But victory came with a price.
With each rejection, her parents' frustration deepened. Their glances grew sharper, their voices colder. It was no longer just disappointment—it was suspicion.
"Elina, what are you playing at?" her mother demanded one evening, eyes like daggers. "Every single man we've introduced you to has turned you down. Why?"
Elina lowered her gaze, letting out a shaky sigh. Her voice trembled just enough to sound pitiful. "Maybe... maybe I'm just not good enough, Mamma. Maybe there's something wrong with me. They all take one look at me and see nothing worth keeping. I'm not beautiful or graceful or... anything a proper wife should be. Maybe it's better if you stop trying. I'll only disappoint you."
Isabella's expression twisted in fury. But Elina held her ground. This was her life—and if she had to twist it into something unrecognisable to keep it, so be it.
It had become a game. And for a while, she was winning. But games have consequences.
Her parents' disapproval slowly calcified into something colder, heavier. Every room she entered felt like a battlefield. Every word exchanged was laced with tension.
"Elina, this is not a joke," her mother snapped one morning after another rejection. "You're making a mockery of our family."
"I'm just being myself, Mamma," Elina replied, all sweet innocence laced with defiance. "Maybe your standards are just too high."
Her mother's nostrils flared, but it was her father who ended the conversation with a voice like steel. "This rebellion of yours will end. One way or another."
Still, she refused to be shaken. With every suitor she drove away, her confidence grew. For the first time in her life, she wasn't following someone else's rules—she was writing her own.
But control is a fragile thing.
Blinded by her small triumphs, Elina didn't see the storm gathering. She didn't see her parents' desperation sharpening into resolve.
Until it was too late.
________________________________________
Elina pushed open the door to the dimly lit restaurant, scanning the room with disinterest until her gaze landed on the man seated in the far corner. For a moment, her breath hitched.
He didn't smile. Just watched her. Cool, unreadable.
Dressed in a tailored black suit, he sat with an ease that made the air around him feel tenser than it should. Power clung to him, quiet and absolute.
She crossed the floor, each step part of a performance she had rehearsed a hundred times. This was just another suitor. Another performance. Nothing more.
"Elina Castellano?" His voice was deep, calm—but there was something dangerous beneath the surface.
She met his gaze, her own guarded. "Yes."
"Adrian Blackwood." He stood and offered his hand.
Her fingers hesitated before closing around his. His grip was firm, unapologetic.
She blinked. Blackwood. Her stomach twisted. Adrian Blackwood—the name that lingered in hushed whispers and blood-soaked rumours. Her parents hadn't just upped the stakes. They'd gone straight to the devil himself.
Still, she forced a smile and dropped into her chair. "Let's make this quick. I have somewhere to be."
Adrian's brow lifted, amused. "Most women would kill for an hour of my time."
"Then maybe you should've brought one of them instead," she replied coolly, reaching for the glass of water without looking at it.
He leaned back slightly. "You've got quite a mouth."
"Thank you. I brush twice a day."
Adrian chuckled. It was a low, quiet sound—but it didn't sound offended. If anything, he seemed... entertained.
"You're different," he said.
"Is that your line? Because if it is, I've heard better."
"Not a line. Just an observation," he replied smoothly. "You don't exactly play the role people expect you to."
She offered him a bland smile. "Good. Expectations are overrated."
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "So you enjoy being unpredictable?"
"Only around men who think they've already figured me out," she said, her voice sharp and steady.
"Touché," he murmured. Then, casually—almost too casually—he asked, "Tell me something. Are you always this… defiant?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Why? Is that a problem?"
"Not for me," he said, voice low. "But it makes me wonder—what exactly are you trying to push away?"
Elina's eyes flickered, her tone cool. "Men who think silence is submission. Who see a woman's resistance as a challenge to conquer."
His mouth twitched at the corner. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Trying to conquer you?"
She didn't blink. "Aren't you? Aren't you just looking to collect me like another trophy for your mafia mansion?"
A pause. His expression didn't change, but the temperature between them did.
"I don't need trophies," he said. "I build empires. And I don't collect women," Adrian said slowly. "I keep what's mine."
Elina's eyes narrowed. "Well, good luck with that. I'm not anyone's anything."
"I like a challenge," he said, sipping his drink.
She folded her arms. "Listen, I'm not the girl your mother wants you to marry. I hate small talk, I'm terrible at obeying rules, and I once locked my cousin in the wine cellar for three hours because he disrupted my plans."
He didn't flinch. "That must've been fun."
"It was." She grinned. "He cried."
Adrian's lips twitched, like he was trying not to laugh. "You're full of surprises."
She leaned back, casually picking up the menu without actually reading it. "You'll like me even more once I start talking."
"Oh?" he asked, amusement curling in his tone. "Planning to charm me?"
"Not quite." She looked at him from over the top of the menu, smirking. "I'm usually better at the opposite."
He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "I've heard."
The amused edge in her eyes hardened into something icier. "Excuse me?"
"You've left quite the trail of rejections behind you, Elina. It's impressive, really."
She narrowed her eyes. "So you did your homework."
"Of course," he said easily. "I don't walk into blind situations."
She leaned forward slightly, sarcasm in full force. "Let me guess—another family man looking for a graceful, obedient wife?"
"Not quite," he said, gaze steady. "I'm just here to see if what they say about you is true."
"And what exactly do they say?"
He smiled again, slow and unreadable. "That you're a beautiful disaster. A fire your family can't control."
"I like that. Put it on my résumé."
"Maybe I will," he said calmly, still watching her like he was waiting for something. Testing her.
She scoffed and crossed her arms. "Let's save us both time. I'm not interested. I don't want to be married. And I don't give a damn about legacies or alliances or power."
Adrian didn't blink. "Who said I did?"
That caught her off guard.
"What do you want, then?" she asked warily.
He tilted his head. "To meet you. That's all."
"That's all?" She didn't believe him.
"I don't make decisions based on first impressions," he said. "I prefer to see people when they think no one's watching."
Something about the way he said it made her skin crawl. Not with fear, but... awareness.
"You're a strange man, Mr Blackwood."
"And you're not nearly as chaotic as you pretend to be."
That hit too close.
The mask slipped, just for a heartbeat of vulnerability to slip through—but she caught it quickly. "Careful. You're starting to sound interested."
He smirked. "Maybe I am."
Elina stood abruptly, grabbing her purse. "Well, I hope you enjoyed the performance. I'll be sure to send my rejection letter in the morning."
"Don't bother," Adrian said, standing as well. "I'm not so easily discouraged."
She didn't reply. Just walked away, heels clicking against the polished floor—heart pounding harder than she wanted to admit. This was supposed to be easy. But Adrian Blackwood didn't play by anyone's rules.
________________________________________