I'd lived in the Calein estate for more than a month now, and yet, it still felt like I had only just moved in. I could navigate the hallways, predict the staff routines, even understand the way Mira liked to fold napkins at breakfast—but it still didn't feel like a home.
And maybe it wasn't supposed to.
After all, this was never meant to be a marriage in the way most people imagined it. No vows of love. No slow mornings tangled in blankets. No stolen kisses.
Just silence. Respectful, cold silence.
Richard had built walls around himself long before I arrived, and I had long since learned not to knock on doors I wasn't invited to open.
Still, I found myself becoming familiar with his patterns—like a distant observer of a creature too careful to show itself.
He read reports late into the night. He skipped breakfast most days. He avoided the west garden but always paused at the door before turning away.
And though we lived under the same roof, we didn't share a room.
One morning, I found Mira waiting for me by the corridor with a box.
"It was delivered today. For you."
I blinked. "For me?"
She nodded and placed the box gently on the side table.
Inside, I found a slim laptop, a handwritten note tucked beneath it.
"To make your work easier. —RC"
I traced the edge of the note slowly. No extravagant words. No explanation. Just the gesture.
It was the first thing he'd given me that didn't feel like an obligation.
I didn't know how to thank him. So I didn't. Not with words.
Instead, I baked.
I wasn't particularly skilled, but I could follow a recipe well enough. There was something soothing about it—measuring sugar, cracking eggs, folding things carefully into warmth. It reminded me of the rare good afternoons from childhood, the ones where silence meant peace instead of coldness.
I left the cake in the kitchen with a note:
"Try this. No pressure. —L"
When I returned later, the plate was empty. And in its place was a sticky note:
"Not bad. Keep working on the texture."
A smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it.
Later that week, I found Richard in the music room.
I hadn't even known we had one until I followed the faint sound of piano keys one evening.
He sat on the bench, fingers moving slowly over the keys—hesitant but clean.
He didn't look up when I stepped inside.
"You play?" I asked.
He didn't stop. "Used to."
I sat down on a nearby chair, careful not to intrude.
"Why did you stop?"
He paused, mid-note. "No one listened."
Something heavy settled in the room, but it wasn't unwelcome.
"I'm listening now," I said.
He resumed playing. Nothing fancy. Just a melody I didn't recognize, slow and strange.
For once, the silence between us wasn't cold. It was full.
The next morning, Mira informed me that we'd be hosting a formal dinner.
"Board members," she said. "A few family shareholders. It's a quarterly ritual."
"And I'm expected to attend?"
"You're the wife," she replied gently.
Of course. The wife. The role I had accepted.
I chose a dark emerald dress, nothing flashy but not forgettable either. Mira helped pin my hair up, and when I walked down the staircase at precisely 7:03, I saw Richard standing near the front door, suit pressed, expression unreadable.
His eyes scanned me once. Then he held out his arm.
"Shall we?"
I looped my hand through his elbow.
Dinner was… controlled.
Polite laughter. Expensive wine. Careful conversations laced with business language and hidden meaning.
I sat beside Richard, smiled when I needed to, made small talk with people who asked about my background with a little too much interest.
One of the board members—a man in his sixties with a wandering gaze—leaned over during dessert.
"So, Lara, are you planning to contribute to the company in any… meaningful way?"
Before I could reply, Richard's voice cut in.
"She already has. You're holding one of her forecast sheets in your portfolio."
The man blinked. Then smiled nervously. "Ah. Impressive."
Richard didn't say anything more. But under the table, his hand brushed against mine—just for a second. Like a warning. Or maybe a defense.
When the guests left, I stayed behind to help Mira.
Richard returned after a few minutes.
"They liked you," he said.
I snorted. "They tolerated me."
He didn't argue.
Then, after a pause: "Thank you. For handling them."
I looked at him, surprised. "You're welcome."
He hesitated like he wanted to say more. But in the end, he just nodded and walked away.
I watched his back as he disappeared into the dark corridor.
There was so much distance between us.
But sometimes, it felt like we were inching closer.