The mansion felt different at night — quieter, softer, almost breathing with her.
Emma padded through the vast hallway, her footsteps muted by the thick Persian rug underfoot. It had only been a few days since the wedding, but it already felt like she'd been living here for weeks — adjusting, shrinking, learning the walls that didn't want to welcome her.
But tonight, for some reason, she didn't feel as suffocated.
Dinner had been… strange. Not warm, not exactly kind — but not cold either. And that was something.
Alexander's sudden offer — "You may continue your studies. If you want to." — still echoed in her head. She hadn't asked for permission. She hadn't expected a conversation at all. The man had the emotional warmth of a stone wall, yet he'd offered her a sliver of autonomy.
Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was just convenience. Or maybe he simply didn't care enough to object.
Still, for the first time since slipping into her sister's dress, Emma felt a tiny bit less like an intruder.
She turned down the left hallway — the one the staff used to avoid. A narrower path that wound past the west garden. There was a spot there she liked. She'd found it two days ago while getting lost after refusing to ask directions.
It wasn't much — just a bench under a pergola, half-covered with vines and climbing roses. But it was the one place that didn't feel like it belonged to someone else.
She stepped outside, the night breeze brushing against her face gently. The world smelled like dew and roses and the faintest hint of night-blooming jasmine. The stars hung heavy above the dark garden, watching in silence.
Emma sat, smoothing the hem of her dress, and tilted her face toward the sky.
For the first time since the wedding, she let her shoulders relax.
She didn't need to perform out here. No one was watching. No one was judging whether she used the right fork, walked too fast, or folded her napkin wrong. The staff had already grown used to her quiet nature. Some even smiled at her now — quick, respectful smiles that lacked the contempt laced in the eyes of Alexander's family.
Especially Elise — his cousin. Emma hadn't seen much of her today, but yesterday's glare over lunch still lingered in her memory.
"You're not the kind of girl this family accepts," Elise had said casually, as if talking about the weather.
Emma had only nodded. She didn't have the energy to argue with someone who'd decided she wasn't enough before even speaking to her.
She tucked her hands into her lap and let out a soft breath.
The longer she sat, the more the quiet pressed in — not heavy, but calming. Like a blanket pulled up over her shoulders.
Maybe she could find a rhythm here. Not happiness, not belonging — but something that let her breathe.
She pulled out a small sketchbook from her pocket. It was the one thing she'd taken from home without second thought. The pages were worn and a little bent at the edges, filled with half-finished designs, fabric swatches taped to corners, pencil marks and notes scribbled in margins.
Emma flipped to a blank page.
She didn't know what she was drawing. She just let the pencil move — a soft swirl here, a neckline there. A sleeve with delicate detailing. A dress she knew she'd never wear. But the motion soothed her. It reminded her who she was beneath the weight of the Wolfe name.
She didn't hear the footsteps.
Alexander stood at the edge of the path, watching from a respectful distance. He wasn't sure what had drawn him out — maybe the silence in his study, maybe the memory of her expression at dinner. Quietly curious. Not afraid.
She hadn't begged. She hadn't complained. She hadn't tried to win him over or force conversation.
She'd simply listened.
And now here she was, sitting beneath the stars, pencil moving in slow, thoughtful strokes. Her face looked softer in the moonlight — less guarded. A version of her he hadn't seen yet.
He watched for a moment longer, then turned back before she noticed. He didn't know why.
Back at the bench, Emma closed the sketchbook and hugged it to her chest. The wind had picked up a little. She looked up at the moon, her lips twitching into the faintest smile.
She still didn't belong here.
But maybe, just maybe, she could build a corner of this life that was hers.
And maybe one day, she'd stop feeling like a ghost in someone else's story.
The next morning, Emma stood nervously outside the Westbridge School of Design, her fingers tightening around her file. A navy-blue cardigan clung to her shoulders as the wind tousled her hair. The morning sun warmed her cheeks, and the rush of students made her feel both invisible and overwhelmed.
She handed over the completed form to the admissions desk. The woman behind the counter smiled and clicked away at the keyboard.
"You're all set. Miss Emma," she added gently, noting the name.
Emma offered a polite nod and murmured her thanks before turning away.
And ran straight into a familiar voice.
"Oh. My. God. EMMA?!"
She froze.
"Lana?"
Emma's eyes widened as her best friend — bubbly, colorful, and chaotic as ever — crashed into her for a hug that nearly knocked her over.
"Where have you been, woman?!" Lana exclaimed, pulling back, her eyes wide. "You vanished! I called, I texted, I even wrote a stupid letter like it was 2002. Nothing!"
Emma swallowed. "I… didn't know how to explain."
Lana's tone softened instantly. "What happened?"
They found a quiet corner in the nearby campus café, the air thick with roasted beans and chatter. Emma stirred her coffee slowly, then looked up.
"My family was in trouble. My stepfather owed a lot of money. My sister was supposed to marry into a rich family… but she ran away. So they asked me to take her place."
Lana blinked. "Take her place in what?"
Emma let out a breath. "In the marriage. To Alexander Wolfe."
Lana went still.
Then—"The Alexander Wolfe? CEO, brooding eyes, jawline of a Greek god? That one?"
Emma laughed despite herself. "Yes. That one."
Lana's face went from shocked to confused to concerned. "But Emma… why didn't you tell me? I would've been there."
"I couldn't," she whispered. "I was ashamed. It wasn't my choice. And I didn't want to see pity in your eyes."
Lana reached across the table and held her hand. "Emma. You're not weak for surviving something impossible. You're strong for still dreaming through it."
Emma didn't reply. Her eyes shimmered, but she blinked the tears away.
And for the first time in weeks, she didn't feel so alone.