Chapter 2

Elena's stomach turned, her heart pounding harder.

The thought of standing beside him, of living under his roof, of becoming Mrs. Roman Thorne made bile rise in her throat.

No. She wouldn’t accept it. She couldn’t.

She pressed her palms flat against the vanity, leaning into the mirror.

Her reflection stared back at her, wide eyes, flushed cheeks, defiance burning hotter than fear.

She barely recognized herself.

Her mother’s soft knock at the door shattered the silence. “Elena…”

“Go away.” Her voice cracked, betraying the tears threatening to rise.

“Elena, please. At least let me in.”

She hesitated, then wrenched the door open.

Her mother slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her.

She looked tired, her eyes rimmed with a sadness Elena had grown up hating.

“Elena,” her mother whispered, reaching for her hand. “I know this isn’t fair. But your father...”

“Don’t.” Elena pulled back, her voice sharp, her chest heaving. “Don’t make excuses for him. He’s throwing me to the wolves and you’re just… letting him.”

Her mother’s lips trembled. She sank onto the edge of the bed, hands twisting in her lap. “It’s not as simple as you think. We’re… we’re not as untouchable as we once were. Roman’s offer, it’s the only way to keep us afloat.”

Elena’s heart clenched. So it was money. Survival. The family name. She should have guessed. She wanted to scream, to tear apart every gilded corner of the room that had been bought with the same greed now being used to chain her.

But instead she stood straighter, forcing strength into her spine. “So you’d rather sell me off than lose your comfort?”

Her mother’s eyes welled with tears. She didn’t answer.

That silence told Elena everything she needed to know.

Fine. If they wouldn’t fight for her, she’d fight for herself.

She stalked to the window, staring out at the city lights glittering against the night. Somewhere out there, Roman Thorne was probably sitting in a glass tower, sipping expensive whiskey, already plotting how to mold her into the perfect little bride.

Her hands curled into fists.

He didn’t know her.

He didn’t know the fire in her, the parts of herself she’d kept hidden from the world. He thought she’d be quiet. Obedient. Easily controlled.

He was wrong.

Dead wrong.

And if he dared try to own her, she would burn down his empire with her bare hands before she let him win.

Her mother lingered in the room as if silence could mend what had already shattered.

Elena kept her gaze fixed on the window, refusing to look back.

The lights of the city blurred with her own reflection, a ghost staring at her with too many secrets to hold.

“Go to bed, Elena,” her mother whispered finally. “Tomorrow will look different.”

“No, it won’t,” Elena replied softly, her voice edged with steel. She turned at last, her face calm but her eyes unyielding. “You should go. Please.”

The word “please” wasn’t a plea, it was a dismissal.

Her mother faltered, her lips trembling as though she wanted to say more, but instead she left, the click of the door sounding final.

Elena waited. Still, silent, breath shallow.

She listened for the footsteps receding down the hall, for the faint creak of another door closing somewhere distant. Only then did she let her mask crack.

Her pulse raced, not with fear but with anticipation.

She crossed the room swiftly, pulling her phone from the hidden pocket of her vanity drawer. The screen lit up, her fingers moving with instinctive speed.

Elena: Where are you

Elena: Need you

Elena: Now

The reply came in seconds.

Jace: On my way. Was just leaving HQ.

Jace: Let me guess. Daddy drama?

Elena: Worse.

Jace: Club then?

Elena: Club.

Her lips curved, the first real smile since the dinner from hell.

If her father thought he could lock her into obedience, he didn’t know the first thing about her.

Elena Sinclair, heiress, socialite, supposed “spoiled little princess.” That was the mask she let the world see. Behind it, she was something else entirely.

By the time the grandfather clock downstairs struck eleven, she was ready.

The silk gown she had worn to dinner lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, abandoned like a skin she had shed. In its place, she wore black leather pants that clung to her curves, a low cut top that gleamed beneath the light, and boots with steel in their heels.

Around her wrist, a slim band that wasn’t jewelry at all but a tracker, coded to her own hand.

She caught her reflection in the mirror and almost laughed.

Her father would faint if he saw her like this.

Roman Thorne would sneer. Which only made it better.

With the practiced ease of someone who had done this a hundred times, Elena slipped from her room, her steps silent, her heart thrumming with adrenaline.

The corridors of the Sinclair estate stretched long and hollow, the kind of place where secrets should echo, but hers never did.

She avoided the main staircase, slipping down the servant’s back passage instead.

The air smelled faintly of polish and dust.

At the side door, she pulled the lock with a small device, the soft click sounding like freedom.

The night air hit her in a rush, cool and alive. She breathed it in like a woman starved.

Jace was waiting by the curb, leaning against a sleek black car with the kind of posture that screamed defiance. His blond hair caught the glow of the streetlamp, and his grin spread wide when he saw her.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Look who’s dressed to sin. Should I call you Mrs. Thorne already?”

“Say that again and I’ll hack your bank account.” Elena slid into the passenger seat, her lips twitching despite herself.

Jace laughed, the sound rich and easy.

He was her best friend, her partner in crime, her only safe harbor. And he knew everything.

The hacker nights, the bounty contracts, the secret HQ only a handful of people ever entered.

He’d just come from there, she could tell, the faint trace of gun oil clung to him, the faint adrenaline of unfinished work still in his veins.

“You serious about clubbing?” he asked as he started the car, the engine purring low.

“Dead serious.” She tipped her head back against the seat, her voice low, almost daring. “I’m not sitting around here waiting for them to decide my life. Not tonight.”

Jace’s gaze flicked toward her, softer now. “You’re burning, Lena. Don’t let it eat you alive.”

She didn’t answer.

The city swallowed them, neon lights and shadows blurring past, a pulse that matched the storm inside her.