Chapter 1 The Substitution

The veil was too heavy. It felt like a curtain between Elena and the life she should have had the one where she wasn't walking toward a man who didn't love her.

The church was quiet, suffocating. Every breath echoed. Every step closer to Adrian Blackwood was a sentence passed down.

He stood tall at the altar, cold and untouchable in a sharp black tuxedo, his expression carved from stone. His jaw was set tight, eyes unreadable. He hadn't said a single word to her since arriving. Not even when she was rushed into the white gown that wasn't hers. Not when their father broke the news: Seraphina's gone. She's not coming back. You're the only one who can save this family now, Elena.

A billionaire like Adrian Blackwood did not like scandal. The press was already circling like vultures. The bride disappearing on the morning of the wedding? That would ruin everything. Stocks would fall. Boardrooms would whisper.

So she stood in her sister's place.

No one could tell beneath the veil. The same body type. The same dark hair. The same blood.

But not the same heart.

The priest spoke, and her ears buzzed. Words blurred into echoes: "...to have and to hold... until death do you part..."

She was holding a bouquet of white roses, but her hands trembled. She stole a glance at Adrian as he slid the ring onto her finger. His eyes didn't meet hers. He hadn't even looked at her properly since entering the church.

It wasn't her he wanted.

It never had been.

The ride back to the Blackwood estate was silent. The Bentley hummed down the road like a hearse. Elena sat with her hands folded in her lap, stiff in the wedding dress that had never been meant for her.

Adrian sat beside her, cold as steel.

"I'll arrange for separate rooms," he said finally, voice clipped, emotionless.

She looked at him then really looked.

He was beautiful in the cruelest way. Sharp lines. Chiseled cheekbones. Eyes like storm clouds. Every inch of him screamed power and control.

"Of course," she whispered. "I don't expect anything else."

He flinched at her calmness. Maybe he expected tears. Regret. Maybe he thought she'd beg for affection.

But she wouldn't. Not tonight. Not when the ink was still wet on the papers binding her to him.

The mansion loomed as they arrived Blackwood Estate. A fortress of wealth and silence. She was led by the housekeeper to her wing, past long marble halls and portraits of people who'd never smile at her.

That night, she stood in front of the mirror, still wearing the dress, the ring cold on her finger.

She whispered her sister's name like a secret: Seraphina

Was she sipping wine in Paris right now? Laughing? Living freely?

Meanwhile, Elena Hart had just become Mrs. Elena Blackwood.

A name that would become both a cage and a battlefield