1

The sound of boots echoed down the marble hallway, each step deliberate and full of authority. Elian Voss gripped the railing from the upper floor, holding his breath as the man entered the house below.

General Kael Thorne. Thirty-one. Decorated war hero. Stoic. Ruthless. And now, apparently, the man his parents had chosen to marry his sister.

Elian expected someone old. Harsh. Maybe even boring.

Not… that.

Kael stood tall in his black dress uniform, posture perfect, hair military neat, with broad shoulders that filled the doorway and sharp eyes that scanned the room like he was reading everyone’s weaknesses. He wasn’t smiling, not even pretending. His jaw was set like carved stone, lips pressed into a straight line.

And when those dark eyes flicked upward—toward the stairs, toward Elian—they paused.

Just for a moment.

Elian’s heart stuttered.

He ducked back behind the curtain like a criminal.

God.

This was a disaster.

Because General Thorne wasn’t just attractive—he was… magnetic. Dangerous in the kind of way that made Elian’s skin tingle and his stomach twist. And it wasn’t just lust. It was the way the air shifted when the man entered the room. Like he wasn’t here to join a family. He was here to own it.

---

Downstairs, his parents welcomed Kael with too-wide smiles and over-polished words. His father puffed up his chest, trying to appear important in front of a man who’d probably commanded death like a second language. His mother gestured gracefully toward the formal parlor. Tea was served. Kael said nothing.

Elian’s sister, Merea, sat stiffly beside their mother. Her hands were clasped too tightly in her lap.

She looked like a statue.

Elian knew why.

She had a boyfriend. Jay. A gentle, artistic soul who worked at a coffee shop and loved her with soft eyes and stained fingers. Their relationship had been a secret, hidden under scarves and sneaked-out nights. Only Elian knew. And when the arrangement came through for this marriage with a military official—negotiated like some business contract—she wept in his arms for hours.

They’d made a plan.

Run away. The night before the wedding. Disappear and leave this whole mess behind.

Elian agreed, swore to cover for her. Said he’d lie, scream, whatever it took. But that was before Kael walked into the house like a storm in a pressed uniform.

Now?

Elian was having… thoughts.

Terrible, wrong, selfish thoughts.

He watched from the landing, breath shallow. Watched as Kael said almost nothing, yet dominated the entire room just by existing. Watched as Kael’s eyes—once more—found him. Not Merea. Him.

---

Later, after dinner, when the parents clapped their hands and said, “Why don’t the bride and groom have a moment alone to talk?” Elian knew it was time.

This was it.

The moment before everything broke.

He followed quietly, steps light, unnoticed as Kael and Merea ascended the stairs. He watched his sister cast him a wide-eyed glance—fear and apology mingled in her expression—and then Kael placed a hand on her lower back, guiding her toward her room.

Elian’s breath caught.

When they stepped inside, Elian moved.

Fast.

He slipped in behind them—silent as a shadow—and before either could speak or turn around, he reached out and clicked the door lock shut.

Click.

The sound was final.

Kael turned, slow and measured. One brow raised.

Merea froze, caught between confusion and panic.

“Elian—what are you doing?” she hissed.

But Elian didn’t answer her.

His eyes were locked on Kael.

“This marriage can’t happen,” he said. His voice was steady. Stronger than he expected, though his fingers trembled at his sides.

Kael looked at him like one might observe a curious insect. Not threatening. Not warm. Just... watching.

Elian stepped forward.

“She’s in love with someone else. Been with him for a year. She can’t tell you because she’s scared, but I’m not.”

“Elian,” Merea whispered, grabbing his arm.

He didn’t flinch. He kept his eyes on Kael.

“So if you’re looking for someone in this family to marry,” Elian said, lifting his chin, “take me instead.”

Merea gasped. “No—what are you saying?!”

But Kael didn’t move.

Not a blink. Not a breath.

Elian’s heart thundered. His mouth felt dry. But his skin burned.

And then—like a fuse already lit—he surged forward, grabbed the collar of Kael’s uniform, and kissed him.

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t practiced. It was wild, stupid, desperate—heat and nerves rolled into a single reckless act.

Kael didn’t respond.

Didn’t stop it, either.

When Elian pulled back, breathless, his chest rising and falling like he’d run a mile, Kael was still staring at him.

Then Kael turned to Merea.

“You love someone else?”

Her mouth trembled. She nodded.

Kael exhaled—through his nose, slow, like a man recalibrating an entire battle strategy. Then he looked back at Elian.

His eyes were unreadable.

But a flicker of something new lived there now.

Amusement?

Curiosity?

Interest?

“Very well,” Kael said finally, his voice low and sharp like a blade sheathed in velvet. “Then let’s talk about you.”

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