---
"Elara, don't! No—don't go!" Sylvia's voice rang out, sharp with panic.
She made a move to step forward, but Dominic barely spared her a glance. With a flick of his fingers, the two guards near the entrance subtly shifted, blocking her path.
Elara hesitated for just a second. Then, with a deep breath, she walked forward, following Dominic. The grand doors closed behind them, leaving Sylvia standing in the vast lounge, her heart pounding.
A few minutes passed, and the weight of what had just happened sank in. Sylvia ran a hand through her hair, frustration surging. "What was she thinking?" she muttered. "How could I let her go?"
Determination flared in her chest. She had to get Elara out of there. Without another thought, she spun around and rushed in the direction they had gone.
She didn't get far.
Just as she neared the corridor, a wall of men in crisp black suits stepped into her path. She skidded to a stop. Her pulse jumped. "What's going on here?" she demanded.
No one answered.
Then, one man stepped forward. Unlike the others, his presence carried an air of authority, his posture perfectly composed. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit before speaking in a calm, measured voice.
"I am Mr. Flamont," he introduced himself. "And you, Miss Sylvia, are going nowhere."
Sylvia's eyes narrowed. "Move."
Mr. Flamont didn't even blink. "No."
Her fists clenched. "If you think I'm going to just stand here while Dominic—"
"You have no choice," he cut in smoothly. "You should not concern yourself. If Dominic wanted to do anything to Elara, nothing would stop him. Not even Elara herself." He gave her a pointed look. "So you certainly won't."
Sylvia's breath hitched.
Mr. Flamont tilted his head slightly, his tone turning almost advisory. "My advice to you? Let it go. It will only make things worse if you try to interfere."
Sylvia stared at him, anger boiling beneath her skin. But the men didn't move.
She was trapped.
---
Elara followed Dominic through the sprawling corridors, her heartbeat loud in the silence. Though she knew it was still daytime, the atmosphere inside the Lancaster estate made it feel like evening had already settled in. The air was thick, the dim lighting playing tricks on her senses.
The sconces lining the walls flickered softly, casting elongated shadows that stretched and twisted with every step they took. The house was too vast, too controlled—too Dominic. It was the kind of place where time felt irrelevant, where it was easy to lose track of whether an hour had passed or just minutes.
Elara's skin prickled.
She kept her eyes forward, refusing to let her unease show. Dominic, on the other hand, walked ahead at an unhurried pace, his posture exuding effortless control. It was as if he didn't just own the estate—he commanded the very air inside it.
The further they walked, the more the silence pressed against her ears. The weight of the unknown settled in her chest, yet she forced herself forward.
She was painfully aware of the contrast between them. Dominic moved as if he belonged here, as if this dim, endless space was his natural habitat. Meanwhile, she felt like she was stepping deeper into something she wouldn't escape.
Then, suddenly—he stopped.
Elara barely managed to avoid colliding into him.
Without looking at her, Dominic pushed open a door. The polished wood barely made a sound, but as it swung inward, Elara felt the shift in the air.
The room before her was large, dark, and undeniably his. The faint glow from the outside world didn't reach inside—only the moody lighting of the estate remained, making it feel even later than it was.
Dominic finally turned his head, meeting her gaze with a smirk.
"Come in."
Elara inhaled sharply.
And then, with no other choice, she stepped inside.
The door shut behind her with a soft click—not loud, not forceful, but enough to send a quiet chill down her spine.
Elara took in the room, the dim lighting, the lingering scent of expensive cologne and something darker beneath it. The space was vast, yet stifling. Luxurious, yet devoid of warmth. A perfect reflection of its owner.
Dominic Lancaster stood near the desk, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—his eyes were anything but indifferent.
Elara lifted her chin. She refused to let him see how the atmosphere pressed against her skin like an unseen weight.
"You wanted me alone," she said, her voice even. "So talk."
A smirk played at the corner of his lips. "So eager. I like that."
She didn't flinch. "You're wasting time."
Dominic exhaled a slow, amused breath and took a step forward. His movements were fluid, unhurried, deliberate. Like a panther circling its prey—not out of hunger, but amusement.
"And here I thought you'd appreciate the hospitality," he mused, sweeping a hand around the room. "Not everyone gets an invitation here, you know."
"An invitation?" Elara echoed, arching a brow. "That's a strange way to describe blackmail."
Dominic let out a quiet chuckle. "Such strong words. You wound me."
She didn't bite. Didn't react. That alone seemed to entertain him.
Elara folded her arms, her stance unyielding. "Why are you doing this?"
Dominic tilted his head, studying her. "That's a broad question."
"Then let me narrow it down." Her voice remained smooth, controlled. "What do you have to gain by interfering in our lives? Sabotaging Elias, forcing us here—what do you want, Dominic?"
His gaze flickered, and for a split second, something unreadable passed over his face. But then, just as quickly, it was gone.
He turned away, moving toward the bar cart in the corner, his back to her. "You make it sound so personal," he murmured, pouring himself a drink. The soft clink of glass against crystal filled the silence. "But business is business."
Elara held her ground. "Lying doesn't suit you."
Dominic paused, mid-pour. Then, slowly, he turned back to her, glass in hand. His smirk had faded.
For a moment, the silence stretched. Then—
"You think you understand me, don't you?" His voice was softer now, but the danger in it coiled beneath the surface.
Elara met his gaze, steady and unwavering. "I don't have to understand you to know what you are."
Dominic took a slow sip, watching her over the rim of his glass. When he lowered it, that smirk was back, sharper this time.
"And what am I, Elara?"
She didn't hesitate. "A man who enjoys control. Who enjoys watching people squirm under his thumb."
He chuckled, setting the glass down. "Ah. And yet, you're still standing here. Unbroken."
"Should I be?"
Dominic's smirk widened. He took another step closer, closing the space between them. Elara refused to step back.
"Most people are," he murmured. His voice was lower now, almost thoughtful. "They push back, they break, or they beg. But you—" He studied her, as if searching for something beneath her calm surface. "You're different."
Elara held his gaze. "I'm not here to entertain you, Dominic."
"But you do."
The words were spoken so casually, yet they sent an uneasy feeling creeping down her spine.
Dominic leaned slightly closer, just enough for her to catch the faint scent of whiskey and something darker beneath it—something distinctly him.
His voice dropped to a whisper, just for her.
"And that," he said, "is exactly why I find you… fascinating."
Elara's pulse remained steady, her expression neutral. But inside, she knew—
This wasn't just a game to him anymore.
It was becoming something far worse.