Chapter 7 Chapter 7: The Leverage
I took the service lift at the end of the corridor, nudging the door shut with my elbow while balancing the tray. The lift was old and slow, its brass buttons dulled from years of being pressed by people who were never meant to be seen. It groaned as it started upward, the faint hum vibrating through my arms.
I stood still, eyes on the numbers ticking higher, listening to the quiet swallow me whole. The doors opened onto a beige carpeted hallway that smelled faintly of old books and polished wood. Sir SeniorVeyra’s wing was quieter than the rest of the house, almost untouched by the constant tension that ruled everywhere else.
The light was warmer here, and filtered through tall windows draped in heavy cream curtains. Family portraits lined the walls—generations of Veyras staring down with reserved expressions, less sharp, less hungry than Elara’s gaze. My steps softened instinctively as I walked, the tray steady in my hands, my shoulders tight with the weight of being somewhere I rarely was. Elara didn’t like anyone lingering here. This space belonged to someone else, someone she couldn’t fully control.
Near the end of the hall, I found the small service cart tucked neatly against the wall, just where it was always kept for Sir SeniorVeyra. I carefully transferred the tray onto it, adjusting the teacup so it wouldn’t rattle and making sure the pill bottles were aligned exactly as Lorenzo had instructed. The cart creaked softly as I tested it, then I began to roll it forward, guiding it slowly over the carpet. The wheels whispered instead of clattered, and I relaxed a fraction, grateful for at least one thing going right. I kept my pace measured, careful not to jar the tray or draw attention.
Sir Senior Veyra’s master suite came into view, the door closed. I stopped just outside it and positioned the cart neatly to the side, straightening the linen napkin one last time. My fingers hovered over the handle as I hesitated, that familiar knot forming in my stomach. Elara wouldn’t like this. She would hate knowing I’d been sent here without her permission, hate that someone else’s request had taken priority. But Sir Senior Veyra had asked. That mattered. I reminded myself of that as I steadied my breathing.
I lifted my hand to knock, knuckles hovering inches from the wood, when a voice from inside the master suite cut through the quiet. I froze. I knew that voice the way you know thunder before it breaks. Simon Veyra. Elara’s father. My fingers curled slowly into my palm as I stepped back a fraction, instinct screaming at me not to announce myself. I leaned the cart back just enough to keep it steady and listened, my pulse suddenly loud in my ears.
“I’m telling you, Father, this is how it has to be,” Simon said, “The Dravens don’t get to pretend they’re above us anymore.” I shifted closer to the wall without thinking, I knew I shouldn’t listen. I knew this wasn’t my place. But my feet refused to move, rooted by the name that had already set my nerves on edge. Draven. Everything seemed to circle back to that name today, like the house itself was whispering it.
Sir Senior Veyra’s reply came. “You speak like this is a victory,” he said, “Like forcing a marriage is something to boast about.” There was a pause, then the faint sound of a glass being set down too hard. “I did not build this family so we could beg for legitimacy through a wedding.”
Simon scoffed. “Beg?” he snapped. “They’ll be the ones kneeling when this is done. Auren marrying Elara doesn’t just tie the families—it puts them beneath us. Draven Holdings needs stability. They need us.” His voice rose, filling the room. “Once he’s her husband, every scandal, every loose end he has becomes our leverage.” I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Auren’s face flashed through my mind—those steel-gray eyes, the confidence, the way he’d looked at me like no one had ever told him no. Kneeling didn’t fit the image. And yet…
“You assume the boy will fall in line,” Sir Veyra said, colder now. “You assume too much.” There was something final in his tone, something that made me lean back instinctively, like his disapproval carried weight even through walls. “Auren Draven has never been easy to control. And Elara…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. The silence that followed said enough.
Simon’s laugh was short and humorless. “Elara has waited thirteen years. She won’t fail now. She’s been raised for this—she knows what’s expected.This marriage fixes everything. Perception. Power. Legacy.” Then, sharper again, “Whether Auren likes it or not.” My fingers curled into the fabric of my skirt. Something about the way he said Auren’s name made my skin prickle, like the man himself was being reduced to a move on a board.
“I don’t like it,” Sir Senior Veyra said finally. “I don’t like how it’s being done, and I don’t like the certainty with which you speak about breaking another family’s heir. Marriages built on pressure rot from the inside.” Another pause. “And Elara has never handled disappointment well.”
Simon’s voice rose suddenly, sharp enough to slice through the door. “You’re living in the past,” he snapped. “This isn’t about feelings or principles—it’s about power. You think the Dravens ever cared about fairness? About decency?” There was a harsh laugh, bitter and short. “They’ve ruled unchecked for decades. This marriage corrects the balance. It puts them where they belong.”
Sir Senior Veyra didn’t raise his voice, but the disappointment in it landed heavier than shouting. “Power taken by force never stays clean,” he said. “And you forget yourself when you speak of people as pieces to be moved.” There was a pause, then,“I will not celebrate turning a man’s life into collateral. Not even for this family.” That did it. I could almost feel Simon’s temper snap, the restraint finally giving way.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Simon shot back. “You built this empire in a different time. You don’t see how fragile it’s become.” A chair scraped hard against the floor. “While you sit here worrying about morality, the world moves on. I won’t let hesitation cost us everything.” His footsteps crossed the room fast and angry, the sound of them unmistakable. “This is happening—with or without your blessing.”
The door flew open.
I barely had time to step back before Simon Veyra stormed out of the master suite, his expression thunderous, jaw tight, eyes blazing with fury. He was mid-stride, clearly expecting an empty hallway—and nearly collided with me instead. I froze, my breath catching painfully in my chest. His gaze snapped to mine, surprise flashing for just a fraction of a second before it hardened into something sharp and assessing.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I—I was bringing Sir Senior Veyra his breakfast,” I said quickly, my voice softer than I wanted, one hand instinctively gripping the handle of the servery cart. My heart was racing so fast it felt like it might give me away. For a tense second, he just stared at me, as if deciding whether I was worth acknowledging at all—or whether I’d heard too much.
“Leave it,” he said curtly, already turning away. “Someone else will handle it.” Then he brushed past me without another glance, his shoulder just barely grazing mine as he disappeared down the corridor. The force of his passing startled me enough that I flinched, my pulse still roaring in my ears long after he was gone.