The hall used to be a ballroom.
Now it was bare stone and polished mirrors, repurposed into a training space with too many eyes and too little air. The chandeliers still hung from the ceiling, stripped of crystal, but their skeletons remained, cold reminders of elegance turned utility.
I was standing in the center, alone, though three aides and two security officers lined the wall near the doors. One woman held a clipboard. Another man wore the same expression I always had when someone else was being tested—quiet relief that it wasn’t me.
I adjusted my stance. The staff in my hand was smooth, heavier than it looked. I hated how it made my grip tremble when my focus slipped.
Tomorrow, I would stand in front of a camera and announce myself to the world.
Elyse Vane. Daughter of a president I’d met once. Heir to a name I hadn’t grown up using.
Today, apparently, I had to prove I was someone worth looking at.
The door opened with a quiet snap.
Everyone straightened like they’d been caught mid-breath.
A man stepped in alone.
Broad shoulders, clean lines, a black suit that didn’t belong to any department I recognized but somehow managed to feel like a uniform. He moved like someone who never had to ask twice.
And he was beautiful.
Not in a romantic way. Not in a way I’d ever admit out loud. It was the kind of beauty that made your brain short-circuit for a second before shame kicked in. Sharp jaw. Slate-gray eyes. A mouth that looked like it didn’t get much use for smiling. His hair was dark, neatly combed back, and his eyes—grey, focused—swept the room with brief interest. Until they found me.
They didn’t move after that.
“This is the one?” he asked. Not to me.
One of the aides answered. “Yes, Mr. Routh.”
He walked forward, eyes still on mine.
“You’re late,” he said.
My fingers tensed around the staff. “I’ve been here since six.”
“Then you’ve been doing it wrong since six.”
No change in his tone. No irritation. Just the simple delivery of fact.
I hated how fast my heart moved.
He came closer, circling once. “Feet shoulder-width apart. You’re standing like someone who wants to disappear.”
“I thought I was supposed to look humble.”
“You’re not supposed to look anything,” he said. “You’re supposed to stand like you belong.”
“I didn’t get that lesson.”
His eyes flicked to the aides at the wall. “Apparently.”
I adjusted. My shoulder dropped. His gaze didn’t.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“You know my name.”
“I want to hear it.”
“Elyse,” I said. Then quieter, “Elyse Vane.”
He paused. Not long. Just long enough to make me feel like he was letting it settle.
“Jasper Routh,” he replied, evenly. “I’ll be shaping what the public sees tomorrow. That means you.”
I nodded. Tried to breathe without showing it.
“You look stiff,” he said.
“I feel stiff.”
“Don’t admit it.”
“You just asked.”
“You should’ve lied better.”
A small sound left me. Almost a laugh. I bit it down before it could become one.
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press.
“Announce yourself,” he said.
“What, now?”
“You’ll be doing it live in twelve hours. Now is practice. Announce who you are like you believe it.”
I swallowed. Looked past him. The aides had all gone very still.
“I’m Elyse Vane,” I began, then faltered. “Heir to—”
“No,” he interrupted. “Try again. And this time, speak like you’re not asking for permission to exist.”
That landed. I reset my feet. Lifted my chin.
“I’m Elyse Vane,” I said. Firmer this time. “Daughter of Calan Vane. Heir to the Velmeran estate.”
Jasper watched me closely. Something in the tension around his jaw loosened.
“Again,” he said. And I did it again.
Twice. Then three times. Each sharper, each more secure.
He stepped closer, just a foot between us. I could smell something subtle on him—clean, like cedar or something sharper.
“You’re not shaking,” he said.
“Maybe you’re just distracting.”
That time, he did smile. Barely. But it reached his eyes.
“I’ve been called worse,” he said.
“I bet.”
A long pause stretched between us. Not uncomfortable, exactly. Just charged.
Then he nodded once, and turned to the aides. “That’s enough for now.”
They began gathering their notes. No one looked at me directly. But I could feel their attention shift.
I turned toward him again. “Was that it?”
He met my gaze. This time, there was no evaluation in it. Just certainty.
“You’re ready,” he said.