “Meaning?”

“An engagement.” Edwin’s tone was final. “Yours and Dimitri’s.”

The air in the room stilled.

Dimitri’s brows lifted, not in surprise, but in calculation. “That’s… sudden.”

“It’s strategic,” Edwin replied. “The Castell-Moretti alliance will stabilize both our European holdings and your family’s Italian ventures. You’ll announce the engagement next month. The wedding before the fiscal quarter ends.”

Hazel’s expression didn’t flicker. “You’re merging us like companies.”

Edwin’s eyes softened only slightly. “You’ve been groomed for this world, Hazel. You understand the necessity of appearances. And Dimitri…” He turned to the younger man. “He understands loyalty.”

Dimitri chuckled, low and smooth. “I understand opportunity.”

Hazel rose to her feet, her voice calm but precise. “And if I say no?”

Edwin smiled faintly. “Then you’re not the daughter I raised.”

It was not a threat. It was the law.

Hazel’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Understood.”

“Good.” Edwin stood, signaling the meeting’s end. “I’ll have the legal and PR teams draw up the necessary statements. You’ll keep the matter private until I approve the announcement.”

“Yes, Father,” she said, the words crisp and empty.

As she turned to leave, Dimitri spoke, his voice softer, almost amused. “You should know, Hazel… I’m honored.”

She stopped. “To marry me?”

He smiled. “To be chosen by you.”

Her gaze met his, cool and unblinking. “You weren’t chosen, Dimitri. You were assigned.”

Then she left.

The corridor outside the study was silent except for the measured rhythm of her heels. Her assistant, waiting near the door, looked up immediately.

“Have the press kit draft ready by tonight,” Hazel said without slowing.

“The…press kit?” the assistant stammered. “Mr. Castell said…”

“I know what my father said.” Hazel’s voice was gentle, but her words cut like glass. “We’ll announce it on our terms.”

“Yes, Miss Castell.”

“And contact Lucia Montrose at Le Monde Affaires. She’ll want an exclusive.”

Her assistant hesitated. “Should I… inform Mr. Castell?”

Hazel stopped then, finally turning. Her expression was serene, almost kind. “No. This will be a surprise, for everyone.”

The assistant nodded, breathless. “Right away, Miss Castell.”

Hazel resumed walking, her face unreadable, her movements a portrait of quiet control. But her eyes, her eyes burned with intent.

If Edwin wanted to use her name to forge an alliance, she’d turn that alliance into leverage.

If Dimitri wanted a convenient wife, she’d make him her accessory.

And when the world saw the announcement, they would believe it was her decision.

Because Hazel Castell had learned long ago: control wasn’t always about who gave the order. Sometimes, it was about who told the story.

By noon, the mansion was alive with whispers.

The news had spread faster than wildfire, first picked up by Le Monde Affaires and then echoed by half a dozen international outlets.

> BREAKING: Hazel Castell to Marry Dimitri Moretti, A Union of Power and Elegance.

Sources close to Miss Castell reveal the heiress personally proposed the arrangement, citing “a partnership built on trust and shared vision.”

Within an hour, the Castell PR department’s phones were ringing off their desks. Investors called to congratulate, reporters begged for statements, and social media flooded with admiration.

Hazel sat in her study, sipping tea as her assistant read the headlines aloud.

“‘Hazel Castell Redefines Modern Nobility.’ ‘The Heiress Who Chose Her Partner, Not Her Destiny.’”

Hazel smiled faintly. “That one’s clever.”

The assistant blinked. “Mr. Castell will, he’ll be furious.”

“No,” Hazel said softly. “He’ll adapt. He always does.”

Dimitri arrived an hour later.

He didn’t bother knocking either. He walked straight in, a newspaper folded in his hand, his eyes alight with amusement.

“You leaked it,” he said.

Hazel didn’t deny it. “It seemed appropriate.”

“Appropriate?” He laughed under his breath, setting the paper on her desk. His photograph and hers covered the front page, his hand on her waist, her eyes on the camera, the perfect image of effortless romance. “You’ve made it look like I begged for your hand.”

“Didn’t you?” she murmured.

“Touché.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Your father thinks he’s orchestrating this. But you… You’ve already made it yours.”

“I don’t like waiting for permission.”

“That,” he said, “makes you dangerous.”

“Don’t mistake danger for weakness.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He studied her a moment longer, his smile softening. “You really don’t flinch, do you?”

“Flinching is for people with something to lose.”

He leaned in slightly. “And what about love?”

Hazel’s eyes were steady. “Love is the luxury of those who aren’t already owned.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he straightened, the amusement back in his voice. “You’re going to make this marriage very interesting, Miss Castell.”

“Good.” She picked up her pen. “Boredom offends me.”

That evening, Edwin called for her.

He was standing by the fireplace, the headline on his tablet glowing in his hand. “You went behind my back.”

“I went ahead of your timing,” Hazel corrected.

“You made it look as though you proposed to him.”

“I made it look like Castell Industries is in control of its narrative. You taught me that.”

He studied her in silence for a long moment, then, against all odds, he smiled. Pride and irritation warred quietly behind his eyes. “You’re my daughter.”

“I know.”

“Don’t ever use that against me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, and meant it, in her own way.

Later that night, Dimitri joined her in the garden. The lights along the stone path shimmered against the dark leaves; the air smelled faintly of jasmine.

He was barefoot again, a wine glass in hand, that infuriating ease still perfectly intact.

“You know,” he said, leaning against the railing beside her, “I should be angry. The entire continent thinks I’m your conquest.”

“You’re welcome,” Hazel said.

He laughed softly. “You play this game beautifully.”

“It’s not a game.”

“It is,” he said, swirling his wine. “You just happen to be better at it than anyone else.”

She turned her head slightly. “And what about you, Dimitri? What are you playing for?”

His gaze lingered on her. “I could tell you the truth. But I think you’d prefer the mystery.”

“Try me.”

He smiled. “For once, I’m not sure I want to win.”

Hazel’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes did, a flicker, too quick to name. “Then you’ll lose beautifully.”

“I always do.”

He raised his glass toward her. “To appearances.”

She touched her glass to his, the faintest chime breaking the night. “And to control.”

The world would wake the next morning believing that Hazel Castell, daughter of Edwin Castell, had chosen Dimitri Moretti out of grace, out of love, out of vision.

And maybe that was the truth they deserved.

Because in the empire she’d been raised to inherit, truth wasn’t fact, it was presentation. And presentation, like diamonds, was indestructible.

Hazel watched the city lights glitter below the hills, her expression calm, her mind already three moves ahead.

If this marriage was meant to cage her, she’d make it her throne instead.

And Dimitri, beautiful, dangerous Dimitri, would learn soon enough what it meant to dance with someone who’d learned power from the man who built empires.

The mansion, once Edwin’s, thrummed quietly around her now, its rhythm aligned to hers alone.