Chapter 3: Proposing to the Predator
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I dismissed my maid after she helped me into a midnight blue dress that accentuated my figure without appearing desperate for attention. The woman who stared back at me from the mirror was familiar yet foreign—same features, different soul. Death and rebirth had hardened something within me, crystallizing my resolve into diamond-sharp focus.
A soft knock at my bedroom door interrupted my thoughts.
"Enter," I called, expecting another servant with last-minute preparations.
Instead, Dominic slipped in, closing the door behind him with deliberate softness. His handsome face wore the expression of contrition I'd once found so convincing—furrowed brow, slightly downturned lips, eyes wide with manufactured sincerity.
"You've been avoiding me all day," he said, moving toward me with practiced grace. "Is something wrong?"
In my previous life, I would have melted at his concern, desperate to believe he truly cared. Now, I saw the performance for what it was—a carefully choreographed dance designed to maintain control.
"I've been busy preparing for dinner," I replied, turning back to the mirror to fasten my mother's diamond earrings. "Your uncle doesn't visit often."
Dominic's reflection appeared behind mine, his hands settling on my shoulders. I suppressed a shudder of revulsion.
"Uncle Thorne has always been... difficult," he murmured, his fingers kneading my skin in what was meant to be a soothing gesture. "Don't take it personally if he seems cold. He's like that with everyone."
"I'm not concerned," I said, stepping away from his touch under the pretense of retrieving my bracelet from the vanity. "Your uncle and I understand each other perfectly."
Confusion flickered across Dominic's face. "What do you mean? You've barely spoken to him."
I smiled enigmatically. "Perhaps that will change tonight."
Before he could question me further, another knock sounded—sharper, more authoritative.
"Miss Elara," our butler called through the door, "Mr. Blackwood has arrived early. He's requesting a private word before dinner."
Dominic's eyebrows shot up. "Uncle Thorne is early? That's unprecedented." His expression darkened. "And what private business could he possibly have with you?"
"I suppose I'll find out," I replied, moving toward the door with deliberate calm. "You should check on Vivienne. I believe she was having trouble with her zipper earlier."
The barb hit its mark. Dominic's face flushed, guilt momentarily overriding his confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't," I said softly, opening the door. "Please tell the butler to show Mr. Blackwood to the library. I'll join him shortly."
I left Dominic standing in my bedroom, his mouth slightly agape at my newfound assertiveness. The satisfaction that coursed through me was intoxicating—a small taste of the revenge to come.
---
The library had always been my sanctuary within the Winters estate. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined three walls, while the fourth featured a massive fireplace currently crackling with warmth against the spring evening's chill. Thorne Blackwood stood before it, his tall frame silhouetted against the dancing flames.
At thirty, Thorne was surprisingly young for the power he wielded—only five years my senior, yet worlds apart in experience and influence. Unlike his nephew, who had inherited his position through family connections, Thorne had built his empire through ruthless intelligence and unwavering determination. The premature silver at his temples only enhanced his aura of authority, contrasting sharply with eyes too young to look so cold.
He turned at the sound of the door closing behind me, his steel-gray gaze assessing me with unsettling intensity.
"Miss Winters," he acknowledged, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
"Mr. Blackwood," I replied, moving further into the room. "You're early."
"I prefer to be unpredictable," he stated simply. "It prevents others from preparing too thoroughly."
A smile tugged at my lips. "And here I thought you were merely eager for my company."
Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, at my boldness. In my previous life, I'd barely been able to maintain eye contact with him, intimidated by his reputation and presence.
"You've changed," he observed, echoing my earlier thoughts. "The last time we spoke, you could barely string two sentences together in my presence."
I moved to the sideboard, pouring two fingers of whiskey into crystal tumblers without asking his preference. "Perhaps I've finally recognized my own worth."
When I turned to offer him a glass, I found him closer than expected, having crossed the room with silent grace. Our fingers brushed as he accepted the drink, the brief contact sending electricity racing up my arm.
"Indeed," he murmured, studying me over the rim of his glass as he took a measured sip. "And what prompted this... evolution?"
I met his gaze steadily. "Let's just say I've had a revelation about certain relationships in my life."
"Dominic," he stated rather than asked, his tone flat.
"Among others," I confirmed, moving to sit in one of the leather armchairs flanking the fireplace. I gestured for him to take the opposite seat.
Instead, he remained standing, power and control evident in his posture. "My nephew is a fool," he said bluntly. "But that's hardly news to anyone with functioning eyes and a modicum of intelligence."
I laughed softly, the sound surprising even me. How long had it been since I'd genuinely laughed? "And here I thought family loyalty would prevent such candor."
"I value truth over sentiment," Thorne replied, finally taking the seat across from me. "Dominic is blood, but he lacks the qualities necessary to lead Blackwood Industries into the future."
"Yet he's your heir," I pointed out, watching his reaction carefully.
Thorne's expression darkened. "By default, not by choice. My brother's son, my responsibility—but not my preference. So, why do you want to see me now?"
The opening I needed had presented itself sooner than expected. I leaned forward slightly, the firelight casting dramatic shadows across my face. "What if there were an alternative?" One that secured the merger, disarmed Dominic, and gave me the power to rewrite my story?
One eyebrow arched slightly—the only indication of his interest. "I'm listening."
I met his gaze head-on, letting silence stretch for a beat too long—just enough to convey confidence, not desperation.
"I want to break my engagement to your nephew," I said, my voice smooth, deliberate.
His grip on the glass tightened minutely.
Good. He wasn't indifferent.
"The merger—" he began.
"Can still proceed," I interrupted, something I would never have dared in my previous life. "But under different terms."
Thorne leaned forward slightly, the first sign of genuine interest. "Go on."
My pulse quickened. This was the gamble. "I want to marry you instead."
The silence that followed felt eternal. Thorne's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes—a flicker of something I couldn't identify. Surprise? Amusement? Calculation?
An unusual proposal," he finally said, swirling the whiskey in his glass without drinking. "Either incredibly bold… or incredibly desperate. Which are you, Miss Winters?
I didn't blink. "Neither. Just… efficient."
Something cold flickered in his eyes—approval, perhaps, or a calculated curiosity.
"Continue."
I set down my glass and stood, needing to move, to release some of the tension coiling through my body. I walked to the bookshelves, running my fingers along the leather-bound spines.
"Dominic is having an affair with my stepsister," I stated flatly. "It's been going on for months. He thinks I'm too blind or too desperate to notice."
"And this bothers you?" Thorne asked, his gaze following my movements.
I turned to face him. "Not in the way you might think. I don't love him—I'm not certain I ever did. What bothers me is being underestimated. Being treated as disposable."
"I've seen how the Blackwood family operates," he said quietly. "People are assets or liabilities. Nothing more."
"Then you understand," I replied, moving closer to where he sat. "This isn't about love, Mr. Blackwood. It's about respect. Partnership. Mutual benefit."
"And what benefit would I gain from this arrangement?" His voice had dropped lower, a dangerous edge to it that sent shivers down my spine.
I smiled, slow and deliberate. "The Winters pharmaceutical patents would transfer directly to you, not to Dominic. My father trusts my judgment implicitly—he'll agree to whatever terms I suggest."
"Business," Thorne nodded. "And the personal aspect?"
My pulse quickened. This was the most dangerous part of my gamble. "You've been watching me for years, Mr. Blackwood. At every family gathering, every corporate function. I may have been naive, but I wasn't blind."
His expression hardened, jaw tightening. For a moment, I feared I'd miscalculated catastrophically.
Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth curved upward—not quite a smile, but the closest approximation I'd ever seen from him. "Observant," he murmured. "Another improvement."
He rose from his chair with fluid grace, closing the distance between us until mere inches separated our bodies. The height difference between us forced me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. This close, I could detect the subtle scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, more primal.
"A marriage of convenience," he stated, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. His touch was cool, clinical, yet it sent heat coursing through my veins. "With certain... benefits."
I refused to flinch or look away. "Precisely."
"And Dominic?" His fingers lingered near my cheek, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"Will learn that actions have consequences," I replied, surprised by the venom in my own voice.
Something dangerous flashed in Thorne's eyes—approval, perhaps. Or recognition of a kindred spirit.
"Tonight," he said after a moment of consideration. "We'll announce it at dinner."
My breath caught. "So quickly?"
"I've never been one to hesitate once a decision is made." His hand dropped away, and he stepped back, restoring professional distance between us. "I'll have my lawyers draw up an agreement tomorrow. I assume you'll want to review the terms before we proceed further."
"Of course." My mind raced with the implications. This was happening—the first step in my plan for retribution.
"One condition," Thorne added, his voice hardening. "Once we announce this engagement, there's no backing out. I don't engage in public spectacles or embarrassments. Are we clear?"
The intensity of his gaze made my skin prickle with awareness. This man was nothing like Dominic—no charm, no easy smiles, just raw power carefully contained.
"Crystal clear," I affirmed.
He nodded once, then moved to refill our glasses. "Then it seems we have an arrangement, Miss Winters."
"Elara," I corrected, accepting the refreshed drink. "If we're to be engaged, you should use my given name."
The ice in his eyes thawed fractionally as he raised his glass. "Elara," he repeated, my name sounding like a dark promise on his lips. "And you may call me Thorne. In private, at least."
We clinked glasses, sealing our pact. As I sipped the burning liquid, I caught something unexpected in his expression—a flicker of genuine curiosity, perhaps even admiration.
"You're not what I expected," he admitted.
I smiled, thinking of the woman I had been, the death I had suffered, the rebirth that had hardened my resolve. "People rarely are what we expect, Thorne. Sometimes they're much more."
---
The dinner gong sounded precisely at eight, its resonant tone echoing through the mansion. I entered the dining room on Thorne's arm, a deliberate statement that didn't go unnoticed by the assembled guests—my father, several business associates, Dominic, and Vivienne, whose eyes widened at our apparent familiarity.
"Elara," my father greeted, his confusion evident despite his smile. "I see you've been entertaining Mr. Blackwood."
"Indeed," I replied, allowing Thorne to guide me to my seat—not beside Dominic, where I would normally be placed, but at Thorne's right hand at the opposite end of the table.
Dominic's face darkened, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Uncle Thorne, perhaps you've forgotten the seating arrangement. Elara typically sits beside me."
"I haven't forgotten anything," Thorne replied coolly. "I requested the change."
My father glanced between us, sensing the undercurrents but too polite to comment. "Well, shall we begin? The first course is a lobster bisque that I think you'll particularly enjoy, Mr. Blackwood."
Dinner proceeded with excruciating formality, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with the silver knives laid beside our plates. Vivienne attempted several times to engage Dominic in conversation, but his attention remained fixed on Thorne and me, his expression growing increasingly thunderous as he observed our quiet exchanges and occasional shared smiles.
By the time dessert was served—a delicate lemon soufflé—Dominic could no longer contain himself.
"You seem unusually interested in my fiancée tonight, Uncle," he remarked, his attempt at casual observation undermined by the edge in his voice.
Thorne set down his spoon with deliberate precision. "I find intelligence and perception attractive qualities, nephew. Qualities that should be properly appreciated."
The implication hung in the air, causing Vivienne to flush and my father to clear his throat uncomfortably.
"Perhaps we should adjourn to the drawing room for coffee," my father suggested, ever the diplomat.
"An excellent suggestion," Thorne agreed, rising from his seat. "But before we do, I believe Elara and I have an announcement to make."
The room stilled, all eyes turning toward us. Dominic half-rose from his chair, as if physically preparing to counter whatever was coming.
Thorne's hand found mine on the table, his grip firm and possessive. "Mr. Winters, I want to formally request your daughter's hand in marriage."
The silence that followed was absolute, a vacuum of shock that seemed to suck all oxygen from the room. Then, chaos erupted.
"What?" Dominic exploded, fully standing now, his napkin falling forgotten to the floor. "This is absurd! Elara is engaged to me!"
My father's mouth opened and closed several times before he found his voice. "I... I don't understand. Elara?"
I met my father's confused gaze steadily. "It's true, Father. I've accepted Thorne's proposal and wish to break my engagement to Dominic."
Vivienne's champagne glass slipped from her fingers, shattering against the fine china plate with a discordant crash that perfectly mirrored the shattering of their carefully laid plans.
"You can't be serious," she hissed, her perfect composure cracking for the first time. "You barely know him!"
"On the contrary," I replied calmly, "I know exactly who Thorne is. Just as I now know exactly who you and Dominic are."
Understanding dawned in her eyes, quickly followed by fear. She knew I'd discovered their affair.
Dominic surged around the table toward us, his handsome face contorted with rage. "This is some kind of sick joke. Uncle, what the hell are you playing at? She's half your age!"
"I'm thirty, Dominic," Thorne replied coldly. "Elara is twenty-five. Hardly a scandalous difference."
"This is about the company, isn't it?" Dominic snarled, his true concern emerging. "You've never thought I was worthy to lead Blackwood Industries. Now you're trying to steal my fiancée and the Winters merger in one move!"
My father stood, his expression hardening as he began to understand the situation. "Dominic, I think you should calm yourself. If my daughter has chosen to break your engagement, I assume she has good reason."
"Ask her about her stepsister," Thorne suggested, his voice deceptively mild. "I believe that might illuminate matters."
All eyes turned to Vivienne, who had gone deathly pale. "I don't know what you're implying," she stammered.
"Don't you?" I asked softly. "Perhaps we should discuss what I witnessed in the conservatory this morning. Or in the guest bedroom last week. Or in Dominic's car the week before that."
My father's expression shifted from confusion to dawning comprehension to cold fury. "Is this true, Dominic?"
Dominic's strategy changed instantly, his rage giving way to calculated charm. "Mr. Winters, whatever Elara thinks she saw has been misinterpreted. Vivienne and I are merely close friends—"
"Save your lies," I interrupted. "They may have worked on me once, but never again."
Thorne's hand tightened around mine, a silent show of support that strengthened my resolve.
"The merger will proceed as planned," he stated, addressing my father directly. "The terms will remain largely the same, merely with a different Blackwood at the helm."
My father nodded slowly, years of business acumen allowing him to separate personal shock from professional opportunity. "I see. And Elara has agreed to this?"
"It was my idea," I confirmed, meeting his gaze steadily.
Dominic made one last desperate attempt. "Uncle Thorne, think about what you're doing. The family will never accept this—"
"The family will do as I say," Thorne cut him off, his voice like ice. "As they always have. Your position at Blackwood Industries, however, might warrant reconsideration given recent... indiscretions."
I watched the realization dawn on Dominic's face—his uncle could destroy his career with a single word. His gaze darted to me, accusation and fury warring in his expression.
"You planned this," he hissed, low enough that only those closest could hear.
I smiled, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders—the first step in my revenge successfully executed. "Consider it a lesson in consequences, Dominic. Something you've clearly never learned."
Vivienne lunged forward, her perfectly manicured hand raised as if to strike me. Before she could make contact, Thorne's arm shot out, catching her wrist in a grip that made her gasp.
"That would be unwise," he stated, his voice soft but laced with unmistakable menace.
He released her, and she stumbled back, clutching her wrist to her chest. My father watched the scene unfold with growing understanding, his initial shock giving way to protective anger on my behalf.
"I think it's time you both left," he said to Dominic and Vivienne, his tone brooking no argument. "Hargrove will show you out."
As they were escorted from the dining room, Dominic's parting glare promised retribution. I met it calmly. Not as the discarded wife, but as a woman reborn from betrayal, armed with memory and rage.
My father turned to Thorne and me once they had gone. "I believe we have much to discuss," he said wearily. "But perhaps that can wait until morning. This has been... quite an evening."
Thorne nodded respectfully. "Of course, Mr. Winters. I'll have my lawyers prepare the necessary documents for your review."
After my father excused himself, Thorne and I were left alone in the dining room, the remnants of the disastrous dinner surrounding us like battlefield debris.
"Well played," he murmured, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand, which he had yet to release.
I glanced up at him, catching a rare glimpse of genuine emotion in his eyes—satisfaction, respect, and something darker, more primal.
"This is just the beginning," I replied softly.
His lips curved in the barest suggestion of a smile. "I'm counting on it."
