The Price of Legacy

Prologue

I dropped my bag on the floor and collapsed into the desk chair. It had been a long day at Tulane, and I just wanted a moment to unwind, but instead, I noticed a folded piece of paper sitting in the middle of my desk. The handwriting was unmistakable—my father's.

Hope,

Pack your belongings. By the end of the week, you'll be transferring to Mystic Falls. No further questions. Do not disturb me unless there is blood or someone has died. Elijah and I have business to discuss.

I blinked at the note, my heart rate picking up. There was no explanation, just a cold directive, as if I were one of his employees instead of his daughter. Anger flared in my chest, hot and overwhelming. I crumpled the note in my fist and shot up from the desk, the chair clattering to the floor. My father could not just decide to upend my life without so much as a conversation.

I was done with his games, done with being treated like an afterthought. I stormed out of my room, down the hall, and towards his office. I barely registered the opulent decor of our mansion—I'd seen it all my life, and today, it just felt empty. My footsteps echoed on the marble floors as I marched to the door and flung it open without knocking.

Inside, my uncle Elijah was leaning over my father's desk, speaking in low tones. My father looked up at me, not surprised, but slightly amused, as if he'd expected my arrival. His expression was infuriatingly calm.

"Hope," my uncle said gently, raising a hand as if to placate me, "perhaps now isn't the best—"

"No," I interrupted sharply, my voice trembling with rage. "Why am I being sent to Mystic Falls? You can't just—"

"Sit down, Hope," my father said, cutting me off. His tone was dismissive, commanding, like I was a child throwing a tantrum. He gestured to the leather chair across from his desk.

"I don't want to sit!" I shot back. "You owe me an explanation, Dad. What is going on?"

My father sighed, leaning back in his chair, his blue eyes cold and calculating. "This is not up for debate, Hope. You will finish your studies at the Salvatore Boarding School under the care of Caroline Forbes."

I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could, I noticed the third person in the room—a young man, standing silently by the window. He looked only a few years older than me, tall and awkwardly formal in a suit. He seemed far too interested in the current discussion. My confusion only deepened, and I turned back to my father. "Who is that?" I demanded.

Klaus barely glanced at him. "That is Landon Kirby. You'll be getting to know him quite well."

"Excuse me?" My voice cracked, a mix of disbelief and dread pooling in my stomach. I had a gut feeling that I knew what would come next.

It was my uncle that stepped forward, his hands raised in a calming gesture. "Hope, you have to understand, this is for your future—"

"No!" I cut him off. "What are you talking about? My future?"

My father's expression hardened, and he leaned forward, his voice turning cold. "You will marry Landon once you finish school. It's been arranged for quite some time. Now sit down before you embarrass yourself further."

My heart stopped, and I felt the world tilt. "You can't be serious," I whispered, my voice breaking. "You're marrying me off to some stranger?"

My father didn't flinch at my words, or the sound of my voice breaking. He didn't even look guilty—just...resolute. "Landon is someone I trust," he said. "Someone who can protect you, someone who understands our world and what it demands." He believed every word he was saying.

I took a step back, shaking my head. "This is insane! I don't even know him! You can't force me to do this!"

But my father's eyes narrowed, his patience thinning. He gestured sharply, and the two men I knew as his personal guards stepped forward, blocking my escape. I tried to resist, shoving at their hands, but they were too strong. One of them gripped my arm, not unkindly, but firmly enough to make it clear I had no choice.

"Take her to her room," my father ordered, his voice clipped, as if he were discussing a business transaction rather than my life.

"No! Let go of me!" I yelled, fighting against them, my vision blurring with angry tears. "Dad, please! You can't do this!"

But he turned away, ignoring my pleas as if I were nothing more than a nuisance. Elijah's face was stricken, but he said nothing as I was half-dragged from the room. The last thing I saw was my father calmly resuming his conversation with Landon, as if I didn't even exist.

Back in my room, I slammed the door shut behind me, my breath hitching, and slid down to the floor. My chest felt tight, my hands shaking as I finally let the sobs out. I had to pack. I had no choice. My father had made that crystal clear.

As I reached for my suitcase, my eyes caught on a small frame buried under some papers on my desk—the only photograph I had of my mother. Her face smiled back at me, young and carefree, with that wild light in her eyes I'd only heard stories about. I wiped my eyes and picked up the photo, my fingers tracing the edge of the frame.

It's my fault, I thought bitterly. He hates me because I'm the reason she's dead.

Tears blurred my vision, and I cradled the photo to my chest, memories crashing over me. I remembered when Dad used to hold me when I had nightmares, how he'd make me laugh when I skinned my knees, how he used to tell me I was the most important thing in the world. But something had changed—no, I had changed. I'd grown older, and he'd grown distant, until I was nothing but a reminder of what he'd lost.

I wanted to hate him for what he was doing to me now, but all I felt was an overwhelming sense of emptiness. My chest ached with the weight of it. I stuffed the picture into my bag, blinking away the tears. I didn't have time to cry—I had to be ready by the end of the week.

So I packed, one item at a time, until my room looked like I had never lived there at all.