The Ellison Mansion stood like it ruled over the city — tall, elegant, ruthless. With its towering iron gates, gothic arches, and windows that watched like sentinels, the place didn't whisper wealth. It screamed it.
Inside, beneath a crystal chandelier shaped like a falling star, the Ellison family sat in silence over dinner. Not the kind of silence that comes from peace — no, this was the weaponised kind.
At the head of the grand mahogany table sat Frederick Ellison, newspaper in one hand, fork in the other, his grey-streaked hair and sharper-than-steel jaw giving him the air of an aging emperor.
To his right, Lillian Sterling-Ellison, queen of the household — no crown, no throne, just one arched eyebrow and an aura that could freeze lava. She cut her salmon with the precision of someone who didn't waste words, or time.
Leve Ellison was chuckling softly at something on his phone, legs casually crossed. The eldest of the three Ellison children — a mix of quiet mischief and old-soul calm. His laughter was soft, like jazz in a haunted room.
Next to him, Lucas Ellison — the middle child. The shadow. The danger.
He wasn't eating. Just staring at his untouched steak like it had personally offended him. Dark suit. Gloved hand. A silver ring shaped like a dagger on his finger. If looks could kill, Lucas would've wiped out the human race by dessert.
Across the table sat Evelyn Ellison, the youngest. Sleeveless hoodie, combat boots, and calluses on her fingers that told stories of bullets, not ballet. She was halfway through her chicken, chewing thoughtfully as if planning ten murders in her head.
"Lucas," Lillian said suddenly, her voice smooth, sugar-coated cyanide. "Your father and I spoke to the Andrews today."
Forks paused. Eyes shifted. The tension blinked awake.
She dabbed her lips gently. "Scarlett and I decided… the wedding should happen next month."
Lucas blinked once.
"…What wedding," he said flatly, the temperature in the room dropping by ten degrees.
"Yours, darling," Lillian said brightly, as if it were the weather. "To Ravin. Ravin Andrew."
Evelyn glanced up from her plate. Leve choked on his wine.
Lucas didn't move. For a second, it looked like he hadn't even heard her.
Then he stood up. Slowly. Like a beast shaking off its leash.
"No."
Frederick sighed, still reading his newspaper. "Son, this isn't negotiable."
"You want me to marry that smiling, soft, helpless CEO?" Lucas's voice was ice. "He doesn't even know how to hold a gun."
Lillian sipped her wine, unbothered. "He doesn't need to. That's what you're for."
Lucas's jaw clenched. The room was absolutely still.
"I won't do it."
"You will," Lillian replied simply. "Because we're not doing this for business. We're doing this for family. You need someone who can remind you what warmth feels like."
"I don't need warmth," Lucas said. "I need silence."
Evelyn smirked into her glass. "He's gonna blow."
And he did.
With a flash of motion, Lucas shoved his chair back, knocking it over with a harsh scrape of wood against marble.
"I'm not marrying him," he hissed. "I won't be chained to someone just because you want it."
He turned on his heel and stormed out of the dining room, footsteps like gunfire echoing down the hall.
Leve raised his glass with a grin. "To love," he said dryly. "And other disasters."
Lillian just hummed, eyes still on her plate. "He'll come around."
🌙 Meanwhile... The Andrews Mansion
Across the city, in a penthouse painted in gold and moonlight, Ravin Andrew was having a quiet panic attack.
"This is it," he said, pacing around his room in silk pajamas. "This is how I die. I haven't even turned twenty-seven and I'm gonna be murdered by my own husband."
"Exaggerate more, why don't you?" came Rylie's voice from his bed.
His younger sister was lying upside-down on his mattress in a glittery face mask, scrolling her phone and giggling at memes.
"You don't understand, Rylie," Ravin muttered, running a hand through his soft, tousled hair. "Lucas Ellison doesn't even like breathing near me. He literally flinched when I said hi at the charity gala."
"Well, maybe he's shy," she offered, clearly not taking him seriously.
"He's not shy," Ravin hissed. "He's the mafia's golden boy. He once killed a man with a pen. A pen, Rylie!"
Rylie kicked her legs lazily. "Okay but like... that's kinda hot?"
"You're sick."
"Whatever. You're dramatic." She rolled over, peeking at him. "Admit it, though… You've always had a thing for brooding killers."
Ravin froze mid-step. "I have not."
"You tried to write a romance novel called 'Blood in a Suit'."
"…That was private."
Rylie giggled. "Look, all I'm saying is — maybe this won't be the worst thing ever. Maybe he'll warm up to you. Maybe he'll fall madly in love, and you'll ride off into the sunset on his Ducati, leaving behind a trail of rose petals and corpses."
Ravin gave her a deadpan look. "You're too comfortable with murder."
She winked. "And you're too afraid of love."
That shut him up.
Outside, rain began to fall — soft and slow, like the calm before a very big storm.
---
🌌 In the dark…
Lucas stood alone in his room, arms crossed, staring out the tall window as the city lights blurred in the rain.
His phone buzzed.
Incoming message from Lillian: "Be ready. The engagement party is this Friday. Don't embarrass me."
He didn't reply.
Instead, he walked to his wall safe, opened it, and took out a pistol.
He turned it over in his hand, not even loading it — just thinking.
"Ravin Andrew," he whispered to himself.
Then, he smiled.
Not the nice kind.
The kind that ends with someone bleeding.
Chapter 1 ends.
Thanks for reading💖.