CHAPITRE UN

Elena's point of view

The rain had been falling relentlessly since morning, heavy and implacable, soaking the earth until the smell of damp permeated the air. I stood at the edge of the Holt estate, clutching my shopping bag to my chest, my hair plastered to my face. The iron gates rose before me, tall and proud, as if to mock me.

I hesitated. As always. Every time I came home, I stopped here, wondering whether to go inside or keep walking until my legs gave out. But where would I go? This was the only place left. My parents were gone, my uncle too. And Margot Holt, my wonderful aunt, had made it perfectly clear that I was nothing more than a burden she tolerated.

With a sigh, I pushed open the gate. The hinges creaked, reflecting my reluctance.

The mailbox was crooked near the entrance, rain dripping from its rusty lid. I reached out, expecting nothing more than bills or junk mail—things that didn't concern me. But inside was a simple envelope, thick and cream-colored, sealed with wax.

Curiosity piqued my interest. I took it out, my fingers trembling, and opened it. The ink was already smudged by the rain, but the words were still legible:

The Steele family is looking for a wife for their blind son.

I was breathless. A wife? A blind son? What was that letter doing there?

I reread it, as if the passing second could change its meaning. The Steele family. Adrian Steele. That name had been a rumor for years, a shadow whispered at parties and in drawing rooms. He never appeared in public. He never showed his face. People said he was blind, that he lived in the shadows, that he hated women. Many things were said. And none of them were pleasant.

Before I could read the rest, the letter was snatched from my hands.

 Margot stood behind me, dry and immaculate despite the storm, her silk shawl untouched. Her eyes shone with a light I recognized all too well: greed.

"This isn't for you," she said sweetly, clutching the letter to her chest.

I swallowed hard. "Then why was it in the mailbox?"

She ignored me, scanning the words with a mocking look. Clara, her daughter, appeared at her side, sipping a glass of juice as if she had been waiting for this moment.

Margot's voice was very calm. "The Steele family is offering a fortune. Their son, Adrian Steele, is looking for a wife. And you, Elena, will be that wife."

Breathless, those words hit me harder than the rain. "What? No. I can't..."

"You can, and you will." His tone hardened, cutting short my protest. "You ungrateful wretch! You think you have a choice? I fed you, clothed you, housed you. Is this how you thank me?"

Anger rose within her, surprising even me. "Everything you gave me belongs to my parents. Their sweat, their money. Not to you."

His eyes widened, then narrowed into an icy stare. "Too bad they're dead. You belong to me now. And in a week, you'll belong to Adrian Steele."

Clara laughed, leaning against the doorframe. "Poor Elena. Married to a blind man. You weren't destined for happiness."

I stood frozen, rain streaming from my hair, my heart beating so hard I thought they could hear it.

Sold. That's what it was. I was neither a niece, nor a cousin, nor even a human being in their eyes. I was merchandise.

 Margot pivoted on her heels, which clicked on the marble floor, and disappeared into the house. Clara lingered, her smirk widening. "You should be grateful. At least you'll be living in a mansion. Maybe he won't even notice your little face."

I wanted to scream. To run away. To struggle to escape this nightmare. But my legs refused to move. My voice remained silent. I was weak, too weak to fight.

And yet, deep down, I knew the truth. Margot would never let me escape.

***

Le reste de la soirée s'est estompé. Je me suis changée, mes vêtements trempés pliés soigneusement comme si cela pouvait me valoir la clémence.

Le dîner se déroula dans un silence absolu, hormis les ricanements occasionnels de Clara. Margot ne reparla pas de la lettre, mais son regard se posait sans cesse sur moi, calculateur, comme si elle planifiait déjà la transaction.

Cette nuit-là, je restai éveillée, fixant le plafond fissuré de ma chambre, des larmes coulant le long de mes joues. Mes cheveux, humides et emmêlés, jonchaient l'oreiller. Je me souvenais de leur éclat d'antan, de l'envi que je suscitais chez les filles, de l'époque où mes parents m'appelaient leur princesse. Cette fille n'était plus. À sa place, il n'y avait plus qu'une ombre, une servante dans sa propre maison, un pion dans le jeu d'autrui.

Dehors, la pluie s'était calmée en bruine, mais à l'intérieur, la tempête faisait toujours rage.

Je murmurai dans l'obscurité : « Pourquoi moi ? »

Aucune réponse. Seul le silence.

Au matin, la lettre avait disparu. Margot l'avait rangé sous clé, mais la décision était déjà prise.

Clara fredonnait en se brossant les cheveux, sa satisfaction évidente.

« Tu auras l'air si pitoyable à côté de lui », dit-elle d'un ton désinvolte. « Les aveugles se moquent de la beauté, mais peut-être qu'il entendra ta voix tremblante et qu'il aura pitié de toi. Oh, ma pauvre petite cousine. » Elle se tourna vers moi avec un air faussement compatissant.

Je serrai les poings, mais ne dis rien. La faiblesse était devenue mon armure. Si je ne me battais pas, peut-être qu'ils n'insisteraient pas davantage.

Mais au fond de moi, une petite étincelle brillait. Je n'étais pas une idiote. Je comprenais ce qui se passait. On me vendait, on m'échangeait contre de l'argent et du statut. Et même si je ne pouvais plus rien y faire, je me fis une promesse : je survivrais.

Même si survivre signifiait épouser Adrian Steele, le milliardaire aveugle que personne n'avait jamais vu.