DUKE'S OBSESSION

The grand estate was alive with music, the sounds of violins and laughter spilling through the open ballroom doors. Glittering chandeliers hung from the ceilings, illuminating the nobles who twirled across the floor in silks and jewels. But Eleanor Sinclair was not inside. She lingered in the shadows of the vast garden, hidden beneath the archways of ivy and blooming roses. The crisp night air wrapped around her, cool against her skin as she stood beneath the silver glow of the moon. She was waiting. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her hands tightening around the edges of her veil. She had never dared something like this before, had never risked stepping beyond the carefully constructed walls her stepmother had built around her. But tonight, she had no choice. The Duke of Collinwood was here. And he was the only man who could save her. She had overheard the whispers—the plan set in motion by her stepmother and stepsister. Hazel, her beautiful, arrogant stepsister, had been chosen to seduce the Duke, to lure him into marriage and secure their family’s wealth. Eleanor, as always, was to remain hidden. But she would not stand by and let that happen. She had no illusions about love. No romantic fantasies of passion and stolen kisses. But she understood power. And she knew that the Duke was the most powerful man in the kingdom. If he agreed to her proposal, he would be her escape. And she would be his shield. No emotions. No expectations. Only a marriage of convenience. A sharp gust of wind rustled through the hedges, carrying the faint scent of cigar smoke. Eleanor straightened, her breath catching as she turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps. And then—he appeared. Alexander Collinwood. The infamous Duke of Collinwood. Tall. Imposing. His broad shoulders cast long shadows beneath the moonlight. His dark hair was slightly tousled, a sharp contrast to the cold precision in his piercing gaze. A man not to be crossed. He stepped away from the ballroom doors, the glow of the chandeliers fading behind him. He was dressed in a fine black coat, the golden embroidery marking his status. In one hand, he held a lit cigar, the ember glowing faintly in the night. Eleanor forced herself to move. She stepped out of the shadows, her veil fluttering slightly with the wind. The soft rustle of fabric caught his attention, and his sharp gaze immediately locked onto her. For a long moment, he simply stared. She saw the flicker of curiosity in his expression. Then, something colder—a sharp, assessing gaze, one that stripped away pretense and left only truth. She swallowed, steadying herself. "You were waiting for me." His voice was deep, smooth—unreadable. "Yes," she answered quietly. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, though his amusement did not reach his eyes. "Bold, aren't you?" She took a breath. "I had no choice." He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching her carefully. "Everyone has a choice." "Not women like me," she murmured. His gaze narrowed. "Tell me," he said, taking a slow step forward, "what does a veiled woman want with me?" She forced herself to meet his gaze through the thin fabric covering her face. "A deal," she said. His brows lifted slightly. "A deal?" She nodded. "I know your family is pressuring you to marry." His lips curled slightly, though not in a smile. "Do you?" "I know they expect you to choose a proper noblewoman," she continued, "one who will carry herself with grace and duty." Something flickered in his gaze—a sharp, dangerous glint. She had struck a nerve. "You have no interest in love," she continued. "You have no desire to be controlled by a woman, nor to play the role of doting husband. You need a wife who will keep the peace but expect nothing of you." She took a step closer, tilting her chin slightly. "I can be that wife." The silence between them stretched. Then— He laughed. A low, dark sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "You expect me to marry a woman I cannot even see?" he asked, amusement laced in his tone. She clenched her hands at her sides. "You don’t need to see me. You need someone who won’t demand your heart. I need a husband who will keep me safe from them." She did not have to explain who them was. Her stepmother. Hazel. The vultures who circled her, waiting to pick her apart. The Duke studied her carefully, his expression shifting into something unreadable. "You assume much about me," he murmured. "You assume much about me as well," she countered. A flicker of something—intrigue. For the first time in her life, she felt truly seen. He exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "And what if I refuse?" "Then you will marry someone who expects your love," she said quietly. "Who will demand your attention. Who will bring you misery." A beat of silence. Then— He smirked. A slow, dangerous smirk. "You are quite the little schemer," he murmured. She didn’t deny it. She only lifted her chin slightly. "Do we have a deal?" A long, tense moment passed. Then— "I will consider it," he said. She exhaled, relief flickering through her chest. "Three nights from now," she whispered. "At the abandoned chapel on the edge of the city. If you accept, meet me there." His gaze darkened slightly. "Very well," he murmured. A promise. A chance. She turned to leave— But then—a voice shattered the night. "Eleanor?" Hazel. Panic shot through her. She could not be seen. Not now. Not like this. Before the Duke could stop her, she turned—lifting the edges of her skirts—and ran. She did not stop until she had disappeared into the darkness. She did not stop until she was home. She did not stop— Until she realized her fate was already sealed. Because she knew. Alexander Collinwood would come for her. And when he did— There would be no turning back. He watched her disappear, his cigar burning to ash between his fingers. She was fascinating. No fear. No trembling. Only absolute determination. She thought she was using him. That this was her game to play. How adorable. His lips curled slightly, amusement flickering through him. If she had asked for riches, he might have refused. If she had demanded his time, he would have walked away. But she had asked for nothing but his name. And in return, she had offered exactly what he needed. A marriage with no love. No demands. No expectations. Or so she thought. He smirked, exhaling a slow breath. Three nights from now, she had said. If she truly believed she could bind herself to him without consequences— She was very, very wrong. She had no idea. She already belonged to him. And Alexander Collinwood never let go of what was his. --- End of Chapter 1