Elizabeth Olsen x female reader imagines

Beneath gilded masks

Your family's boardroom was sleek and silent, its walls lined with cold portraits of legacy and power. You sat in the center, flanked by the people who had molded your life since you could remember. They spoke of strategy, alliances, legacies — words that had been drilled into you for years. But today, their tones were different. Intent.

Today, they had plans for you.

It was your father who delivered the news, his voice calm, as though this was merely another business transaction: "We've arranged a marriage. A partnership, of sorts, with the Olsen family."

You froze, his words echoing like thunder in your ears. An arranged marriage. For business. They may as well have called it a merger. Your objections — the dreams you had that didn't fit neatly into their vision — wouldn't matter here. As the daughter of one of the world's most powerful families, you had known this was possible. Still, hearing the decision laid out before you, so casually, felt like a betrayal.

And then they told you the name: Elizabeth Olsen.

The heiress to her family's empire, Elizabeth was known for her beauty and her unshakeable composure. You'd seen her at society events, her smile cool and polite as she charmed every room she entered. You doubted she was pleased about this any more than you were.

The first meeting was at a lavish restaurant in the heart of the city, where the private dining room held both of your families in a display of champagne glasses and polished silverware. The tension was thick, the air heavy with unspoken expectations.

Elizabeth arrived, her expression as controlled as ever, her eyes giving nothing away. She nodded politely as introductions were made, and when her gaze met yours, it was unreadable. You were strangers bound by wealth, by legacy, by a duty neither of you had asked for.

Dinner was a blur of polite conversation and sidelong glances. Finally, your parents left the two of you alone to "get to know each other." You stared at her across the table, bracing yourself for whatever she might say. Instead, she simply sighed.

"Look," she said, her voice low but steady. "I didn't choose this, either. But we don't really have a choice, do we?"

You felt a surge of relief at her bluntness. "Guess not," you replied with a wry smile. "So...what do we do?"

Elizabeth's eyes softened, just a little. "We survive it," she said, and in that moment, a flicker of understanding passed between you. It was the beginning of a fragile truce.

The wedding was an elaborate affair, a spectacle attended by dignitaries, business moguls, and the elite from all over the world. You wore a gown worth more than most people's annual salary, your face painted in serene elegance as the cameras flashed. Beside you, Elizabeth was the picture of calm, her hand slipping into yours as you recited vows you barely registered.

When the ceremony ended, and the congratulations were over, the two of you found yourselves alone in the grand, empty hotel suite arranged for you. You stood across the room from each other, the silence between you almost unbearable.

"Let's make one thing clear," Elizabeth said finally, her tone sharp. "We may be married, but I'm not about to pretend we're anything more than business partners in this. Agreed?"

You nodded, your own resentment still raw. "Fine by me."

And so began your marriage.

The first weeks were a standoff. Your new shared mansion felt less like a home and more like a cage, with rooms so large they seemed to echo with emptiness. You kept to your own spaces, avoiding each other as much as possible. Breakfasts were silent, dinners even quieter. The two of you shared a bed only because the world expected it, lying back-to-back as you tried to ignore the anger, the bitterness simmering just beneath the surface.

In public, you were the perfect couple, holding hands at events, posing for the press, exchanging polite words for the cameras. But behind closed doors, there was nothing.

One night, unable to sleep, you found yourself in the library, pouring over an old novel. You were so engrossed that you didn't notice Elizabeth's entrance until she cleared her throat softly. Startled, you looked up, surprised to see her standing in the doorway, looking as sleepless as you felt.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice hesitant, almost vulnerable.

You nodded, and she took the seat across from you, her gaze fixed on the rain tapping softly against the window. For a while, neither of you spoke.

Finally, Elizabeth broke the silence. "Did you ever imagine something different?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. There was a softness to her words that caught you off guard.

"Of course," you replied, surprised by your own honesty. "I had dreams that didn't involve...this."

She laughed, a bitter sound that held no humor. "Same here. I thought I'd be traveling the world by now, not...trapped in a marriage for the sake of a corporate alliance."

The quiet honesty between you was new, raw, and it was in that moment that you saw her not as the untouchable figure you'd married but as someone like you — someone who had dreams, regrets, pain. It was the first real conversation you had, and it marked the beginning of something fragile, something unspoken.

Over the months that followed, a quiet companionship developed between you. You found yourselves lingering over breakfast, talking about work, about life, sometimes about things you hadn't shared with anyone else. Elizabeth had a dry sense of humor that matched your own, and as you spent more time together, you found yourself looking forward to her company.

The nights grew longer, filled with hushed conversations and shared secrets. You learned about her love for art, her dreams of a life far from the demands of wealth. And she learned about you — your desire for freedom, the weight of expectations you'd carried alone for so long.

And yet, you never spoke of what was slowly, inexorably building between you. There was a tension, a pull that neither of you acknowledged. You became accustomed to her small touches — a hand on your arm, a brush of fingers as she passed you something. Each touch lingered, igniting something deep within you, something you were almost afraid to name.

One evening, after a particularly long gala, Elizabeth stood beside you on the balcony of your suite, the city lights reflected in her eyes. You felt the weight of her gaze on you, and when you turned to meet it, there was something different, something vulnerable in her expression.

"I don't hate this as much anymore," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the city's hum.

The words made your heart race, and without thinking, you reached for her hand, threading your fingers through hers. She didn't pull away.

"Neither do I," you replied softly, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you, standing side by side.

As the months passed, that quiet companionship deepened, turning into something undeniable, something you both felt but never spoke aloud. You became each other's confidants, finding comfort in your shared experiences, in the gentle way she would look at you, the quiet strength of her hand in yours.

The first kiss came one night, when words failed, when the need to express what you'd both been holding back became too strong to ignore. It was tentative, soft, a question and an answer all at once. And when you pulled back, breathless, you saw the same wonder in her eyes that you felt in your own.

What had begun as a duty, a burden, had grown into something real — something unexpected, something that made you grateful for the life you'd once resented.

In the end, love had crept in slowly, filling the empty spaces between you, transforming a gilded cage into a true home, shared by two hearts that had once been strangers but now beat in perfect harmony.