LOVE BEYOND REALMS

THE ENGAGEMENT COUNTDOWN

Chapter 19

The Anderson mansion glowed like a beacon that week, its walls alive with motion, its gates never silent. Men and women in crisp uniforms marched in and out with clipboards and crates, carrying flowers, lights, and crystal. Servants darted across the marble floors carrying trays of refreshments to exhausted designers, while trucks rumbled up the long private road delivering gilded chairs, imported wines, and linens stitched by the finest ateliers of Europe.

The empire of Brooks Anderson had always prided itself on efficiency, but now that efficiency was on full, glorious display. And at the heart of it all was Brooks himself, seated in his private office on the east wing, cradling a tumbler of aged whiskey as he placed a call across to Kendrick Blackwood.

The screen flickered to life, and Kendrick’s familiar baritone greeted him.

“Brooks,” Kendrick said, his voice smooth, unhurried, but carrying the weight of a man accustomed to being listened to. “I trust preparations are on schedule?”

Brooks allowed himself a small smile. “More than on schedule. Rosaline has finalized the dress. The florists have transformed the gardens. Few hours from now, the entire estate will be fit for royalty. Your son will have the grandest engagement this country has ever witnessed.”

Kendrick’s lips twitched in satisfaction. “Good. The Blackwoods do not tolerate mediocrity.”

There was a pause. Then Kendrick leaned slightly closer to the camera. “And Alexa? She is… compliant?”

Brooks’s jaw tightened before he forced his face into calm pride. “At last. She has fallen in line. No more tantrums, no more futile attempts at rebellion. She understands her duty now. When the day comes, she will play her role.”

Kendrick nodded, but there was a flicker in his gaze — the hint of a man who trusted no one, not even his allies. “See that she does, Brooks. Despite my son health conditions, his reputation is not to be toyed with. The world watches us both.”

Brooks’s pride swelled at that. He straightened in his chair, his voice hardening into the tone of a titan. “The world always watches us. Anderson Automotive Group and Blackwood Automotive Group — together, we are the spine of this nation’s industry. Let the politicians squabble, let the merchants bicker — without us, their roads are empty, their ports silent.”

Kendrick allowed himself a rare smile. “Spoken like a true visionary. I hear the Anderson autonomous prototypes outsold the competition this quarter.”

Brooks chuckled, swirling his whiskey. “Barely. But Blackwood’s ultra-luxury hybrids has cornered the eastern markets. Kendrick, that's why I'm so sure that— united, we are untouchable.”

“Untouchable,” Kendrick repeated softly, as though savoring the word. Then his tone sharpened. “And so must this union be. No cracks, no whispers of dissent. If anyone dares suggest Alexa was unwilling…”

Brooks cut him off with a gesture of his hand. “They won’t. I’ve ensured silence. My men are loyal, my household under control. The girl will walk that aisle smiling if I have to carve the expression onto her face myself.”

Kendrick’s eyes gleamed with cold approval. “Good. For what we are building is greater than sentiment. Greater than individuals. It is legacy.”

The call ended with toasts of mutual arrogance, two titans congratulating themselves not on love, nor happiness, but on empire.

If Brooks and Kendrick believed their world impenetrable, Country Y thought otherwise.

By midday, news of the Anderson–Blackwood engagement preparations was no longer rumor — it was spectacle.

Headlines splashed across every major outlet:

“Dynasties Unite: The Anderson–Blackwood Engagement Set to Eclipse All Society Weddings”

“A Marriage of Titans: What This Union Means for the Automotive Industry”

“Inside the Anderson Estate: Lavish Preparations Underway”

Reporters swarmed the outer gates of the mansion, their cameras flashing against the iron bars. Helicopters circled overhead, trying to snap aerial shots of the glittering gardens and the long rows of imported cars lined at the drive.

On social media, the storm burned brighter.

Leaked photographs — chandeliers carried in crates, florists arranging blood-red roses into towering arches, a cake tall as a man wheeled discreetly through the side entrance — spread like wildfire. Every image sparked a thousand comments, a thousand speculations.

Some gushed:

“The most powerful families in Country Y — it’s like a fairytale.”

“Look at that gown! Alexa Anderson is going to shine brighter than the chandeliers.”

Others sneered:

“Fairytale? Please. It’s a business merger dressed in lace.”

“Poor girl hasn’t been seen in public for weeks. Has anyone even asked if she wants this?”

Bloggers fanned the flames, publishing long posts with titles like “Where Is Alexa Anderson? The Hidden Bride” and “The Price of Power: Love or Legacy?”

Even late-night comedians joined in, joking on air:

“Country Y should just rename itself the Anderson–Blackwood Republic and be done with it!”

For every glittering headline, a shadow followed — whispers of Alexa’s absence, of her silence.

That evening, long after the reporters had been chased from the gates and the lights of the mansion glowed golden against the night, Mr. Pablo sat at his desk in the security quarters reviewing patrol schedules. His years of service had made him a man of discipline, his face weathered but steady.

His phone buzzed.

He frowned, surprised at the name flashing across the screen. Arianna. His daughter.

He answered quickly. “Child? It’s late.”

Her voice came trembling through the speaker. “Papa… I saw the news. The engagement… the pictures… is it true? Alexa is really being forced into this marriage?”

Mr. Pablo closed his eyes for a long moment, his chest tightening. “It is true.”

“Papa, you can’t let it happen!” Arianna’s voice broke. “You’ve watched her grow up. You know she doesn’t want this. You know she’ll be miserable. Please — you have to help her.”

He swallowed hard, gripping the phone until his knuckles ached. Memories flickered: Alexa as a child, waving at him with her mother’s smile. Vanessa Anderson’s gentle kindness, the way she had always treated him as more than a servant.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know, Arianna.”

“Then do something!” she pleaded. “You’re the head guard, you’re close to her every day. Please, Papa. If you don’t help her, no one will.”

For a long moment, silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint hum of the estate’s generators.

At last, Mr. Pablo sighed — a long, weary sigh that seemed to empty him of years. “Child… this is not a battle I can fight.”

“Yes, you can! You’ve protected her before—”

“This is not the same!” he snapped, harsher than he intended. His voice softened with guilt. “Arianna… you do not understand the weight of this. This is not just a marriage. It is the union of two dynasties. The Andersons and the Blackwoods together are untouchable. If I raise a hand against them, it will not only crush me… it will crush you.”

Her breath hitched. “Papa…”

“I cannot gamble with your life,” he said quietly. “You are my only daughter. If protecting Alexa means dooming you, then forgive me — I cannot. Vanessa’s child deserves freedom, yes. But you… you are my child. I cannot risk you.”

Arianna sobbed softly on the line. “So we just watch her suffer?”

His voice cracked as he whispered, “We watch. And we pray. Then God help her, Papa” Arianna whispered.

When the call ended, Mr. Pablo sat in silence for a long time, his hands trembling against the desk. He stared at the wall, seeing not plaster but Vanessa’s face — her gentle smile, her quiet strength.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured to the memory. “I have failed your daughter.”

Upstairs, Alexa sat by her window, her chin resting on her folded hands. Beyond the glass, the night sky stretched vast and endless, speckled with stars. She did not know that far below, Mr. Pablo stared at the same stars, weighed down by helplessness.

The mansion glittered behind her — chandeliers blazing, laughter echoing from distant rooms, the smell of roses thick in the air. To the world, it was a palace preparing for celebration.

To Alexa, it was a cage gilded in gold.

Her heart throbbed with an ache she could not name, and yet her face remained calm. She closed her eyes and let the silence settle, her thoughts whispering like shadows.

Somewhere in the same silence, Mr. Pablo whispered his regrets.

And so, beneath the glitter of the grandest preparations Country Y had ever seen, dread coiled unseen — a silent fire spreading, waiting for the moment to consume.