Elara's POV
"Surrender?" Elara's voice shook but she forced herself to stand tall. "I don't surrender to murderers."
Vincent's smile widened. "Murderer? That's a strong accusation. Do you have proof?"
"You killed my father."
"Did I?" Vincent circled her slowly. "Or did a sick old man simply die? Where's your evidence, Miss Veylin?"
Elara's hands clenched into fists. He was right. She had no proof. Just Dorian's suspicions and her own rage.
"That's what I thought." Vincent stopped in front of her. "Now, let's be civilized about this. You have two choices—"
The library doors exploded inward.
Dorian stood in the doorway, breathing hard, his eyes wild. Behind him, mechanical locks sparked and smoked from where he'd forced them open.
"Get away from her," Dorian said quietly. Dangerously.
Vincent laughed. "Brother! I was just getting to know your lovely fiancée. We were having such a nice chat."
"By locking her in?" Dorian moved between them protectively. "That's kidnapping, Vincent."
"Kidnapping? Don't be dramatic. I simply wanted privacy." Vincent's expression turned mocking. "Though I'm surprised you care so much. This engagement is fake, isn't it? A desperate scheme to get your inheritance?"
Elara's heart stopped. How did he know?
"I don't know what you're talking about," Dorian said.
"Please. You think I'm stupid?" Vincent pulled out a document. "I have investigators too. Elara Veylin, disgraced alchemist, moves into your apartment the same day you need to announce an engagement? Convenient timing."
"We've been seeing each other for months," Dorian lied smoothly.
"Then why does she look terrified right now?" Vincent's eyes gleamed. "Real fiancées don't flinch when their beloved walks into a room."
Elara realized she'd backed away when Dorian entered. She forced herself to step forward, closer to Dorian.
"I'm not scared of you," she told Vincent. "I'm disgusted by you."
Vincent's smile turned cruel. "Brave words. But bravery won't save you at dinner tonight. The whole family will be there, watching every move you make. One slip, one mistake, and they'll know you're lying."
"Then I won't slip." Elara lifted her chin.
"We'll see." Vincent walked to the door, pausing beside Dorian. "Enjoy your fake love, brother. It won't last the week."
He left, his laughter echoing in the hallway.
The moment he was gone, Elara's knees buckled. Dorian caught her before she fell.
"I've got you," he said softly. "You're safe."
"He knows everything," Elara gasped. "How does he know?"
"Vincent has spies everywhere. I should have warned you not to meet him alone." Dorian helped her to a chair. "What did he offer you?"
"How did you—"
"Because that's what Vincent does. He finds what people want most and offers it to them. Then he owns them." Dorian knelt in front of her. "What did he promise?"
"Revenge on Marcus. My research back. Everything." Elara met his eyes. "I said no."
Something crossed Dorian's face—relief? Gratitude? "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Dinner's in an hour and I'm terrified."
"Don't be. I'll be right beside you." Dorian squeezed her hand. "We can do this."
The dining room was massive, with a table long enough to seat twenty people. Crystal glasses glittered in candlelight. Silver plates shone.
Elara felt like she was walking to her execution.
Dorian led her in, his hand warm on her back. Around the table sat people in expensive clothes—cousins, aunts, uncles, all staring at her with curious or hostile eyes.
Vincent sat at the head of the table, smiling like a cat with a mouse.
"Everyone," Dorian announced. "This is my fiancée, Elara Veylin."
Silence. Cold, judging silence.
Then an older woman with sharp features spoke. "Veylin? Any relation to the disgraced alchemist from a few years back?"
"That was me," Elara said clearly. "I was falsely accused."
"Falsely?" The woman raised an eyebrow. "The Guild stripped your credentials."
"The Guild was wrong."
More silence. Elara felt like she was on trial.
"Sit, sit." Vincent gestured to chairs near him. "Let's eat while we get to know dear Elara better."
Dorian pulled out a chair for Elara, sitting close beside her. Under the table, his hand found hers and squeezed.
Act like a real couple, she reminded herself. Make them believe.
Servants brought course after course—soup, bread, roasted meat. Elara's empty stomach growled but she could barely eat. Every eye was on her.
"So, Miss Veylin," Vincent said pleasantly. "Tell us how you and Dorian met. I'm fascinated."
"University," Elara said. "We were rivals."
"Rivals to lovers. How romantic." Vincent's smile was poisonous. "And when did this... transformation happen?"
Elara's mind raced. They hadn't discussed their fake story enough.
"Six months ago," Dorian cut in smoothly. "We met at a symposium. Started talking about collaborative research. Things developed from there."
"Collaborative research." Vincent leaned forward. "Between alchemy and mechanical magic? How progressive."
"It's the future," Dorian said firmly.
"Is it?" Vincent turned to Elara. "Tell me, Miss Veylin—what exactly makes you worthy of my brother? You have no credentials, no laboratory, no reputation. What do you bring to this relationship besides desperation?"
The table went silent. Everyone waited for her answer.
Elara's face burned with humiliation. Every cruel word was true. She was nothing. A fraud. A disgraced nobody pretending to belong in this world.
Before she could respond, Dorian's hand tightened on hers.
"Vincent," he said coldly. "That's enough."
"I'm just asking reasonable questions—"
"She brings brilliance." Dorian's voice rang with conviction. "She brings innovation and passion and a mind sharper than anyone at this table, including you. Elara Veylin is the most brilliant alchemist of our generation, and I'm honored she agreed to marry me."
Elara's breath caught. The way he said it—so fierce, so protective—didn't sound like acting.
Their eyes met and something electric passed between them.
"How touching," Vincent said dryly. "Though I wonder—if she's so brilliant, why did the Guild—"
"The Guild was manipulated," Dorian interrupted. "By people who wanted her silenced. But the truth always comes out eventually."
Vincent's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Is that a threat, brother?"
"It's a promise."
The tension crackled like lightning about to strike.
Then Vincent laughed and raised his glass. "To the happy couple. May your love last longer than I expect."
Everyone drank. Elara's wine tasted bitter.
The rest of dinner passed in a blur of pointed questions and barely concealed insults. By the time dessert arrived, Elara's head pounded and her stomach churned.
Finally, mercifully, it ended.
"Walk with me," Dorian whispered. "You need air."
They escaped to a balcony overlooking the gardens. Elara gulped in deep breaths, trying not to cry.
"I'm sorry," Dorian said quietly. "Vincent was worse than usual."
"Did you mean it?" The words burst out before Elara could stop them. "What you said about me being brilliant?"
Dorian turned to face her. In the moonlight, his expression was unreadable.
"Every word," he said softly. "I've always thought you were brilliant. Even when I was too proud to admit it."
Elara's heart hammered. "This is just pretend. We agreed—"
"I know what we agreed." Dorian stepped closer. "But standing there, watching Vincent try to break you, defending you—that didn't feel like pretending."
"Dorian—"
"I'm not asking for anything," he said quickly. "I just needed you to know. You're not nothing. You're extraordinary."
Before Elara could respond, a scream pierced the night.
They ran back inside and found servants gathered in the hallway, staring at something on the floor.
Elara pushed through the crowd and her blood turned to ice.
It was a mechanical bird—one of the singing ones from the entrance hall. But someone had destroyed it, torn it apart with brutal violence.
And written on the wall above it in red paint were words that made Elara's stomach drop:
"TICK TOCK, LITTLE BIRD. YOUR TIME IS RUNNING OUT."
"Sir!" A servant ran up, face pale. "Miss Veylin's room—you need to see this!"
They raced upstairs. The door to Elara's beautiful bedroom hung open.
Inside, everything was destroyed.
The bed slashed to pieces. The mirror shattered. Clothes ripped and scattered.
And on the floor, arranged in a circle, were photographs.
Of Elara's father. Lying dead.
Crime scene photos that should never have existed.
Vincent appeared in the doorway, looking concerned but Elara saw the satisfaction in his eyes.
"How terrible," he said. "It seems someone doesn't want you here, Miss Veylin. Perhaps you should leave. For your own safety."
Elara stared at the photos of her dead father and felt something inside her crack.
Not break. Not shatter.
Harden.
She turned to Vincent with a smile as cold as his.
"I'm not going anywhere," she said. "This is my home now. And whoever did this just made a very big mistake."
Vincent's satisfied expression faltered.
Good.
But as everyone rushed around examining the damage, Elara noticed something that made her blood freeze.
One of the photographs wasn't of her father.
It was of Dorian's mother.
Also dead. Also a crime scene photo.
And written on the back in the same red paint:
"THEY KNEW TOO MUCH. SO DO YOU."