chapter 7
Elena's POV:
"Sebastian—" I tried to pull my hand back, scrambling toward the far door. "No. Take me back. Right now."
"Elena." His voice was maddeningly calm. "We're already here."
"I don't care!" My voice pitched higher than I intended.
I grabbed the door handle on my side, yanking it open. Cold, damp air rushed in, carrying the scent of wet earth and ancient stone.
But beyond the circular drive, there was nothing. Just that long, winding road disappearing into the fog.
Trees pressing close on all sides. Miles of private property, probably—the kind of isolation that old money bought to keep the world at arm's length. No pedestrians. No passing cars. Why would there be? People like this didn't walk anywhere. They had drivers. They had gates and security and acres of land between themselves and reality.
"It's quite remote out here," Sebastian said, still in that same reasonable tone. "Nowhere to run, nowhere to escape"—as if he were commenting on the weather rather than making a threat.
I slammed the door shut.
Pulled my knees up to my chest. Wrapped my arms around them.
No. I'm not doing this.
I heard his door open. Close. Footsteps on gravel, slow and deliberate, rounding the car.
My door opened.
Sebastian stood there, one hand on the doorframe, looking down at me.
"Elena."
I stared straight ahead at the seat in front of me. Didn't move.
"We can sit here all day if you prefer," he said mildly. "But I should warn you—Grandmother will eventually notice the car and come out to investigate. I imagine that would be more embarrassing than just getting this over with."
My jaw clenched.
"Or," he continued, and I could hear the smile creeping into his voice now, "I can carry you inside. Your choice."
My head snapped toward him.
He stood there, perfectly composed in his dark coat, one eyebrow slightly raised. Waiting.
Bastard.
The worst part was, I knew he'd do it. Would scoop me up without hesitation and carry me through those massive doors like I weighed nothing. Would probably enjoy it, the complete and utter control of it.
I wanted to scream. To hit him. To do something—anything—to wipe that controlled expression off his face.
Instead, I took a shaky breath.
My hands balled into fists against my knees.
There's no way out.
"Fine." The word came out tight. Bitter. "I'll walk."
"Good choice."
He stepped back, giving me room to unfold myself from the car.
I stood on shaking legs, my flats crunching on the gravel. The manor loomed before me, gray stone and Gothic spires cutting through the mist like a prison made of architecture.
Sebastian's hand found the small of my back. Reminding me that retreat wasn't an option.
Think, Elena. Think.
Maybe his grandmother would be one of those old-fashioned aristocrats who cared about bloodlines and social standing. Maybe she'd take one look at me—common, poor, clearly out of my depth—and throw him out for even suggesting marriage to someone so beneath him.
Yes. That was it. That was my way out.
I just had to get through this meeting. Let her see exactly what I was. Let her be horrified on my behalf.
Let her tell Sebastian no.
The massive oak doors swung open before we reached them. An elderly man in pristine formal attire stood in the entrance, his expression carefully neutral as he took us in.
"Mr. Vane." He inclined his head. "Lady Margaret is in the conservatory."
"Thank you, Alfred."
We stepped inside.
The entrance hall was... breathtaking. And terrifying. High vaulted ceilings. Ancient tapestries. A grand staircase that curved upward like something from a period drama. Everything screamed old money and established power.
The conservatory was at the back of the house—a beautiful glass-walled room filled with lush greenery and soft morning light filtering through the fog. In the center, surrounded by potted orchids and trailing ivy, sat an elderly woman in a deep purple dress that somehow managed to look both vintage and impeccably stylish.
She looked up as we entered, and I saw where Sebastian got those sharp, assessing eyes.
"Sebastian." Her voice was crisp, refined. "What an unexpected surprise."
"Grandmother." He moved forward, and I had no choice but to follow, his hand still at my back. "I'd like you to meet someone."
Those intelligent eyes shifted to me. Studied me with an intensity.
I met her gaze as steadily as I could manage, even as my heart hammered against my ribs.
"This is Elena Ross," Sebastian said. "Elena, my grandmother, Lady Margaret Vane."
"How do you do," The words came out softer than I intended, but at least they came out.
Lady Margaret's sharp expression softened almost immediately. Her eyes warmed as they traced over my face, and a small smile tugged at her lips.
"What a lovely girl," she murmured, setting down her gardening scissors. She moved toward me with surprising grace. "Come here, dear. Let me look at you properly."
Before I could process what was happening, she'd taken my hands in hers.
"Such delicate features," she said warmly. "You know, this family has always been overrun with men. Testosterone and stubbornness everywhere you look." She laughed softly. "I've been waiting for a granddaughter for years."
My heart did a strange little skip. She likes me.
"Well, Grandmother," Sebastian said, and I heard something shift in his voice—satisfaction, maybe. Triumph. "You're about to get your wish. Elena and I are getting married. So she'll be calling you Grandmother soon enough."
The warmth in Lady Margaret's face froze.
Her hands went still around mine. For a long, suspended moment, she simply stared at Sebastian, her expression caught somewhere between shock and something that looked almost like... alarm.
Yes.
The small spark of hope flared brighter in my chest.
She's horrified. She doesn't approve. She's going to shut this down.