Married to the billionaire's revenge

The sound of pencil against paper filled Seraphina Lancaster’s small studio, each line breathing life into a gown only she could see in her mind. The lace detailing curved delicately across the page, the fabric flowing in her imagination as if the model were already striding across a runway. This was her sanctuary, her rebellion, her dream. Hidden away at the far end of the Lancaster estate, her studio smelled of fabric rolls, graphite, and lavender oil — the things that made her feel alive. Here, she wasn’t “the second daughter” of the Lancaster family, overshadowed by Evelyn. Here, she was an artist. A sharp knock broke through her focus. Before she could answer, the door swung open and one of the housemaids stepped inside, her hands wringing nervously. “Miss Seraphina,” the maid murmured. “Your parents request your presence. In the study.” Seraphina’s pencil froze mid-stroke. Her parents rarely called her, unless it was about appearances, obligations, or something that involved Evelyn. A chill threaded through her spine. “I’ll be there,” she said, carefully setting her sketch aside. As she walked through the grand Lancaster mansion, the polished marble floors seemed to echo louder than usual beneath her shoes. The portraits of ancestors lined the walls, their gazes severe and unyielding. She’d grown up under those eyes, always being reminded of what a Lancaster should be — perfect, poised, precious. Qualities Evelyn embodied effortlessly. When Seraphina entered the study, her parents were waiting. Her father, Charles Lancaster, sat behind the mahogany desk, fingers drumming against the polished wood. Her mother, Lillian, perched gracefully in her silk dress, her smile warm but too deliberate. “You called for me?” Seraphina asked, trying to mask the unease curling in her stomach. “Sit, darling,” Lillian said softly, gesturing to the chair opposite them. “We need to discuss something very important.” Seraphina sat, her palms resting on her lap. Her father leaned forward, his voice clipped. “The Lancaster Group is in trouble. Stock values are plunging. Our investors are restless. If we don’t secure a strong partnership soon, everything we’ve built will crumble.” Seraphina frowned. She knew her family’s wealth was vast, their name old and powerful. But crumbling? That word carried too much weight. Her mother’s hand brushed Charles’s arm before she turned her gaze back to Seraphina, her tone gentler. “A solution has presented itself, but it requires… sacrifice.” A cold sensation seeped into Seraphina’s chest. “Sacrifice?” Charles’s lips pressed thin. “Damien Blackwood wood has expressed interest in binding our families through marriage.” Seraphina blinked, stunned. “Damien Blackwood? The billionaire?” She knew his name, of course — everyone did. Ruthless, brilliant, feared in boardrooms and envied in headlines. A man who never gave without taking more in return. “Yes,” her mother said smoothly. “At first, they requested Evelyn.” Of course. Evelyn, the golden daughter. The choice everyone wanted. “But Evelyn is our pride,” Lillian continued quickly, as if the very idea pained her. “She’s still young, and she has plans — dreams we cannot destroy. We couldn’t possibly let her be caged in a marriage of convenience.” Seraphina’s chest tightened. Her mother’s words were gentle, almost tender, but beneath them lay a cruel implication. “So,” Charles finished coldly, “the responsibility falls to you.” Seraphina’s pulse thundered in her ears. “You mean… you want me to marry Damien Westwood? Just like that?” “You make it sound like punishment,” her mother chided softly, her smile tightening. “This is an opportunity most women would pray for. Damien Blackwood is powerful, respected, untouchable. Becoming his wife would elevate you in ways you cannot imagine.” Seraphina’s nails dug into her palms. “I don’t want power. Or money. I have my studio. My designs—” Her father’s hand slammed against the desk. “Your studio exists because we allow it. Don’t mistake our indulgence for independence, Seraphina.” She flinched, breath catching. Her mother leaned forward then, her hand reaching out to cover Seraphina’s. The touch was gentle, but her words were edged with steel. “Listen carefully, my dear. This marriage isn’t just about us. It’s about your future. Without it, we cannot guarantee your inheritance. We cannot guarantee the continuation of your studio. And…” she paused deliberately, her voice dipping lower, “…we cannot guarantee you’ll continue seeing your grandmother.” The air left Seraphina’s lungs in a sharp gasp. Her grandmother. The only person in the Lancaster household who had ever loved her without condition, who encouraged her when no one else cared, who told her she was more than the shadow Evelyn cast. The thought of being barred from her was unbearable. “You wouldn’t,” Seraphina whispered. Her mother’s smile remained, but her grip tightened painfully. “Wouldn’t we?” Her father’s voice was final. “The engagement party will be announced soon. You’ll do your duty, Seraphina. For the Lancasters. For your bloodline.” Her throat burned. Her sketchpad, still clutched to her chest, felt like a fragile shield against a world determined to strip her of everything. She rose abruptly, chair legs scraping against the floor. “I need air,” she muttered, before they could see the tears threatening to fall. She stumbled out of the study and into the cold marble hallway. Her legs shook, her vision blurred. She pressed her back against the wall, fighting to breathe. They wanted to sacrifice her dreams, her freedom, her heart — all for the family name. Evelyn would remain untouched, adored, the jewel. And she, Seraphina, would be given away to Damien Blackwood — a man she’d never met, a man known for power and vengeance, a man who hadn’t even chosen her to begin with. Her eyes squeezed shut. If she refused, she would lose everything — her inheritance, her studio, her grandmother. If she agreed, she would lose herself. The trap had been set, and there was no way out.