A Formal Threat
1436 Words
The Vale estate never seemed to sleep. Even on quiet mornings, there was always movement—staff arranging flowers in towering vases, assistants whispering over schedules, someone in the kitchen preparing something exquisite.
Elara had stopped trying to keep up. The world around her ran on rules she was only beginning to understand—about power, about presentation, about what it meant to belong.
She poured herself coffee from a silver carafe and stepped out onto the sun-drenched veranda. The sea sparkled in the distance, but her stomach was heavy with unease.
Cassian hadn’t come to bed the night before.
She didn’t ask where he’d gone.
She didn’t want to know if it was about Genevieve.
She sat with her journal, fingers resting on the pen, when her phone vibrated on the table beside her. A text from Sienna.
⚠️ Need to talk. ASAP. Alone. Not on estate Wi-Fi. –S
Elara’s brows furrowed.
Why the urgency?
Before she could reply, a black car pulled up to the front driveway. It wasn’t one of the estate’s vehicles—it was sleek, unfamiliar, and silent.
A man stepped out.
Not tall, not flashy, but he wore power like a tailored suit. His steel-gray three-piece was immaculate, and he carried a leather document case under one arm. A gold pin glittered on his lapel.
He didn’t wait for the butler to greet him. He strode directly toward the house with the confidence of someone who didn’t need permission to enter.
Something cold slid down Elara’s spine.
Cassian was in the study when the butler informed him of the visitor. His face hardened instantly.
“Name?”
“Mr. Roland Ives. He says it’s a matter of business.”
Cassian stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “Show him in.”
Elara arrived a moment later, trailing just behind. Cassian shot her a look—part warning, part concern—but she lifted her chin and entered anyway.
Roland Ives turned, his smile thin and rehearsed.
“Mr. Vale. Mrs. Vale.”
Cassian didn’t extend a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”
“No, but we soon will.” Roland opened his case and withdrew a thick folder. “I’m here on behalf of my client. I’ve been instructed to deliver a formal legal notice.”
Elara’s pulse quickened. “Legal?”
Roland’s eyes flicked to her. “Indeed. Concerning the legitimacy of your recent marriage.”
Cassian’s jaw locked. “You’re joking.”
“I assure you, I’m not.”
He laid the folder on the desk, pushing it toward Cassian with slow, deliberate precision.
“My client is contesting the legality of your union based on three claims: fraud, coercion, and financial misrepresentation.”
Elara stared. “What—?”
Cassian snapped the folder open, eyes scanning the pages. His nostrils flared.
“This is a bluff.”
Roland adjusted his cufflinks. “A very expensive bluff, if so. My client is requesting a full investigation by the Securities and Exchange Commission, as well as a temporary freeze on several of Vale Holdings’ domestic assets.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Roland’s gaze was like ice. “If your marriage is deemed fraudulent, Mr. Vale, any decisions made under its umbrella, including recent board votes and acquisition approvals, may be considered invalid.”
Elara’s stomach twisted. “Who would do this?”
Roland gave a small, polite smile.
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that. But I can tell you this—someone very invested in your empire believes that this marriage is a threat to its stability.”
He turned back to Cassian. “You have five business days to respond. After that, the petition will move forward. If you refuse to cooperate, my client will escalate through the press.”
Cassian’s voice was steel. “Get out of my house.”
Roland nodded once. “As you wish.”
He gathered his folder and turned, walking out with the same eerie calm he’d entered with.
Elara sat down hard on the armrest of a nearby chair. “What the hell just happened?”
Cassian ran a hand through his hair. “Someone’s trying to weaponize the marriage clause in my inheritance.”
“I thought the contract was solid.”
“It is. But the timing makes it look suspicious. We got married right before the vote that finalized the merger with Vale International’s Asian partners. It’s easy to spin.”
“You think it’s someone from inside the company?”
“Absolutely.” His eyes burned. “And I have a damn good idea who.”
Cassian didn’t name names, but Elara could read between the lines.
There were only a handful of people with both motive and means to launch an attack like this.
Genevieve was high on that list.
But so was Julian Vale, Cassian’s cousin and one-time heir apparent to the Vale throne.
They’d had a falling out years ago, but Julian had always circled like a shark, waiting for a moment of weakness.
This could be it.
Later that afternoon, Sienna pulled Elara into a guest room at the far end of the estate.
“I saw Roland Ives leave,” she said. “He’s a bloodhound. If he’s sniffing around, someone with serious connections is trying to sink Cassian.”
Elara explained everything—the fraud claim, the threat of frozen assets, the five-day deadline.
Sienna’s eyes darkened. “They’re trying to unravel him through you.”
Elara’s voice cracked. “Why would anyone go that far?”
“Because power doesn’t die easily. It gets passed—or stolen.”
Sienna looked her dead in the eyes.
“You need to be ready.”
“For what?”
“For people to turn on you. For stories to be planted in the press. For photos to surface. Every mistake you’ve ever made? They’ll twist it. Every silence? They’ll fill it in for you.”
Elara swallowed. “I don’t have any secrets.”
Sienna’s gaze softened. “Everyone does.”
That evening, Cassian called an emergency strategy session. His legal team arrived by helicopter—two men and a woman in immaculate suits, all of them carrying laptops and folders like weapons.
Elara watched from a corner as they circled Cassian, voices low and fierce.
They were crafting a counter-attack—filing an injunction to delay the investigation, launching a private inquiry to trace the leak, and preparing a media package to control the narrative if the story went public.
Cassian stood at the center, still and calm, the eye of the storm.
But Elara could see the tightness in his jaw. The fury in his shoulders.
When the others left, he came to her.
“I need you to say yes.”
“To what?”
“To everything.” His eyes searched hers. “We’re not playing pretend anymore, Elara. If this goes public, they’ll drag your name through the dirt. Every photo, every text, every credit report—scrutinized. I can protect you. But only if you let me.”
She nodded slowly. “What do you need me to do?”
“Give a statement. Appear with me in public. Let them see you’re not afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Cassian stepped closer. “You should be.”
She tilted her chin. “But I’m not.”
He stared at her for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, he reached for her hand.
And held it.
The next morning, they walked out of the estate together, hand in hand, in front of a wall of flashing cameras.
Someone had tipped off the press—no doubt the same person who sent Roland Ives.
Cassian wore his signature charcoal suit and icy composure. Elara wore a navy sheath dress, her hair swept into a low chignon, makeup light but perfect. Her expression was calm.
Cassian spoke into the microphones.
“My wife and I are aware of the accusations being circulated. We have nothing to hide. Our marriage is real. Our commitment is real. And we are prepared to cooperate with any legal inquiries.”
He glanced at Elara.
She smiled, just a little.
Then they turned and got into the car, the crowd screaming behind them.
Inside, Elara let out a long breath.
Cassian looked at her.
“You were perfect.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” she said quietly.
Cassian reached for her hand again.
“You should be,” he repeated.
But his fingers curled around hers and didn’t let go.
- Writer
