Amara barely slept that night. Every creak of the massive house unsettled her, every flicker of shadow stirred her imagination. She tossed and turned, her thoughts wrapped around Adrian Blake like vines that refused to loosen.
How could someone look at her with such indifference? And why did that brief moment of concern—when he caught her—linger in her mind?
By the time the sun cast faint light through the heavy curtains, her body was tired, but her mind was sharp with determination. If she was going to survive in this house, in this contract marriage, she needed to understand the man she was dealing with.
And understanding Adrian Blake wasn't going to be easy.
---
That afternoon, Amara wandered the east wing. The mansion was enormous—more like a palace than a house. Everything about it screamed money, power, control. It was easy to get lost, and she almost did, twice. She passed halls with portraits of people who all bore the Blake family resemblance—harsh eyes, proud posture, distant expressions.
Eventually, she found a quiet library tucked at the end of a hallway. Dust motes danced in the sunlight that filtered through stained glass windows. Books lined the shelves from floor to ceiling—leather-bound classics, business manuals, and obscure titles in languages she didn't recognize.
She ran her fingers across the spines, comforted by the familiar presence of books. Here, she could breathe. She sat on a velvet-cushioned window seat and picked up a novel. For the first time in days, her shoulders relaxed.
But the peace didn't last long.
Muffled voices drifted in from the hallway. Curious, Amara set the book down and tiptoed to the slightly ajar door. She peeked out.
Two men stood near the end of the hall—Adrian and someone she hadn't seen before. The man was older, sharp-suited, and had a scar across his jaw. His voice was low, but serious.
"The De Luca girl is not to be trusted," he said. "Her presence complicates everything. Are you sure about this?"
Adrian's reply was colder than ice. "She's not a threat. She's just... temporary."
Amara's stomach dropped.
"Still," the man continued, "the board isn't happy. They think this marriage could be a liability if things get out."
"It won't," Adrian snapped. "She knows the rules. And if she doesn't—she'll learn."
Amara felt as if she'd been slapped. She backed away from the door quietly, her heart thudding. Just temporary. Not a threat. That's all she was to him. Not a person. Just a tool. A pawn in whatever cold, calculated game he was playing.
Her chest tightened, but she forced the tears back. She wouldn't let herself cry anymore. Not for him.
---
That evening, at dinner, the atmosphere was even more tense than before. Amara sat straighter, her silence louder than usual.
Adrian glanced at her once. Just once. Something flickered in his eyes—but it was gone too fast for her to read.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked suddenly, his voice slicing through the silence.
Amara's fork froze midway to her mouth. "Why do you care?" she replied without looking up.
He didn't answer immediately. "It's part of the contract. I'm supposed to keep up appearances, after all."
She dropped her fork with a soft clang. "Is that what I am to you? An appearance? A liability? Something to manage?"
Adrian's jaw tensed. "Don't take it personally."
"How else am I supposed to take it?" she shot back. "You married me like a business deal, and now you act like I'm some parasite crawling around your life."
His eyes darkened. "You agreed to this."
"No, I was forced into it."
A pause. The air between them crackled with unspoken words.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, his gaze unreadable. "Then maybe you should stop acting like a victim and start acting like someone who wants to survive this."
That stung more than she expected. But she swallowed her pride, stood up, and walked away—again.
---
Later that night, Amara sat by the fireplace in her room, staring at the flickering flames. She hated that he made her feel small. Powerless. Invisible.
But there was something else she hated even more.
The part of her that wanted to know more about him. That wanted to peel away the coldness and see what lay underneath.
What was he hiding? What did the board mean when they said she was a "liability"? And why was he so afraid of letting anyone in?
The longer she stayed in this house, the more questions tangled in her mind like threads waiting to be pulled.
---
Outside, a thunderstorm had started. Rain slammed against the windows, and lightning lit up the room.
Somewhere deep in the house, a door slammed. Footsteps echoed down the halls.
Amara tensed.
Someone was pacing outside her room.
She stood slowly and opened the door a crack.
Adrian stood there, drenched from head to toe, his shirt soaked through, dark hair dripping water onto the floor. He looked... different. Disheveled. Haunted.
Their eyes met.
Neither spoke for a long moment.
Then, quietly, he said, "Yo
u should lock your door at night."
And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the darkness.