Elara's POV
"Your brother tried to kill me?"
Elara's voice came out as a whisper, but inside she was screaming. The broken glass glittered at her feet like sharp stars.
Dorian turned from the window, his face grim. "Vincent hired people to burn your workshop. I didn't know until tonight—I got the information an hour before I found you."
"Why?" Elara's hands clenched into fists. "I've never even met him!"
"Because you're dangerous to his plans." Dorian crossed the room and crouched down, carefully picking up the larger glass pieces. "Vincent wants alchemy and mechanical magic to stay separate. He's been working to keep them at war for years."
"That doesn't make sense. Why would he care?"
"Control." Dorian dropped the glass into a nearby waste bin. "If both disciplines are fighting each other, neither one gets too powerful. Vincent can manipulate both sides, play them against each other. But if someone proved they could work together..." He looked up at her. "That someone becomes a threat."
Elara's mind raced. "My father. He was working on collaboration. That's why Vincent—"
"I think so. Yes."
The room tilted. Elara grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself.
Her father hadn't died from heart failure. He'd been murdered. Because he'd tried to do something good. Something revolutionary.
And now Vincent was trying to kill her too.
"I'm going to be sick," she whispered.
"Bathroom's down the hall on the left."
Elara ran. She barely made it before her stomach emptied everything—which wasn't much since she'd barely eaten. She knelt on the cold tile floor, shaking and crying and trying not to scream.
Everything was connected. Marcus stealing her research. The Guild turning against her. Her workshop burning. All of it led back to one man she'd never met.
Vincent Ashcroft.
A soft knock on the door. "Elara?"
"Go away," she choked out.
"I'm coming in." The door opened. Dorian knelt beside her, holding out a wet cloth. "Here."
Elara wanted to tell him to leave her alone. Wanted to be strong and proud and unbreakable.
Instead, she took the cloth and wiped her face, feeling pathetic.
"I hate this," she said. "I hate being weak. I hate needing help. I hate that people keep trying to destroy me."
"You're not weak." Dorian's voice was surprisingly gentle. "You're one of the strongest people I know. You've survived two years of hell and you're still fighting. That's not weakness."
"I'm crying on a bathroom floor."
"Even warriors need to rest sometimes."
Elara laughed bitterly. "Is that what I am? A warrior?"
"Yes." He said it like it was a simple fact. "You're fighting a war. And wars aren't won alone."
She looked at him—really looked. His expensive clothes were still damp from the rain. His dark hair was messy. His gray eyes held something that looked almost like... respect?
"Why do you care?" she asked. "We've hated each other for years."
Dorian was quiet for a moment. Then: "I never hated you. I envied you."
"What?"
"You had passion. Real love for your work. I saw it every time you talked about alchemy—your eyes would light up like you'd discovered magic for the first time." He smiled sadly. "I chose mechanical magic because my father wanted me to. Because it was practical and profitable. But you... you chose alchemy because you believed in it. I envied that."
Elara didn't know what to say. This wasn't the arrogant rival she remembered.
"Those things I said at university," Dorian continued. "Calling your work outdated, saying alchemy was dying—I was trying to convince myself my choice was better. But I was wrong. I've always known I was wrong."
"You had a terrible way of showing it."
"I know." He stood and offered his hand. "Let's start over. Hi, I'm Dorian Ashcroft. I'm an idiot who wasted four years fighting with the most brilliant person he ever met."
Despite everything, Elara smiled. She took his hand and let him pull her up.
"Hi. I'm Elara Veylin. I'm a stubborn alchemist who's probably going to regret this fake engagement."
"Probably," Dorian agreed. "But at least we'll regret it together."
They walked back to the main room. Outside, rain still poured down, washing the city clean.
"Tell me about the dinner tomorrow," Elara said, needing to focus on something she could control. "What should I expect?"
Dorian's expression hardened. "Vincent will try to break you. He'll ask about your past, your scandal, everything painful. He'll smile while he does it, like he's being friendly. But every word will be a knife."
"Sounds like Marcus."
"Worse than Marcus. Vincent is smarter and has no heart at all." Dorian poured himself another drink. "You'll also meet the household staff. Some are loyal to me. Some report everything to Vincent. Trust no one."
"Wonderful. This keeps getting better."
"There's more." Dorian hesitated. "To make this engagement believable, we need to act like a real couple. That means..."
"No." Elara's face heated. "Absolutely not. I'm not kissing you."
"I wasn't going to suggest that!" Dorian looked flustered. "I meant holding hands. Maybe sitting close at dinner. Things couples do."
"Oh." Now Elara felt stupid. "Right. That."
"Although if Vincent thinks we're not physically affectionate, he'll know something's wrong." Dorian wouldn't meet her eyes. "Real couples touch each other. We'll have to at least pretend we're... attracted."
The air between them suddenly felt charged. Elara remembered that moment in the alley when Dorian had knelt with the ring. How intense his eyes had been. How her heart had stuttered despite her anger.
No. This was business. Nothing more.
"Fine," she said coldly. "We'll act affectionate in public. But the second we're alone, you stay on your side of the room."
"Agreed." Dorian looked relieved. "You can take the guest bedroom tonight. It's next to mine. Lyra's on the floor below."
"I should go talk to her. Explain everything."
"Tomorrow. Tonight you need rest." He gestured to a door. "There's clothes in the closet that should fit. They were my mother's."
Something in his voice made Elara pause. "What happened to her?"
"She died when I was fifteen. Some kind of illness the doctors couldn't cure." Dorian's jaw tightened. "My father tried everything—every alchemist, every doctor, every healer. Nothing worked. He became obsessed with finding a cure after she died. I think it drove him mad."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was a long time ago." But his eyes said it still hurt.
Elara understood grief. She'd lost her father too. Different circumstances, but the same hollow ache.
"Get some sleep," Dorian said. "Tomorrow we face Vincent, and you'll need your strength."
Elara nodded and headed for the guest room. At the door, she paused.
"Dorian? Thank you. For saving me tonight."
"We're partners now. Partners protect each other." He smiled slightly. "Even if we're just pretending."
"Right. Pretending."
She went into the bedroom and closed the door, leaning against it.
The room was beautiful. Soft bed with silk sheets. A window overlooking the city. Everything she'd lost when Marcus destroyed her life.
Elara walked to the window and looked out at the rain. Somewhere out there, Marcus was probably celebrating. Thinking he'd won again.
And Vincent—the man who'd killed her father—was planning how to destroy her at dinner tomorrow.
But they didn't know what she knew now. They didn't know she had Dorian's resources. His protection. His help.
They'd underestimated her before. They wouldn't make that mistake again.
Elara touched the ring on her finger—the fake engagement ring that was now her shield against her enemies.
"I'm coming for all of you," she whispered to the city. "And I won't stop until you've lost everything, just like I did."
Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the room for a brief second.
In that flash of light, Elara saw something that made her blood freeze.
There was an envelope on the bed.
She hadn't noticed it before. White paper with her name written in elegant handwriting.
With trembling hands, she picked it up and opened it.
Inside was a single card with a message written in red ink that looked disturbingly like blood:
"Welcome to the family, dear sister. I've been waiting to meet you. Come to dinner tomorrow wearing the dress in the closet—the black one with the silver trim. I want you to look perfect when I destroy you.
Your loving future brother-in-law, Vincent"
Elara's scream brought Dorian running.
He burst through the door, eyes wild. "What happened?"
Wordlessly, she handed him the card.
His face went white as he read it. Then he crushed the card in his fist, his whole body shaking with rage.
"He was here," Dorian said quietly. "In my home. While we were gone. He was here."
"How did he know?" Elara's voice came out high and scared. "We just made this deal an hour ago! How did he already know?"
Dorian's eyes met hers, and what she saw there terrified her more than the threatening note.
"Because someone told him," he said. "Someone in this building is working for Vincent. Someone who's been watching us since we arrived."
A door slammed somewhere in the apartment.
They both froze.
"Did Lyra—" Elara started.
"Lyra's floor is soundproofed." Dorian moved in front of her protectively. "That came from inside this apartment."
Another sound. Footsteps. Slow and deliberate, coming down the hallway toward them.
Dorian grabbed a heavy bookend from the nightstand, the only weapon available.
The footsteps stopped right outside the bedroom door.
The doorknob began to turn.