Rebellion in Disguise

Elina paced her room, her fists clenched, her mind churning with desperation. Her parents' plan to marry her off was nothing less than a trap—a cage of silk and gold meant to strangle her dreams. They thought they could bend her to their will, that their iron-clad commands would crush her into submission. But they underestimated her resolve.

If they insisted on parading suitors before her like prized cattle, she would make sure none of them wanted her.

The idea had sparked during one of those endless, dreadful dinners where her parents discussed her future like she wasn't even present. They talked of power, alliances, legacies—everything except what she wanted.

Fine. If they refused to listen, then she would make them regret their stubbornness. They may have chosen a cage for her, but she was already planning how to break free.

From the following week, she found herself trapped in an endless cycle of blind dates. Men who stare at her with curiosity, greed, or worse, indifference. Men handpicked by her parents for their power, influence, or wealth. None of them saw her. None of them cared to.

Her strategy was simple—attend every arranged meeting her parents forced upon her, but ensure each suitor left unimpressed, disinterested, or preferably, horrified. If enough men rejected her, perhaps her parents would abandon their scheme altogether.

That morning, Elina steeled herself for the first of many battles. As she slipped into the lavish dress her mother had chosen—a deep crimson gown that screamed sophistication—she prepared herself for the performance of a lifetime.

This wasn't defeat. It was a rebellion. And she would play her part to perfection.

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The first suitor, Leonardo Moretti, arrived promptly at noon. He had the air of a man who wore his name like a title—stiff-backed, immaculately dressed, with a sharp jawline and an even sharper gaze. The lunch had been arranged at La Vigna, an upscale Italian restaurant known for its exclusivity and silence—perfect for deals, both business and marital. From the moment he sat across from Elina, Leonardo spoke of legacy, family honour, and tradition with the weight of gospel, as if Elina were a merger to be negotiated rather than a person to be known.

So, tradition was his weak spot.

Over the course of their lunch, Elina spun tales of wild parties and reckless adventures, of dreams that had nothing to do with marriage or legacy. She laughed loudly, and exaggerated her gestures until she resembled someone completely unfit to be anyone's respectable wife.

By the end of their conversation, the man's expression was tight, his polite smile strained. "You are... different than I expected," he said carefully.

"I get that a lot." Elina grinned, utterly unbothered by the disapproval in his voice.

The rejection letter arrived the next day.

The following weeks became a parade of potential husbands, each one more tedious than the last. Wealthy mafia heirs, powerful businessmen, influential politicians—all men whose only interest in her was what her name could offer them.

But Elina had become a master of sabotage. Her tactics had become almost automatic.

To the one who demanded elegance, she transformed herself into a clumsy disaster—spilling wine, tripping over her own feet, and laughing at her own ridiculousness until he practically fled the restaurant.

To the one who expected docility and obedience, she became argumentative and impossible to please. Her every sentence was a challenge, her every expression filled with disdain.

To the one who valued intelligence above all, she played the role of a carefree airhead, feigning ignorance at the most basic of topics. His look of absolute horror when she insisted the world was flat had been almost worth the ordeal.

If the man sought power, she spoke of peace and harmony. If he wanted beauty, she deliberately dressed down, her hair undone and her attire plain. If the man was arrogant, she presented herself as overly humble.

Each blind date ended with polite refusals and tense silences from her parents. Each rejection felt like a small triumph, a piece of freedom wrestled from their iron grip.

But victory came with a price. With each refusal, her parents' frustration grew. Their gazes sharpened, their patience thinned.

"Elina, what are you playing at?" her mother demanded one evening, her 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, Mother. 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 refused to back down. This was her life. And she would rather set fire to it than let them control it.

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It was a game, and she was winning. Or so she thought.

By now, her parents' frustration had boiled into something more sinister. Their eyes narrowed whenever she walked into the room, their words clipped and cold. But still, they continued to push. To arrange meetings. To parade her before suitors as if she were nothing more than a prize to be won.

"Elina, this is not a joke," her mother snapped one morning after yet another rejection. "You're making a mockery of our family."

"I'm just being myself, Mother," Elina replied with mock innocence. "Maybe your standards are just too high."

Her mother's nostrils flared, but her father's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "This childish rebellion of yours will end. One way or another."

But even his threat couldn't shake the confidence she had built.

She grew bolder with each rejection, the thrill of success making her reckless. Her parents were growing desperate, she could feel it. But the more they pushed, the more she resisted.

For once in her life, she was in control.

But control was a fragile illusion. And as the days passed, Elina became so absorbed in her small victories that she failed to see the storm gathering on the horizon.

One they were about to unleash upon her with merciless force.

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