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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Elle

The morning light filters in through my window, soft and hazy. I’m not ready to face today. I’m not ready to leave the small space I’ve carved out for myself, but here I am. The sound of a knock at the door snaps me out of my thoughts, and I glance at the clock. It’s early, much too early for someone to be here. I didn’t buzz anyone in and Candy has her own key.

I stand up and walk toward the door, my mind swirling with the uncertainty of the day ahead.

When I open it, I’m surprised to find Seb standing there, holding two cups of coffee and a small pastry bag, the smell of which sets my mouth watering. His presence is calm, unassuming, and oddly comforting. His eyes flicker to mine, and for a brief moment, there’s no mask, no business arrangement between us – just him, looking at me with quiet understanding.

“I brought you coffee,” he says, holding out one of the cups. “And a cherry Danish. I know it was once your favourite.”

I’m taken aback, the simple gesture somehow cutting through the tension I’ve been holding all morning. Cherry Danish...of course he would remember. I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, accepting the coffee and pastry. “It still is. I’m a sucker for anything cherry.”

For a moment, it feels like I’m not trapped in a world of contracts and expectations. It’s just me and Seb, and this small act of kindness.

He steps inside without asking, but I don’t mind. His presence is warm, his usual controlled energy softened this morning. “I’ll give you a moment,” he says, looking around my apartment, noticing the boxes and the faint sense of unease in the air. “I’ll let the movers get started. You take your time.”

I watch him move out of the way as the removal men begin packing up my things. There’s a sense of finality in the air, and I try to push down the sadness creeping up my throat. This isn’t my home anymore. I knew this day would come, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

Seb stands by, patient, while I lock up the flat for the last time. Every step I take away from the place I’ve lived for years feels like I’m losing a part of myself. My thoughts spiral, but I keep my face calm, trying not to let the emotional weight of the situation show.

When I’m finally ready, I turn to Seb, who’s been quietly waiting, hands in the pockets of his worn leather jacket, a silent support. His expression is soft, his eyes searching mine for any hint of hesitation. “I know this is hard,” he says quietly, his voice steady and kind. “But this isn’t forever, Elle. You don’t have to give up your home. We’ll make it work.”

I nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. His words, meant to soothe, only stir something deeper within me. He’s being thoughtful, so much more than I expected. And yet, I can’t let myself soften too much. I can’t let him in, not when we’re standing on the edge of something neither of us fully understands.

“I know,” I reply, my voice hoarse but firm. “We’ll figure it out.”

Seb smiles, but there’s something pained behind his eyes. “We will. I promise.”

We make our way to his sleek sports car parked outside, the kind of car that matches the cold, calculated image his family has built around him. It’s fast, sharp – everything about it screams power. Everything about it makes me feel small.

The drive to the Sterling-Knight estate is quiet. Eventually we approach the sprawling mansion, set back behind iron gates standing tall, like a barrier between the life I’ve known and the one I’m being thrust into. I’m not ready for this, even though my parents have raised me for this moment my whole life. But as Seb turns to me, his expression unreadable, I know there’s no going back.

We pass the gates of the estate and a long, winding drive is flanked by perfectly manicured hedges. The kind of place that screams power, wealth, and harsh, unyielding expectations. I take a deep breath, trying to steel myself for what’s to come. The mansion is even more imposing up close, a testament to his family’s power and influence. Everything about it feels... cold. It’s all so perfect, but clinical. The kind of place that feels like it was built to keep people out, to keep emotions at bay. A facade.

Seb steps out of the car first, circling the bonnet to open my door for me. His hand is extended, but I hesitate, my stomach twisting. I don’t want him to touch me, not right now. But I take his hand anyway, trying to ignore the familiar spark that shoots through me at the contact. His warmth is a stark contrast to the chill of the mansion looming before us.

As we walk up to the entrance, I feel every step beneath me, each one heavier than the last. This is it. The life I’ve agreed to live, even if it’s just for the next twelve months. I keep reminding myself: it’s just business. Just a contract.

I square my shoulders.

It’s showtime.

Seb opens the front door, and I step into the mansion, the weight of my decision pressing down harder than ever. The grandeur of the house is almost suffocating, with its sweeping marble floors and glittering chandeliers. Everything here is designed to intimidate, to remind you of just how small you are compared to this family’s power.

Seb walks beside me, his hand hovering near the small of my back like he’s afraid I might bolt. I don’t blame him. If I could, I might.

“This way,” he says quietly, leading me through the house.

The dining room is just as extravagant as the rest of the mansion. The long mahogany table gleams under the soft glow of the chandelier, set with delicate china and crystal glasses. Alexander is already seated at the head, his posture straight, his expression unreadable.

“Ah, there you are,” he says, his tone calm but carrying that edge of command I’ve come to expect. “Join me for breakfast.”

Seb pulls out a chair for me, his hand brushing my back as I sit. I steel myself, donning the polished mask I’ve learned to wear for situations like this.

Alexander watches us closely as a servant pours coffee into delicate porcelain cups and sets plates of eggs and fruit before us. The silence stretches, oppressive and heavy, until Alexander breaks it.

“You’ve settled in, I trust?” he asks, his gaze flicking between the two of us.

“We literally just got here,” Seb mutters under his breath.

“As much as we can in such a short time,” I reply evenly, keeping my tone neutral.

“Good,” Alexander says, his voice measured. “This arrangement is unconventional, yes, but I expect it to be handled properly. Appearances are everything in this family. The media will scrutinize your every move, and I won’t tolerate any hint of impropriety.”

Seb stiffens beside me, his grip tightening on his fork, but he doesn’t speak.

Alexander continues, his gaze fixed on Seb now. “Which brings me to a point of logistics. You’ll be sharing a room.”

I freeze, my fork pausing mid-air. Seb sits up straighter, his jaw tightening.

“We’ll do no such thing,” Seb says firmly, his tone measured but resolute. “Elle deserves her own space.”

Alexander’s brow arches, his gaze turning steely. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re engaged. People will expect you to behave as such. Separate rooms would raise questions, don’t you think?”

“I don’t see why it’s necessary,” Seb counters, his voice sharpening.

Alexander sets his coffee cup down with a soft clink, his movements deliberate. “Why the protest, Sebastian? You’ve never been shy about sharing a bed before.”

Seb’s face flushes, and I glance away, heat crawling up my neck.

“This is different,” Seb says through gritted teeth.

“Different how?” Alexander presses, his voice cold.

Seb hesitates, and I can feel the tension radiating off him. Finally, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Elle and I have decided to wait until we’re married.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Alexander stares at us, his expression unreadable, before letting out a sharp laugh. “Wait? What is this, some religious nonsense? Are her parents zealots?”

“No,” I say quickly, my voice shaking but firm. “It’s...it’s a personal choice.”

Alexander leans back in his chair, studying me with a piercing gaze that feels like it could see right through me. “How quaint,” he says finally, his tone laced with condescension. “But I won’t budge on this. You’ll share a room. You don’t have to consummate your relationship, but you can certainly sleep in the same bed. Or Sebastian can take the couch. Or the floor. I don’t care. But separate rooms are out of the question.”

I glance at Seb, who looks like he’s barely holding himself together. His jaw clenches, but he nods. “Fine,” he says tersely.

“Good.” Alexander rises from the table, smoothing down his suit jacket. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Remember, appearances are everything. Don’t disappoint me.”

With that, he strides out of the room, leaving an oppressive silence in his wake.

I don’t dare look at Seb, my emotions are too raw to face him right now. The humiliation of Alexander’s words burns in my chest, and I grip my fork tightly to keep my hands from shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Seb says finally, his voice quiet but sincere.

“It’s not your fault,” I reply, though the words feel hollow.

“It is,” he insists, his frustration evident. “I should’ve known he’d pull something like this. He’s testing us.”

“Well, we’d better pass the test,” I say, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.

Seb sighs, leaning back in his chair and running a hand over his face. “I’ll take the couch. You won’t have to worry about me.”

I nod, though the thought of sharing even the same space as him feels overwhelming. “Thanks,” I say quietly.

We sit in silence for a moment before Seb pushes back his chair and stands. “Come on,” he says, his tone soft. “I’ll show you to our room.”

The walk to the bedroom suite is overwhelming with everything that the mansion has to offer, my thoughts too chaotic to focus on anything specific right now. I guess I’ll have time to make myself at home later anyway.

When Seb opens the door, I step inside, taking in the opulent room. The massive bed dominates the space, its dark, luxurious bedding a stark contrast to the sterile white walls. The room feels more like a stage than a sanctuary, a place designed for appearances rather than comfort.

Seb lingers in the doorway, watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. “I’ll let you get settled,” he says after a moment. “I’ll...be out of your way.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. As the door closes softly behind him, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.

This is my life now. A life of appearances and performances, of navigating a world I don’t understand and trying to survive under the weight of expectations that aren’t my own.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, staring at the room around me. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. But I know one thing for certain: I can’t let them see me break.

The morning light filters through the tall windows of the bedroom, soft and golden. My new home is undeniably beautiful, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m a stranger in a place I don’t belong. After finishing unpacking, I find myself restless. I need to escape this room, this gilded prison that feels more like a set than a space meant to be lived in.

Pulling on a cardigan, I step into the hallway. The mansion is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that swallows sound and leaves you hyper-aware of every creak of the floorboards. I half expect to find Seb waiting somewhere, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

I wander aimlessly for what feels like an eternity, each corridor blending into the next with its ornate furniture, gilded mirrors, and opulent light fixtures. My heels click against the marble floors, a sound that feels too loud in the emptiness.

Finally, I catch sight of a figure ahead – an older woman with graying hair neatly pinned back, carrying an armful of pristine linens. Relief washes over me.

“Excuse me,” I say, quickening my pace to catch up with her.

She turns, her face softening with a kind smile. “You must be Miss Elle,” she says warmly, her tone brisk yet friendly.

“That’s me,” I reply, slightly breathless. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I seem to have gotten a bit lost.”

Her smile widens. “It’s no bother, dear. This house has a way of doing that to people. I’m Mrs. Murray, the housekeeper. Would you like me to show you around?”

“I’d appreciate that,” I say sincerely.

Mrs. Murray launches into the tour with a practiced efficiency, pointing out the key areas of the mansion. The formal reception room, with its towering ceilings and antique chandeliers, is followed by the ballroom, a cavernous space with polished floors that gleam under the light streaming through arched windows. We pass the family wing, the expansive kitchen, and the private study, each room more extravagant than the last.

“It’s all so...overwhelming,” I admit as we stop in front of a pair of intricately carved double doors.

Mrs. Murray chuckles softly. “It takes some getting used to. But I thought you might appreciate this room.” She pushes open the doors, and my breath catches.

The library is nothing short of breathtaking. Two stories of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stretch upward, connected by a wrought-iron spiral staircase. A pair of overstuffed armchairs sit near a large window, which bathes the room in warm, natural light. The scent of aged paper and polished wood fills the air. The only thing lacking is an inglenook fireplace, which would make it sheer perfection in my eyes.

“It’s stunning,” I whisper, stepping inside.

“Mr. Alexander spends a lot of time here,” Mrs. Murray says, lingering by the door. “But it’s open to you anytime, of course. If you need anything, just pull the cord near the desk.” She gestures to a velvet cord hanging by the doorway before turning to leave.

“Thank you, Mrs. Murray,” I call after her, my voice laced with gratitude.

Left alone, I wander through the library, running my fingers along the spines of the books. The collection is vast, a mix of classics, rare editions, and what appear to be first prints of literary masterpieces. I pull out a copy of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ and settle into one of the armchairs by the window.

As I read, my mind drifts to the stack of second-hand romance novels I left behind in my flat. The books that have been my escape, my comfort, their pages creased and stained from being read and reread. They’re nothing like the pristine volumes in this library, and I can’t help but mourn their absence.

Maybe I should get a Kindle like Seb suggested, I think idly. It’s a fleeting thought, but the idea of being able to read whatever I want, hidden behind a screen, brings a faint smile to my lips.

The hours pass unnoticed as I lose myself in Austen’s prose, the world outside fading away. It’s only when a shadow falls across my page, that I realise I’m no longer alone.

I glance up to find Alexander standing in the doorway, his imposing figure framed by the afternoon light. His presence is like a cold wind, sharp and unsettling.

“Elle,” he says, stepping into the room. His tone is polite, but there’s an undercurrent of something sharper.

I close the book, placing it on the side table as I rise to my feet. “Mr. Sterling-Knight,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

“Alexander,” he corrects, his gaze unwavering as he approaches. “I thought we might have a chat.”

“Of course,” I reply, though my stomach tightens at his tone.

He motions for me to sit, and I comply, sinking back into the armchair. He takes the seat opposite me, his posture straight, his demeanor controlled.

“I’ll be frank,” he says, folding his hands in his lap. “I don’t believe this relationship between you and Sebastian is genuine.”

I blink, startled by his bluntness. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

His lips curl into a faint, humorless smile. “The sudden engagement. The secrecy. It doesn’t add up. So, I’ll ask again – what’s your game?”

“There’s no game,” I say firmly, my heart racing. “Seb and I care about each other. This isn’t some ploy.”

Alexander leans back slightly, his sharp eyes studying me. “If that’s true, then you won’t object to signing an iron-clad prenuptial agreement. No money, no assets, if this marriage falls apart. A clear line between what belongs to this family and what you might think you’re entitled to.”

The insinuation stings, but I keep my expression calm. “I’m not here for your money, Alexander. My family has plenty of that already and I make enough that I can live comfortably and contentedly. I’m here because I love your son.”

He raises a brow, his skepticism clear. “Love?”

“Yes,” I say, leaning forward. “I’ve known Seb since we were kids. He was my brother’s best friend and there’s always been a connection between us, but we needed time to grow into the people we are now. It wasn’t the right time before, but it is now.”

His gaze narrows. “And why the sudden engagement?”

I hesitate before answering, choosing my words carefully. “We wanted to be sure of each other before bringing it to our families. Relationships are complicated, and we didn’t want outside expectations to influence our decisions. When we knew it was real, we didn’t see a reason to wait.”

The silence that follows is heavy, each second stretching unbearably. Alexander’s expression is unreadable, his piercing gaze never leaving mine.

Finally, he nods slowly. “A compelling story,” he says, though his tone remains skeptical. “But I’ll be watching, Elle. If I sense even the slightest hint of deception, you’ll regret it.”

With that, he stands and leaves the room, his presence as commanding in his departure as it was during our conversation.

I sink back into the chair, my body trembling with the effort it took to maintain my composure. The exhaustion is overwhelming, but I refuse to let it consume me. Not here. Not now.

Needing solace, I retreat to the suite I now share with Seb. The oversized bathtub beckons, and I fill it with steaming water, adding a generous splash of jasmine oil, surprised that Seb has the bathroom already stocked with all of my favourite products. Or maybe Mrs. Murray did it. Either way, Seb still would have had to have told her what I like, and the idea is strangely touching.

As I sink into the bath, the warmth wraps around me like a cocoon. My mind races, replaying every moment of the conversation with Alexander, every word I carefully crafted to maintain the charade. The pressure is crushing, but for now, I let it fade into the background.

For now, I allow myself this small moment of peace.