Marked by his Curse: The Witch Who Fell for the Billionaire

Prologue They said fate had a funny way of bringing people together. But this wasn’t fate—it was a curse. Elara had always felt different, though she could never explain why. A strange mark burned against her skin like a silent whisper, reminding her every day that something about her wasn’t normal. She didn’t know what it meant, only that it had followed her for as long as she could remember—through every sleepless night and every job she ran from. Far away, in a towering glass mansion hidden behind gates and secrets, Alexander Crane watched the stars shift with eyes that had seen too much. His world was built on wealth, power, and silence. But even his billions couldn’t break the ancient curse that bound his life—and his soul—to darkness. There was only one who could. She didn’t know it yet. But she was coming. And once their paths crossed, neither of them would ever be the same. CHAPTER ONE Elara adjusted the collar of her coat for the third time that morning, more out of habit than necessity. The fabric wasn’t thick, not in this cold, but it helped her feel hidden. Safe. She glanced down at her wrist—the mark still there. Always there. A strange, curved symbol, deep and faint like an old scar, she has one on her chest and her back too then her wrist. She had no memory of how she got it. As far back as she could remember, it had just… been there. She used to ask questions about it when she was younger. Her foster families always gave her the same shrug, the same fake smile. “You were probably born with it,” they’d say. “Nothing to worry about.” But Elara worried. She always had. Especially after the strange things began happening around her. Lights flickering when she was angry. Objects sliding off tables. The wind blowing through closed windows. She didn’t talk about it anymore. She learned quickly that people didn’t understand. They called her strange. Cursed. A liar. So, at twenty-three, Elara did what she’d always done. She ran. She changed cities. Again. Changed her name. Again. And this time, she was determined to keep her head down and live a normal life. No attention. No mistakes. No one ever seeing what lay under her sleeve. She needed a job—any job. Something that wouldn’t ask too many questions. So when she got a call back from Crane’s Mansion, she almost didn’t believe it. It wasn’t just any Mansion. Towering above the skyline. Owned by the Alexander Crane. She had no clue why her application had been picked from the hundreds—maybe thousands—but she wasn’t going to question it. A job was a job, and a paycheck meant safety. Or so she thought. She kept tugging her sleeve down. Her fingers shook. She hadn’t been this anxious since— Don’t think about it . Don’t think about what happened in Atlanta. Just focus. Breath. Act normal. Elara stood in the hallway, her fingers still tingling from the weight of the pen she had just used to sign her new employment contract. The folder clutched in her hand felt heavier than paper—like it carried something much bigger than just job terms. She couldn’t explain it, but something about this place… it was different. The mansion was a strange mix of modern class and old-world charm. The tall windows let in beams of sunlight, but the shadows still clung to corners like they didn’t want to leave. Paintings that looked like they belonged in a museum hung silently on the walls. Every step she took echoed in the high-ceilinged halls, making her feel smaller than ever. “Miss Elara?” a smooth voice called from behind her. She turned to see the older woman who had greeted her at the door earlier—Mrs. Redmond, the house manager. Her graying hair was tied in a neat bun, and her sharp eyes gave off the impression that she missed absolutely nothing. “Yes?” Elara replied quickly. “Mr. Crane would like to meet you in the study before you settle in.” Her heart jumped. “Oh. Of course. Now?” Mrs. Redmond nodded once. “Follow me.” They walked down a long corridor, and Elara noticed how everything smelled faintly of lavender and old books. A few doors were closed, each one tall and dark, their brass handles polished to a shine. When they reached the final door at the end of the hall, Mrs. Redmond knocked once before turning the handle. “You may go in,” she said. “He’s expecting you.” Elara gave a quick nod and stepped inside. The study was dimly lit, with warm amber light from the desk lamp casting shadows across the walls. Tall shelves lined with books surrounded the room, giving it the scent of leather and ink. A fire crackled softly in a fireplace on the far end, even though it wasn’t that cold outside. And behind the large desk sat him. Alexander Crane. He looked up from a file, and their eyes met for the first time. Elara froze for a second. He was… beautiful. Not in the model-perfect way she had seen in magazines, but in a way that made the air still. His face was sharp, like it had been carved with careful precision—strong jawline, dark eyebrows, and intense gray eyes that looked like they had seen too much and still refused to blink. His hair was dark and neatly swept back, a lock falling slightly across his forehead. But it wasn’t just his looks. It was the energy that surrounded him—like something powerful and silent lived just beneath his calm surface. “Elara Hayes,” he said, his voice deep and smooth like warm whiskey. “Yes, sir,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “Sit.” She obeyed without question, perching at the edge of the chair across from him. He studied her, not with suspicion, but with curiosity. As if he was trying to solve a puzzle only he could see. “I’ve reviewed your application,” he said. “You’ve worked in several homes over the past few years. Always temporary positions. Why?” She swallowed. “I move around a lot.” “Why?” She paused. The real answer—because I never feel safe anywhere for too long—wasn’t something she could say out loud. So she went with the half-truth. “I guess I’ve just been searching for the right fit.” He didn’t respond right away, only nodded slowly. “Do you believe in fate, Elara?” The question caught her off guard. “I—I don’t know. Maybe.” “Good answer,” he said quietly, and stood up. As he moved around the desk, she noticed he walked with purpose. Controlled and calm. He stopped just a few feet from her, and she had to fight the urge to shrink back from his presence. “I hired you because I believe you’re the right person for this house,” he said. “There are certain… routines I expect, but if you follow them, you’ll have no issues.” She nodded quickly. “I can do that.” “There are also a few places in the house that are off limits. For now.” “For now?” she echoed. “Yes,” he said, a hint of something unspoken in his tone. “Until I decide otherwise.” Elara nodded again, her throat dry. “Mrs. Redmond will show you to your quarters,” he continued. “You’ll find a schedule in your room. Be ready to start tomorrow morning.” “Understood, Mr. Crane.” He looked at her one last time—those stormy eyes piercing, searching—and then turned back to his desk. “You may go.” Back in her room, Elara sank onto the bed with a long breath. What was that? That man wasn’t just rich or intimidating. He felt… ancient. Like there was something about him that didn’t belong in the normal world. And the way he looked at her—like he knew more than he let on—sent chills up her spine. She ran her fingers through her hair and kicked off her shoes. The room was bigger than anything she was used to. Light cream walls, a tall arched window with flowing curtains, a soft bed with thick white covers. It was beautiful, and yet she felt like she didn’t belong here. As she moved to unpack the small bag she brought, her shirt lifted slightly—and the mark on her lower back burned faintly. She gasped and touched the skin. Still there. That strange swirling shape that looked like a vine and flame combined. It had been there since she was a child. No doctor ever gave her a proper answer. No one else in her family had it. No birthmark looked like this. And sometimes… it glowed. Just faintly. Like tonight. “What are you?” she whispered, staring into the mirror. The mark didn’t answer. It never did. Downstairs, in the study, Alexander stood in the dark, looking into the fireplace. “She’s here,” he said aloud, though the room was empty. A shadow moved from the far corner, and a man stepped into the light. Tall, dressed in black. His face pale and his eyes sharp. “You’re sure it’s her?” the man asked. “I’m sure,” Alexander replied. “The mark is still there. Just as the prophecy said.” “She doesn’t know?” “No,” Alexander said. “She has no idea what she is.” The man nodded slowly. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Alexander. If she finds out the wrong way…” “I won’t let that happen.” “You think she’ll fall for you?” Alexander turned toward the fire again. “She has to,” he said softly. “It’s the only way to break the curse.”