The grand hall of the Blackthorne estate was suffocating with tension. Isla stood at the center, her emerald gown flowing like a serpent's skin, her manicured fingers gripping the letter as if it were a weapon. A wicked smirk curved her lips, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the room in a golden glow, but the warmth did little to dispel the ice settling in Eleanor's veins.
Alexander stepped forward, his expression unreadable, his shoulders squared in the way of a man prepared for battle. Eleanor could feel the barely contained fury radiating from him.
"Enough games, Isla," his voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding. "What is this?"
Isla's smirk widened. "Oh, just a little… family secret I stumbled upon." She turned slightly, her gaze locking onto Eleanor with something close to amusement. "I thought you might find it especially interesting, dear sister."
Eleanor's fingers curled into fists at her sides. "You're not my sister."
Isla clicked her tongue, feigning disappointment. "That remains to be seen." Then, with deliberate slowness, she unfolded the letter and began to read aloud, her voice dripping with mockery:
"To my dearest Luciana, we must act soon. The child is in danger. If the truth ever comes to light, it could bring ruin to us all. We cannot let him find out."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the gathered crowd—advisors, household staff, and those who thrived on whispered scandals.
Eleanor felt her stomach drop.
Child? What child?
Her gaze flickered to Alexander, searching for answers, but his expression remained cold, unreadable. His knuckles had turned white where his hands clenched at his sides.
Isla tilted her head, watching him. "Where did you get that?" Alexander's voice was calm—too calm.
Isla waved the letter carelessly. "Oh, it was hidden so well, but you know me… nothing escapes me." She folded the paper neatly and tucked it into her pocket, her smirk deepening. "Now, here's the real question, dear brother. Who were they hiding?"
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Eleanor didn't need to look at Alexander to know.
Because she could see it in his eyes.
He already knew.
And it was enough to break him.
---
A Legacy of Lies
The moment the doors to his study shut behind them, Alexander slammed his fist against the desk.
The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.
Eleanor stood by the door, her heart hammering in her chest. He had been silent the entire walk from the grand hall, his expression unreadable, his body rigid.
But now… now, the storm inside him had cracked through.
"You knew," she said, her voice softer than she intended.
Alexander ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. "I suspected," he admitted, exhaling sharply.
Eleanor took a cautious step forward. "Who is the child, Alexander?"
A long silence stretched between them before he finally spoke.
"Me."
The room seemed to shrink around her.
Eleanor froze. "What?"
Alexander turned away, staring out the window. "My mother… she wasn't just at war with Lucian. She was at war with my father." His voice was laced with something unfamiliar—raw pain. "Their marriage was a battlefield. He wanted control, but my mother… she was the true Blackthorne power. She made the decisions, and he resented her for it."
Eleanor swallowed hard. "And the letter?"
Alexander's jaw tightened. "If it's true… then it means I might not be my father's son."
The weight of his words crashed into her like a tidal wave.
"Alexander—"
He turned then, his eyes dark with something dangerous. "If I'm not truly a Blackthorne by blood, then Isla might be the rightful heir to this empire."
Eleanor stepped closer, her fingers brushing his forearm. "That doesn't change who you are. The power you built. No letter can erase you."
His muscles tensed beneath her touch, but he didn't pull away.
She saw it—the crack in his armor.
Alexander Blackthorne was untouchable. Unshakable. But this… this was the kind of truth that could break a man.
And Isla knew it.
---
The Poisoned Kiss
That night, the estate was cloaked in an unsettling silence.
Eleanor sat on the edge of the massive bed, staring into the dimly lit room. The conversation from earlier lingered in her mind, each word etching itself into her thoughts like a brand.
Alexander had barely spoken after their confrontation. She had seen it in his eyes—the war raging within him.
But she refused to let him retreat into the darkness.
The door creaked open, and Eleanor turned.
Alexander stood there, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something raw, something primal.
Without a word, he crossed the room.
And kissed her.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle.
It was fire and fury, desperation and possession.
Eleanor gasped against his lips as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. She could feel his heartbeat—wild, frantic—matching her own.
She tangled her fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss, pouring every ounce of herself into it.
Because this wasn't just passion.
This was a man trying to hold onto something real in a world built on lies.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Alexander rested his forehead against hers.
"Say it again," he murmured.
Eleanor cupped his face, her thumbs grazing his cheekbones. "You are Alexander Blackthorne."
His grip on her tightened.
"And I'm yours," she whispered.
His lips found hers again, sealing the promise.
But outside, hidden in the shadows, Isla watched.
And she smiled.
Because the game wasn't over.
It had only just begun.
---
Next Chapter: The Betrayal Unveiled
As Eleanor and Alexander grow closer, Isla makes her boldest move yet—one that shatters the fragile trust between them. But when the true mastermind behind the deception is revealed, Eleanor is forced to question everything.
Because in a game of kings and queens, the real danger lies in the pawns.