Married to my Emeny’s son

ChapterTwo

The Lion’s Den

The limousine was hush, a leather-scented void. Adrian sat opposite me, his long legs nearly brushing mine. He had tossed aside his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves to show forearms that looked as if they’d been molded from stone. He wasn’t looking my way; he was fixated on the tinted window, watching the city lights drift by, a blank look on his face.

The silence felt heavy, almost tangible. I held onto my bouquet, the thorns biting into my palms. Dried blood under my nails formed dark, crusty crescents, almost like a hidden sign of my determination.

“You can stop gripping those flowers, Elena,” he said, his voice slicing through the quiet. “The show’s over for the night. There aren’t any cameras in here.”

“It wasn’t a show,” I said, keeping my voice steady even as my heart raced against my ribs. “It was a wedding. Just processing what it all means.”

Adrian turned his head gradually. His dark eyes caught the glimmer of a streetlamp outside, glowing with a cold, predatory sharpness. “A wedding is a contract. You look like you’ve just signed away your soul, not your hand. Most brides look at their husbands with at least a hint of warmth. You’re looking at me like you’re calculating how much poison it would take to stop my heart.”

He leaned closer, invading my space. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood mixed with something sharper, like the air before a storm—filled the car. “Why did you marry me? Your family isn't influential enough to force this, and you clearly don’t like me. In fact, I think you can’t stand the very air I breathe.”

“My reasons are my own, Adrian,” I shot back, pulling my hand away just as he reached out, seemingly wanting to touch the lace of my sleeve. “Is it so hard to believe a woman would want to marry into the Vale dynasty? Your father controls half the coastline.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, leaning back into the plush seat, but his gaze never left mine. “But remember this: my father’s house has plenty of rooms, yet very few secrets. If you’re hiding one, the walls will spill it out before the week ends.”

The Vale Mansion didn’t resemble a home; it looked like a fortress ready to endure an attack. Perched atop a jagged cliff, overlooking the dark, restless waters of the bay, its Gothic structure was shrouded in flickering shadows.

As the car rolled up the gravel drive, the massive iron-bound doors swung open. There, framed by the warm, flickering light of the foyer, stood the man who had haunted my dreams since I was ten.

Victor Vale.

He was older than the grainy surveillance photos I’d pinned on my wall, but the air of menace was unmistakable. His silver hair was slicked back tightly, and his eyes were as hard as flint. He held a cane, not out of necessity, but as if it were a tool to strike things he found displeasing.

Adrian stepped out and offered his hand to me. I took it, not out of desire, but because my knees felt weak and shaky. My heart raced—thump-thump, thump-thump—like a cornered animal realizing the cage door had just snapped shut.

“Welcome home,” Victor said as we ascended the stone steps. His voice was rough, shaped by years of issuing unarguable commands.

He ignored his son completely. No fatherly nod, no words of congratulations. His gaze was fixed on me. He stepped closer, studying my face with unsettling, clinical intensity. Reaching out with a gloved hand, his fingers were chilling even through the leather, tilting my chin up until I had no choice but to meet his eyes.

A flicker of something—recognition, confusion, or maybe a ghost of a memory—crossed his features. His pupils widened.

“You,” Victor whispered, tightening his grip just enough to hurt. “You have your mother’s eyes. The same defiant, tragic spark.”

Air rushed out of my lungs. My disguise was supposed to be flawless. I had changed my name, and my history had been scrubbed clean by my aunt’s best contacts. But staring at Victor, I realized I’d entered the lion’s den believing I was the hunter, only to find the lion had recognized me as soon as I crossed the threshold.

“I hope you’re tougher than she was,” Victor continued, a cruel smile resting on his lips. “She was beautiful but didn’t last long in this world. The delicate ones never do.”

Adrian’s hand landed on my lower back. It wasn’t romantic; it was a claim. His touch was firm, anchoring me before I could snap or falter. “That’s enough, Father. She’s had a long day, and the ‘delicate’ ones usually don’t survive a wedding to a Vale.”

Victor released my chin, but his gaze lingered a moment too long on the gold locket hidden beneath my lace collar. Without saying another word, he turned and vanished into the darkness of the house.

Adrian leaned closer, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath warm against my cold skin. “I told you,” he whispered, his tone heavy with suspicion. “Secrets don’t stay buried here. Now, tell me, Elena—who exactly was your mother that my father recognizes her eyes after twenty years?”

I looked up at the grand staircase, shadows swirling around portraits of long-dead Vales, realizing the war hadn’t just begun. I was already deep in enemy territory, and my commander was the man currently holding my waist.