The diamond on her finger sparkled like betrayal.
It was too big and too flawless. Like everything about this life Dominic forced on her. Elena stood in front of a wall of paparazzi, lights flashing like strobe grenades, her arm looped through his, her face frozen in a practised smile.
Behind her eyes, she screamed.
The press conference was staged perfectly: gold velvet drapes, a podium with the Blackwell Industries insignia, and glasses of champagne lined like little traps. The crowd buzzed, reporters salivating at the spectacle.
Dominic leaned into the mic like a king addressing his court.
"It is with great honour that I announce my engagement to the extraordinary Elena Hart. A woman whose strength, grace, and talent have captivated me."
A murmur of admiration spread through the room.
Elena wanted to choke.
He made her out to be his saviour, his muse, his lover. In truth, she was a prisoner in designer heels.
When it was her turn to speak, Elena's fingers trembled. She stared into the sea of flashing cameras and forced the words out.
"I'm... grateful. And proud. Dominic has changed my life."
That part was true. He'd changed her life. He'd stolen it.
Back at the penthouse, the silence was suffocating.
Elena kicked off the heels with a shaky breath and turned to him. "Was that good enough for your board? Or do you want me to kiss your boots next?"
Dominic loosened his tie, not even flinching. "That performance was acceptable. Barely."
"You're sick," she spat. "You act like you're saving me. You're just replacing one abuser with another."
He didn't blink. "I gave you everything."
"You took everything."
He stepped toward her, slowly, like a shadow growing on the wall. "I gave you safety. Power. A name. You think freedom is found on the street with empty pockets and broken bones?"
She tried to stand her ground, but her voice cracked. "I'd rather be hungry than yours."
His eyes darkened.
Then, in a terrifying calm voice, he said, "Take off the ring, and I'll send you back. Back to the shelter. Back to your guardian. Back to being invisible."
She froze.
"I will make sure your name is blacklisted. No studio will touch you. You'll be nothing again."
Her fingers clenched around the ring.
"You said you wanted to be a star," he whispered, brushing her hair back. "This is the price."
Her voice was barely a whisper. "And what do you get out of it?"
For a second, something flickered in his eyes. A fracture in the armour.
"I get control," he said.
But it sounded more like a confession than a victory.
The next day, Elena's photo was everywhere. Magazine–covers, headlines, trending searches. "The Cinderella of Blackwell Tower." "Billionaire Bachelor Finally Tamed." "Who Is Elena Hart?"
Everyone wanted to know who she was.
None of them cared who she used to be.
Marla handed her a schedule that made her stomach‐turn interviews, red-carpet galas, and product endorsements. Every minute was scripted. Every answer was rehearsed.
One slip, and the illusion would crack.
"Don't make him regret you," Marla said, voice tight.
But the true nightmare began that evening.
Dominic called her into his study after midnight.
"Sit," he said, pointing to the leather armchair across from him.
She sat. Rigid. Silent.
"You've been reading things you shouldn't," he said without looking up. "Digging into the past."
Elena's heart dropped. He knew about the newspaper clipping.
"I wasn't-"
"Lies bore me," he cut in. "My mother's death is not your story to unravel."
"I just wanted to understand-"
"No, you wanted leverage!." He stood now, pacing. "You thought if you understood me, you could outmanoeuver me. That if I was broken once, you might find a crack to escape through."
"That's not true," she said, but even she wasn't sure anymore.
He turned on her, his voice cold enough to freeze air.
"I watched my mother die," he said. "I watched my father drag her to the edge. I heard her last scream. Do you know what she said before she jumped?"
Elena couldn't answer.
"She said, 'I couldn't save myself. But maybe you can learn how'."
His hands trembled, just for a second.
"Everything I've built... every wall I've raised... is so I don't end like her. So I will never become him."
Elena's chest tightened.
"And yet," he said, softly now, almost to himself, "here I am-dragging another woman into a cage."
The silence between them was unbearable.
"You're not your father," she said.
"But I'm not my mother either," he replied. "She died trying to be good."
The next morning, Elena receives an anonymous envelope slipped under her door. Inside: photos.
Dominic.
With another woman.
But these aren't intimate shots. They're violent. The woman looks terrified. Her wrist is bruised where he's grabbing her arm.
Written across the back of one photo:
"He's done this before. You're next."
Elena stares at the photos, he
r hands shaking.
Because the woman in the pictures... is dead.
Murdered three years ago.
And Dominic Blackwell was never charged.