The Heir I shouldn't Love

Cassara Elowyn Vale "Let the world whisper, but never let it see you flinch." My mother-in-law’s words cut through the silence. I looked up from my chair. My heart sealed shut behind my ribs. Lady Verona Vale, the chairwoman of the Vale family. She sat across from me in her ivory lace gown. She continues, “you’ll go with the secretary to Marquessa Atelier today, buy the new Dior bag. Get the Balenciaga trench too. And whatever else you want. I want you to paint over the scandal with gold, Cassara.” She sipped her tea again, her gaze never breaking from mine. “Your father will win the presidential seat. As promised. But until then, you are the wife of Roman Vale....” she paused to let her word hang in the air for a while, “which means your cracks must never show.” I still said nothing. “Do not smile too much, you smile too wide, they’ll say you’re pretending. You smile too little, they’ll say you’re bitter. And remember, Cassara…” She leaned forward, “the world can forgive tragedy, but it never forgives poorly acted strength. Wear your pain like silk, subtle, soft and silent. That’s what makes it expensive.” I nodded slowly, committing every syllable to memory. “And don’t frown either, we can’t give them more to talk about. Let your face be a mystery. People forget rumors when they’re confused enough not to trust their own instincts.” She stood and walked toward the window, her tone more hushed now. “This noise, I mean this gossip, the pictures, the footage. It will buzz for a while, but like all storms… it’ll pass. So don’t think too much about it. Cheating?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Men are animals with polished shoes. It’s not rare. It’s expected.” My throat tightened, but I swallowed it whole. “In no time, Roman will crawl back home,” Verona said with confidence, “because men always return to the woman who kept their name clean.” She turned back to me. “Now get your hair done. You look too… real. I’ll call Lysanne's Salon myself. Tell them I want you flawless by noon.” The door creaked open just then. Roman Vale walked in. And reeked of alcohol. His black shirt was half-buttoned, with his belt crooked. His hair tousled in that arrogant, ruined way of his. He plopped into the armchair, slinging one arm over the back. Verona's nostrils flared. “You’re still drinking?” she hissed at him under her breath. Then louder, “Roman, what in hell is wrong with you? The media are hounding this family like wolves. And you show up with a stinking vodka and regret?” I turned my head slowly, fixing Roman with a stare sharp enough to pierce armor. “Don’t you have any respect for your wife?” He chuckled darkly. “Wife?” he slurred. “Is that what we’re still calling this arrangement?” Verona stepped forward. Her voice was a blade. “Roman. Did you sleep outside again? With that girl?” He grinned. Didn’t even blink. “Yes.” He leaned back. He was shameless. “We had rough s*x on the back of her Maserati. You should’ve heard her, Mother. She said I was a god.” Bang! Verona slammed her palm against the table. “Stop saying that in front of your wife!” Roman's laugh was hollow and cruel. “What wife? The one who married my last name or the one married to her father's campaign?” He tilted his head at me, eyes glinting with venomous amusement. “Tell me, Cassara. Did you ever love me? Or just love the title?” Verona turned to me again, she was ready to say something again, then Roman cut in, "Let’s divorce." “We should get a divorce,Cassara.” The words dropped from Roman’s lips like they meant nothing. Like they were just weather never personal. He didn’t even look at me when he said it. Just sat there, with his legs crossed, his fingers spinning the ring on his finger. It was the ring that I slipped onto his fingers with trembling fingers. I blinked twice. My breath caught between my ribs. A divorce? My thoughts stuttered. Not because I loved him. God, no. Not because this marriage had meaning. But because Roman Vale had never been the type to close a door when he could let it swing and hit me each time I passed. And now? Now he was ready to walk away? Women like me weren’t built for shock. We were built for silence. But in that moment, all I could do was sit still, because stillness was the only control I had left. “What did you just say?” Madam Verona asked. “I said,” Roman repeated, slower this time as he finally looked at me, “we should get a divorce. My lawyer will be in touch. Everything will be clean, Cassara. You’ll be fine.” He stood, brushing imaginary lint off his navy button-down, the stench of alcohol still hanging in the air between us. “I need to rest,” he added, “there’s an important meeting in an hour. The board won’t wait.” He turned and walked away without another word. And just like that, I knew— This was the end. I am Cassara Elowyn Vale. Born Cassara Elowyn Hartmann. The only daughter of Julian Hartmann, my father, Hartmann, will be the president of this our Virelia City in four months, if the Roman family holds their end of the deal. Virelia isn’t just a city. It’s a kingdom without a crown. And the Vales? They sit at its throne. The Vale dynasty built Virelia’s skyline. They own half the towers and most of the headlines. Their name is engraved on hospitals, universities, oil conglomerates. My family borrowed from them. The kind of debt that comes with fine print and sharp teeth. We owed them everything. And in return, they offered us salvation. A marriage. They said I should marry Roman, and they’ll erase the interest. They said if I marry Roman my father will get the presidency. They said: Marry Roman, and you’ll be part of the empire. So, I did. I wore the white dress for my family. I carried their last name. I smiled on magazine covers. And I was perfect for Madam Verona Vale, the mother-in-law who never blinked unless it was to criticize. For Roman, the husband who came home reeking of alcohol all day and another woman’s perfume. But now? Now Roman Vale wants a divorce? After everything? I wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or maybe both. “How could you say something like that?” I whispered to the space he had already vacated. He was already gone. My hands sat folded in my lap. But my heart? It was no longer mine.