Chapter 44 I Am Your Pawn, Father!

Chapter 44 I Am Your Pawn, Father!
The night in the mansion was quiet - almost deceptively peaceful.

The sound of laughter still filled the house.

It looked perfect - as if there was no problem in the world.

But perfection, Elena knew, was nothing more than an illusion her father loved to maintain.

She sat beside Caspian - or Cas, as people affectionately called him. Her smile was tight, and her fingers were nervously twisting in her lap.

Across the table, Victor laughed heartily, his glass of vodka raised high in toast with Mr. and Mrs. Volkov.

To anyone watching, it looked like a scene of family harmony - two great families united, the father proud, the daughter glowing, and the suitor charming.

But inside Elena's chest, her heart was trembling like a bird trapped behind golden bars.

Damian stood quietly behind her chair, silent and unreadable as ever.

His sharp eyes flicked between Elena and Caspian, and each time Caspian leaned closer, something dark and unspoken flashed behind Damian's calm expression.

He was the picture of composure, but Elena could sense his discomfort.

And she didn't know whether to feel flattered... or terrified.

After dessert, the butler - the same elderly woman who had served the Lancaster family since Elena was a child - approached with her usual grace.

"Sir, shall I prepare another vodka?" she asked softly.

Victor smiled, his eyes glinting. "Yes, please, Margaret. And take some bottles to the Volkovs' rooms as well. They deserve the best tonight."

"As you wish, sir."

As she turned away, Victor's gaze flicked toward Damian. "Cole, make sure our guests are comfortable."

"Yes, sir." He said.

He bowed slightly and stepped back, though his eyes, for a fraction of a second, met Elena's. It was a fleeting glance - brief, almost imperceptible - but enough to send her pulse racing.

Caspian noticed their exchange.

He didn't say anything, but his hand slid gently across the couch and found hers.

Elena stiffened, startled, but before she could pull away, he smiled warmly and - in front of everyone - lifted her hand to his lips.

"Good night, Elena," he said softly, his voice carrying just the right balance of charm and respect. Then, before she could react, he leaned in and kissed her cheek.

A collective murmur of approval filled the room. Mrs. Volkov smiled approvingly. Victor chuckled, his chest swelling with pride.

But Elena - Elena froze. She was mortified.

Her stomach knotted, her skin burned where his lips had touched, and for a moment, her entire body went rigid.

She wanted to pull back, to shout, to tell him to stop - but her father's proud eyes were watching, the guests were smiling, and she knew exactly what would happen if she embarrassed him tonight.

So she forced a smile.

"Good night, Caspian," she murmured softly, her voice calm despite the turmoil inside her.

He smiled one last time before turning to follow his parents. The butler led them upstairs to their rooms.

When they were gone, Victor exhaled deeply, setting his glass down. His smile was wide and triumphant.

"My princess," he said warmly, standing up and walking toward her. "The dinner went perfectly. You were wonderful tonight."

He reached out and hugged her, and for a moment, Elena froze again, not out of surprise, but because it felt so fake.

Her father's arms were strong but heavy - like a cage.

"You've made me proud," he whispered against her hair. "Finally."

Elena didn't hug him back.

When he released her, she took a small step back, her eyes glistening under the light. "Father..."

Victor smiled, still riding the high of his success. "Yes, my dear?"

Her lips trembled slightly. "Did you plan this?"

His smile faltered. "Plan what?"

"Caspian," she said quietly, her voice shaking. "Did you plan for him to come here... because of me?"

Victor blinked, his expression unreadable for a second before he gave a small, uneasy laugh. "Elena, what are you talking about? He's your childhood friend. You loved him, remember."

Her throat tightened. "He told me everything, Father. About the marriage."

The air in the room changed instantly. The warmth evaporated.

Victor's smile vanished completely.

"Elena," he said slowly, "you shouldn't listen to things you don't understand."

Her fists clenched. "I understand perfectly. You want me to marry him - for business. For your alliance."

Victor's brow furrowed. "Lower your voice," he warned sharply, glancing toward the door. "Do you want the Volkovs to hear you?"

Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to look away. "Father, is that all I am to you? A... a pawn for your empire?"

Victor exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Elena, don't make this difficult. You're overreacting. This isn't about control - it's about securing your future."

"My future?" she repeated bitterly. "You're choosing it for me! You've been choosing everything for me since I was born!"

Her voice cracked on the last word, but she quickly lowered it, afraid the guests might hear. "Was that the reason I was born? To be traded for your business?"

Victor's face darkened. "That's enough, Elena."

"No," she whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks. "You've done enough. You've controlled my life, my decisions, everything. I can't breathe in this house, Father. Can't you see?"

Victor's jaw clenched. His tone softened, but only slightly. "Elena, I'm doing this for you. This empire, this house, this legacy - it's all yours. Everything I've built, every deal I've made - it's for your future. So that when I'm gone, you'll never have to suffer a single day."

Her heart twisted painfully. "And what about what I want, Father?"

He looked at her blankly. "What you want doesn't matter right now."

Elena's chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath heavier than the last. For a moment, she stared at him, the powerful man, the tycoon, the father she had once adored, and all she could see was a stranger wearing her father's face.

Finally, she whispered, "Good night, Father."

She turned sharply and walked toward the door, tears blurring her vision.

"Elena!" Victor called after her, but she didn't stop.

When she reached her room, she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, gasping as if she'd run for miles.

The tears she'd been holding back came crashing down.

She pressed her palms to her face and slid to the floor, her shoulders shaking silently.

Outside her door, the butler, Margaret, had seen everything - had heard everything. She stood by the staircase, her old, kind eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Oh, my poor child..." she whispered softly, pressing a hand to her chest.

She had served this family for over thirty years. She had seen Elena grow from a giggling little girl chasing butterflies into a young woman burdened by loneliness and expectation. And in all those years, she had never seen her smile truly reach her eyes since her mother's death.

"If Madam Lancaster were still alive, she would never have allowed this."

Margaret wiped her eyes quickly and turned back toward her quarters, whispering prayers under her breath. "Dear God, please protect her. She's all alone in this cold house."

Meanwhile, Victor stood in the middle of the silent hall, staring at the closed door his daughter had just slammed.

"Elena," he murmured under his breath, a tired smile tugging at his lips. "My dear girl... you'll never understand your father's worry."

He turned toward the window, staring into the darkness where the faint glow of the garden lights was.

"Whether you hate me or not, everything I do - it's for you. For us. For the family."

He sighed, finishing his drink before whispering to himself, "Your mother would have loved this. I'm doing this for her, too..."

With that, he placed the glass down, straightened his tie, and walked down the corridor toward his room.

The house grew quiet again.

But behind one of the doors - just across from Elena's - another soul wasn't sleeping.

Damian sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the faint light seeping through the crack under his door. He had heard the raised voices. He had heard her cry.

And every sound had cut him deeper than he cared to admit.

He leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and ran a hand through his hair.

He could still see her even when he closed his eyes - the hurt in her eyes, the tremble in her voice, the way she had run from the room trying to hold herself together.

It tore through him.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered, his voice low and hoarse. "You were supposed to be just my pawn. But now..."

His fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms until they almost broke skin.

But deep down, he knew - no amount of denial could undo what was already happening.

Somewhere between the lies, the revenge, and the walls he'd built, Elena Lancaster had slipped past his defenses.

And for the first time in years... Damian Cole was afraid.

Not of Victor.
Not of being discovered.
But of what he was starting to feel.

Because emotions - love, guilt, longing - those were far more dangerous than any enemy he had ever faced.

And Elena?

She was becoming his greatest weakness.