CONTRACTED TO BEAR THE CEO'S HEIR

Quiet Mornings And Quieter Wounds

The morning spilled through the tall windows of the Reeve estate, golden and soft, yet there was nothing about how it touched Elara's skin. She sat upright in the ornate four-poster guest bed, staring at the untouched breakfast tray, Mara one of the maids had brought in. The scent of lavender from last night's bath still clung to her,but it did little to calm the gnawing restlessness in her stomach.

Sleep had come in short, uneasy bursts-haunted by the cold stares, the veiled words,and the overwhelming presence of a family that didn't want her.

She rose and padded across the room barefoot, her steps soundless on the thick carpet. The air in the mansion felt too still, too controlled. Even the walls seemed to whisper:you don't belong here.

A knock.

She opened the door to find Mara the gentle maid who brought her breakfast. The woman offered a small, gentle smile.

"Mrs. Reeve requests your presence in the conservatory."

Requests. Not invites.

Elara nodded. "Thank you, Mara."

She dressed with care selecting a pale,cream blouse and high-waisted black slacks. Nothing flashy, nothing that could be called inappropriate. Just presentable. Palatable.

Down the hallway,she passed an entire gallery of portraits- somber men in tailored suits, steely-eyed women in gowns that screamed old money. The faces watched her, carved in brush strokes that seemed to disapprove of her existence.

The conservatory was flooded with sunlight and lined with plants too exotic to survive in any average home. At the glass table sat Mrs. Reeve- poised, elegant, lips perpetually set in a firm line- and beside her the family matriarch, Genevieve Reeve, whose presence made the room colder despite the sun.

"Elara," Mrs. Reeve said, without looking up from her teacup. "Punctuality. A virtue,at least."

"Good morning," Elara replied her voice steady. She sat when Genevieve gestured curtly to the seat across.

"I hope you slept well," Genevieve said though her tone implied she didn't care either way. Her hair was a perfect silver, her spine straight as if she were carved from the marble.

"Well enough." Elara said politely.

"Eat something," Mrs. Reeve added. "The press isn't kind to tired eyes."

She took a small bite of a croissant, not tasting it.

"We've always handled matters discretely," Genevieve said setting down her tea with a soft clink. "But your situation...has caused a stir we don't particularly appreciate."

Elara didn't flinch. "I understand."

"The engagement announcement softened the blow," Mrs. Reeve added,

"But people still talk. Especially about women who seem to wrise without pedigree."

That was the tone they used- one that dressed insults as facts. Elara didn't argue. There was no point.

After breakfast, the women excused themselves for another meeting. Elara stepped into the estate's garden, just beyond the conservatory. It was manicured perfectly, each rosebush trimmed, each vine trained. But the order of it all only made her feel out of place.

She leaned against a stone pillar, breathing in the scent of morning dew.

For a moment, she thought about her old orphanage- the wild weeds behind the kitchen, the freedom in it's imperfections.

Then she heard footsteps.

Killian approached, his jacket unbuttoned,tie loose, dark hair tousled as if he'd spent the night thinking instead of sleeping.

"They've gone ahead," he said. "Board session prep."

She nodded. " We'll be expected in the city by noon."

He studied her quietly. "You handled them better than most would."

"I've been surviving judgment since I was little. I'm good at it now."

A beat passed something flickered in his eyes.

They stood in silence for a moment. Neither soft nor warm,just still.

"We leave in thirty minutes," he finally said.

She nodded stepping past him without another word.