Amara stood at the entrance of the mansion, still trying to process the fact that she had just married Ethan Rivera—on paper at least.
"Don't just stand there like a lost kitten," Ethan called from inside, loosening his tie. "You live here now. Act like it."
Amara blinked, her heels clicking softly as she stepped inside. The marble floors gleamed under the chandelier lights, and everything smelled faintly of citrus and wealth. There was no sign of dust, no misplaced cushions, no unwashed dishes—just sleek perfection.
A home that didn't feel lived in.
"So...where do I sleep?" she asked awkwardly, clutching her small handbag like it was armor.
Ethan raised a brow. "You think I'm the type of guy who shoves his wife into the guest room on our first night?"
Amara's heart skipped.
"You're not serious," she mumbled.
"I'm not," he smirked. "Your room is next to mine. We're married, not in love. I'm not trying to confuse anyone—including us."
The way he said "in love" made something sting deep in her chest.
"Right," she nodded. "Of course. Strictly business."
He turned and began walking upstairs, and she followed silently.
---
🛏️ The Guest Room… With Conditions
When he opened the door, she expected soft pastels and floral sheets. Instead, it looked like a luxury hotel suite—sleek greys, a king-sized bed, a floor-to-ceiling window with city lights glowing beyond. A soft robe lay folded at the foot of the bed, and a subtle lavender scent drifted from an air diffuser in the corner.
"Woah," she whispered.
"You'll be staying here. There's a closet full of clothes in your size. You'll find pajamas, too. Don't ask how I know your size," he said without turning around. "I have good assistants."
"That's not creepy at all," she muttered.
He smiled faintly. "You'll get used to it."
Amara stepped further into the room, her fingers grazing the edge of the massive bed. It was more luxurious than anything she had ever touched. Growing up, she and her brother had shared a tiny mattress for years. Now she had a personal walk-in closet?
It didn't feel real.
"And what about…rules?" she asked, still facing away from him.
He leaned against the doorway and looked straight at her.
"No overnight guests. No messing with my schedule. We attend events together when needed. And," his voice dropped a little, "no falling in love."
Her lips parted slightly. "Are you always this arrogant?"
He shrugged. "Only with people I'm married to."
---
🌃 First Night in the Mansion
Later that night, Amara stood in front of the full-length mirror in the closet. She wore one of the silk pajama sets—sky blue with delicate white lace. It felt… wrong to wear something so beautiful that wasn't hers.
She looked at her reflection, trying to see what Ethan might have seen when he chose her for this deal. She didn't feel particularly striking. Just… desperate enough to sign a contract.
No falling in love.
She scoffed at the mirror. "As if that's even on the table."
---
🛏️ Late Night Thoughts
Hours later, Amara lay in the king-sized bed, staring at the ceiling. The air felt too cold, or maybe it was just the silence. How did she go from planning her next meal to planning her appearances as a billionaire's wife?
She rolled onto her side and picked up the phone.
No texts. No missed calls. Not that she expected any.
A memory flooded in—her little brother laughing, holding her hand as they skipped home from school. Their mother waving from the porch, eyes tired but warm. Then another memory—hospital corridors, bills piling up, her mother's frail smile.
She pressed her lips together. This marriage wasn't for love. It was survival.
Still, her heart wasn't fully settled.
Ethan Rivera was mystery, money, and power wrapped in one breathtakingly attractive human. But he was also a walking wall.
And something about him told her he had secrets too.
---
🌧️ Meanwhile…
In the room next door, Ethan sat at the edge of his bed, scrolling through an email from his lawyer.
"Marriage certificate processed. Public release scheduled in 48 hours."
He tossed the phone onto the bed.
It had begun. The press would be hungry. His enemies would watch closely. And Amara… she had no idea what she'd stepped into.
But she would. Soon.
Very soon.
He reached for a worn leather journal on his nightstand. Inside were press clippings, news headlines, and photos. One photo stood out—a woman with the same eyes as Amara. Her mother.
He stared at it for a moment, jaw tight.
This wasn't just business.
---
🌫️ Early Morning Restlessness
At 4:30 AM, Amara couldn't sleep.
She padded into the kitchen quietly, wrapped in a long robe. The house was dark, but the fridge light flickered as she opened it. She poured a glass of water and sat at the granite counter.
Then she heard footsteps.
She turned, startled, and saw Ethan shirtless in sweatpants, hair slightly tousled.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low and scratchy.
"Couldn't sleep," she said, suddenly very aware of how good he looked in the dim light.
"Too much luxury all at once?" he teased, reaching for a bottle of water.
She chuckled lightly. "Something like that."
They stood in silence for a moment. The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound.
Then he spoke.
"I know this isn't easy for you. But... you're stronger than you think."
She looked up, surprised.
"Thanks," she said softly. "You don't seem like the type to hand out compliments."
"I'm not," he replied. "So don't get used to it."
With that, he turned and walked back into the hallway.
She watched him go, her heart beating a little faster.
No falling in love, right?
Too late.