Married to the Enemy

The black sedan came to an abrupt halt, jolting Eleanor Vance from her reverie. She stared out the window, her gaze unfixed, masking the turmoil within.

“Miss Vance,” the driver, a young lieutenant acting as her aide, said tightly. “We’re blocked. It’s a Military Council vehicle.”

Eleanor blinked, her focus snapping back to the present.

A luxury car was parked athwart the road. The door swung open, revealing a slim, well-shaped leg clad in sheer silk stockings. A woman stepped out.

She was a creature of undeniable beauty, draped in a crimson silk evening gown that hugged her curves, embroidered with gold thread that shimmered blindingly in the afternoon sun. Her face was a masterpiece of makeup, bright and alluring.

She sauntered toward Eleanor’s car.

Eleanor didn’t exit. She merely rolled down the window.

The woman leaned in, her elbow resting casually on the car door frame. “Miss Eleanor Vance, I presume? I’m Colette.”

Eleanor’s eyes remained quiet, dark pools of still water.

“Don’t worry, darling, I don’t bite,” Colette giggled, her eyes dancing with malicious amusement, the scent of violets drifting from her sleeves. “I just wanted a sneak peek at the woman who will soon be the ‘Mistress of the House’.”

“And what do you see?” Eleanor asked, her voice level.

Colette smiled again. It was a smile heavy with condescension.

“A beauty, indeed,” Colette purred. “But the General doesn’t care for the… virtuous, stoic type. You’d do well to know your place.”

Eleanor simply watched her. She showed no fear, no anger. Her eyes were like chips of cold obsidian, silently radiating a frost that made Colette’s skin prickle.

Colette felt a momentary chill, a primitive fear, but she shook it off. She was a woman of the world, not some sheltered house mouse. She smirked, regaining her composure.

“Miss Vance, allow me to give you a wedding gift,” Colette said sweetly.

From her beaded handbag, she produced a small pistol and leveled it at Eleanor’s face.

The driver gasped, “Miss Vance!”

Eleanor didn’t flinch. She looked at the gun, then at Colette.

“Have you ever seen one of these? A pearl-handled Derringer,” Colette taunted, pushing the barrel closer.

The driver reached for the door handle, intending to shield his mistress. Colette waited, expecting tears, expecting begging.

Finally, Eleanor’s stoic mask cracked. It wasn’t a smile, nor was it fear. It was a sigh of utter boredom.

“How tedious…”

Before the words even settled, Colette’s wrist seared with white-hot pain.

It happened in a blur. One moment, the gun was in Colette’s hand; the next, Eleanor held it, the barrel now pressed firmly against Colette’s forehead.

Colette froze.

“My father graduated top of his class at West Point. My brothers eat, sleep, and breathe military tactics,” Eleanor said, her voice dropping to an icy whisper. “And you think you can intimidate me with a toy?”

Colette, ignoring the cold metal against her skin, straightened up indignantly. “You wouldn’t dare. You wouldn’t shoot me—”

*BANG.*

The gunshot echoed through the street.

Colette’s nervous system short-circuited. She collapsed to the pavement, clutching her head, a scream caught in her throat. She had followed Damien Sterling onto battlefields; she knew the sound of death.

Then, the pain registered.

Eleanor stepped out of the car. She wore a pale pink afternoon dress, her figure tall and elegant, looking down imperiously at the woman on the asphalt.

Colette looked up, realizing she wasn’t dead. A burning streak scored her left shoulder—the bullet had grazed her, tearing the silk dress and drawing blood, but intentionally missing the vitals.

“Eleanor Vance! You shot me?” Colette shrieked, pain and humiliation warring in her voice. “Do you know who I am?”

“I do. You are Damien Sterling’s mistress,” Eleanor said, leaning down slightly, her gaze detached. “Number two, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You will regret this,” Colette hissed, tears stinging her eyes. “The General will never forgive you!”

“Then go tell him. Run along to your master,” Eleanor said calmly.

With deft, practiced movements, Eleanor manipulated the pistol. In seconds, she had disassembled it. She flicked the bullets out one by one, letting them clatter onto the ground beside Colette.

“Go tell the General, or complain to the Dowager Lady Sterling. This is your first and only warning. Next time, the bullet won’t just graze you. It will go through your skull.”

Eleanor’s voice remained steady, monotonous even. Her dark eyes were as deep and cold as an abyss, hiding all emotion.

She tossed the empty gun frame onto the grass and turned back to her car. “Drive,” she told the lieutenant. “Take me home.”

The car purred to life, leaving Colette humiliated on the roadside.

Inside the car, Eleanor rubbed her wrist and sighed again.

The situation at the Southern Front was dire. Her father, a high-ranking commander, was pinned down by insurgent forces. The siege had been ordered by General Sterling himself, yet when her father and brothers were encircled, the General refused to send reinforcements.

Eleanor had no authority in military matters. Her telegrams to her brother painted a grim picture—the rebel forces were crossing the river.

Desperate, Eleanor had gone to the Sterling Estate to beg an audience with the Dowager Lady Sterling.

Whatever the General’s political machinations, the immediate need was to save the trapped troops.

The Dowager, a formidable matriarch, had patted Eleanor’s hand. “My dear child, do not fret. I will order Damien to deploy reinforcements to the Southern Front. Your father and brothers will return safely.”

It was the first time Eleanor had met the old lady.

Days later, a formal proposal arrived from the General’s residence. The Dowager wanted Eleanor for her daughter-in-law.

“The General has two mistresses,” the lieutenant had reported. “One, a favorite of the General’s; the other, a spy placed by the Dowager. They are at constant war, tearing the house apart. The Dowager wants a legal wife with the standing to tame them all.”

Eleanor’s daring intervention in military affairs had impressed the old woman. The Vance family had a long lineage of military service; their daughters were known for breeding, beauty, and backbone.

With her father and brothers held hostage by the General’s inaction, Eleanor hadn’t hesitated.

“The General is young, capable, and a war hero,” she told her mother and grandmother. “Marrying him is an honor.”

She ensured those words reached the Dowager’s ears. The old lady was pleased.

In this era, a marriage settlement required signatures. Eleanor did not meet Damien Sterling during the betrothal.

He had already signed the contract and sent it to the Vance estate. Eleanor signed her name, and it was filed with the Military Council.

Just like that, she was Damien Sterling’s fiancée. The wedding was set for April 7th.

The woman who had accosted her today was one of those mistresses.

“Do not tell the family the details,” Eleanor instructed the lieutenant.

He nodded, but secrets are hard to keep in a house of worry.

Her mother found out quickly.

“You shouldn’t have agreed,” her mother wept softly. “The General’s household… it is a pit of vipers. It is not a good match.”

Eleanor took her mother’s hand. “The Dowager wants me to manage the household, to bring order. Once I am the wife, the Sterling name becomes our shield. Mother, I am going there to be the General’s wife, not to bicker with concubines. I will make the Dowager and the General satisfied. I will protect this family.”

Her mother continued to weep.

Her grandmother called Eleanor into her study.

“Your mother is too soft to say this, so I must,” the grandmother said, her voice grave. “Damien Sterling… he holds a grudge against your father.”

“I know,” Eleanor said calmly. “Sylvia’s death. We are partly to blame. She was his childhood sweetheart.”

“This marriage is a dragon’s den,” the grandmother said, hesitation in her eyes. “If you wish to break the engagement, I can still intervene…”

“General Sterling intends to kill my father and brothers via ‘military negligence’ to avenge Sylvia,” Eleanor said, her voice devoid of hesitation. “But the Dowager is pragmatic. She fears the instability such a betrayal would cause in the army ranks. She wants this marriage to save my father and to smooth over the cracks in Sterling’s command.”

Eleanor met her grandmother’s gaze steadily.

“Grandmother, I know exactly what I am walking into. The Vance women are not cowards. I can handle being the General’s wife.”

Eleanor Vance’s wedding was set for a fortnight hence.

She had yet to meet her fiancé, Damien Sterling, face to face.

Sterling was a man who had inherited a legacy of blood and iron. Two years prior, upon his father’s death, he had seized control of the military. The Northern Coalition, desperate to stabilize the region, had ratified him as the Supreme Governor of the Four Eastern Provinces.

At twenty-five, he was only four years Eleanor’s senior.

Eleanor recalled her brothers speaking of him often in her childhood. They called him “The Young Wolf”—the heir apparent, a reckless dissolute who frequently drove his father to apoplectic rage, earning severe beatings with depressing regularity.

Later, Eleanor was sent abroad to finishing school in London.

By the time she returned to Solana, Damien Sterling had ascended to the peak of power. He was notoriously busy, and Eleanor, a homebody by nature, had never crossed his path.

She had, of course,