Debt Of Honour.

The morning came softly, the kind of morning that felt like a promise.

A cool breeze drifted through the small estate, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and blooming roses. Elara knelt in the dirt, her fingers moving with a practiced, rhythmic grace.

"I'm sorry," she murmured to a rose as she clipped it. "I'll make sure you're in a beautiful vase by noon."

"Do you always talk to things that can't talk back?"

The voice was like cold silk. Elara didn't need to look up to know who it was. The air itself seemed to stiffen whenever Julian Vane was near.

"Usually, I'm talking to the flowers," Elara said, standing up and wiping her hands on her apron. She finally turned to face him. "But today, I'm talking to a weed that's wandered into my garden. What are you doing here, Julian?"

Julian stood on the gravel path, looking entirely out of place in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her house. "I'm inspecting my property."

"Your property?" Elara stepped forward, her hazel eyes flashing. "My mother's name is on this deed. My father's blood is in this soil. This isn't one of your glass towers where you can just move people like chess pieces."

"Land is just a line on a map, Elara. And lines can be redrawn." Julian took a slow step closer. He looked at the shears in her hand. "Are you planning on using those on me? Or are we going to have a civilized conversation?"

"I don't have civilized conversations with people who bring bulldozers to my front door."

"I didn't bring them today," Julian noted, tilting his head. "I came alone. Doesn't that count for something?"

"It counts for a trespasser with a better wardrobe," she snapped. "Kain! Keep an eye on the porch!"

Her younger brother, Kain, appeared from the shadows of the house, his face set in a hard scowl. "I see him, Elara. He's lucky he's not a foot closer to the door."

Julian glanced at the boy, then back to Elara. A small, infuriating smirk played on his lips. "A loyal guard dog. Is he on the payroll, or does he work for scraps?"

"He works for love, Julian. I know that's a foreign concept to you."

"Love doesn't pay for fertilizer, Elara. Love doesn't stop the bank from calling." Julian reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a slim, black folder. "But math? Math is very reliable."

"What is that?" Elara asked, her heart beginning to hum a nervous tune.

"A reality check." He stepped forward, and for a second, the scent of his expensive sandalwood cologne overwhelmed the roses. He slapped the folder onto the small wooden table beside her garden shed.

The sound was sharp, like a gavel hitting a block.

"Go ahead," Julian invited. "Read it. Or do you only read poetry to your sunflowers?"

Elara narrowed her eyes at him before reaching for the folder. Her fingers trembled slightly as she flipped it open. Her eyes skimmed the first page, and the world seemed to stop spinning.

"This... this is a mistake," she whispered.

"Is it?" Julian asked. "That's your mother's signature, isn't it? The elegant loops? The way she crosses the 't'?"

"Sixty thousand dollars?" Elara gasped, her voice thinning. "Five years ago? No. No, we were fine five years ago. We were doing well."

"Five years ago, your mother's cancer treatments hit their peak," Julian said, his voice dropping into a tone that was almost, but not quite, empathetic. "Five years ago, the florist industry in this district took a forty percent dive. You weren't doing well, Elara. You were drowning. And the Vane Finance Group was the only one willing to throw a rope."

"A rope?" Elara hissed, throwing the folder back at him. It hit his chest and fluttered to the ground. "You threw a noose! You knew she couldn't pay this back! You targeted her!"

"We offered a loan to a struggling business. That's called commerce," Julian replied calmly. He didn't even look down at the folder on the dirt. "The interest has been compounding for sixty months. The total is now closer to ninety-five thousand."

"You're a monster," she breathed. "You're actually a monster."

"I'm a businessman. And currently, I'm a businessman who owns the debt that owns your home."

"Elara?"

The voice came from the porch. It was weak, punctuated by a wet, rattling cough.

Elara spun around, her face pale. "Papa! You should be inside. The air is too damp for you."

Her father, Thomas Vance, sat in his wheelchair, his hands gripped tightly to the armrests. He looked at Julian, then at the folder on the ground. His face seemed to age ten years in ten seconds.

"Is it true, Papa?" Elara asked, her voice small, like a child's. "Tell me he's lying. Tell me Mama didn't take money from these people."

Her father looked at the sky, his eyes watering. "The bills, Elara... they were so high. Every night, your mother would sit at the kitchen table with the lights off, crying over the ledgers. She didn't want you to see."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Elara walked toward the porch, her boots heavy. "I could have worked more. I could have dropped out of school sooner!"

"You were nineteen!" he cried out, his voice cracking. "You had your whole life. Your mother... She made me promise. She said, 'Thomas, if I'm going to go, I'm going to leave them a legacy, not a debt.' She thought she could pay it off. She thought the shop would recover."

Elara leaned her head against the porch railing, her eyes closing tight. "She took a debt to save us from a debt. And now the debt is going to kill us anyway."

Julian watched them from the path. He didn't look away. He didn't look guilty. He looked like a man watching a play he had already seen the ending to.

"Touchingly tragic," Julian said. "But it doesn't change the ledger. Your mother's 'Debt of Honour' has become your burden, Elara."

Kain stepped forward, his fists balled. "Get out of here! Now! Before I make you!"

Julian didn't even look at the boy. His eyes remained locked on Elara. "I have a board meeting on Thursday morning. I need to present the final plans for the Vane Plaza. Your shop is the center of that plan."

Elara looked up, her face streaked with tears but her jaw set. "You won't get it. I'll find the money. I'll sell the van. I'll take out another loan."

"From who?" Julian challenged. "No bank will touch a property with a Vane lien on it. You have seventy-two hours to produce ninety-five thousand dollars."

"And if I don't?"

"Then the bulldozers come. And your father will have to find a new place to put his wheelchair. I hear the state-run facilities are... adequate."

"You bastard!" Kain lunged, but Elara caught his arm, holding him back.

"Stop, Kain. It's what he wants," she whispered. She looked at Julian, her gaze cold enough to freeze the roses. "You didn't come here just to tell me this. You could have sent a lawyer for that. You're here for a reason."

Julian took a slow breath, looking around the garden one last time. "You're right. I'm here to offer you a way out. A way to clear the debt, save the shop, and get your father into the best private respiratory clinic in the country."

Elara felt a chill go down her spine. "The proposal."

"The proposal," Julian echoed. "My mother is already vetting socialites with the personality of cardboard. I'd rather have someone with a bit of... fire. Even if that fire is currently trying to burn me down."

"You want me to be your puppet," she spat. "You want to parade me around to show the world that the 'Ice King' has a heart because he married a florist."

"I want a contract," Julian corrected. "Six months. You stay in the Vane Penthouse. You attend the events. You sign the papers I tell you to sign. In return, the debt is erased. The shop is yours. And your father gets a room with a view and twenty-four-hour nursing."

Elara looked back at her father, who was coughing again, his body shaking with the effort. Then she looked at Kain, who looked so young and so angry.

"I'll give you until tomorrow," Julian said, turning to walk away. "But remember, Elara-every hour you waste is an hour of interest you can't afford."

"Julian!" she called out.

He stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Why me?" she asked, her voice trembling. "You could have anyone. Why the girl who threw an egg at your mother?"

Julian looked over his shoulder, a dark, unreadable glint in his eyes. "Because, Elara, everyone else says 'yes' to me before I even finish the sentence. I wanted to see how long it would take to make you say it."

He walked away, his shoes crunching on the gravel, leaving Elara alone in a garden that was no longer hers.