The silence in the grand penthouse apartment was deafening. Hana sat on the edge of the luxurious leather couch, her hands tightly gripping the hem of her dress. Her heart thudded violently in her chest as Leon stood at the opposite end of the room, arms crossed, cold eyes fixed on her.
She was trying to make sense of her life how did she go from a desperate daughter to a wife purchased like a commodity?
"You signed the contract," Leon said sharply, breaking the silence. "You're my wife now. That includes responsibilities."
Hana looked up, her eyes burning. "Responsibilities? What am I to you, Leon? A business asset? A... toy you bought off the shelf?"
Leon flinched. He wasn't expecting her to be so blunt. He had dealt with women all his life models, actresses, heiresses. But none had looked at him with such disdain. And none had ever challenged him.
"You agreed to this," he replied coolly, walking toward her. "You knew exactly what this marriage meant."
"No," she snapped, standing. "I agreed because I had no choice. My mother she's fighting for her life. You think I had the luxury of saying no?"
Leon's expression hardened. "I saved your mother's life. I gave you enough money for her operation and years of treatment."
"And I'll never forget that," Hana whispered. "But don't you dare act like I owe you my soul."
A flicker of something regret? guilt? passed through Leon's eyes. But it vanished quickly.
He turned his back to her, walking toward the bar and pouring himself a glass of scotch. "You don't owe me your soul, Hana. Just your presence. Appear with me at events. Smile when needed. And don't interfere in my life."
Her heart sank further. She had hoped naively that behind his icy exterior, there might be a trace of humanity. Of warmth. But he was exactly as the tabloids described him: cold, ruthless, emotionally unavailable.
"Fine," she said quietly. "I'll play the part of your perfect wife. But don't expect me to pretend we're in love."
Leon looked at her over his glass, eyes narrowing. "Believe me, I have no interest in love."
The next morning, Hana woke up in the guest bedroom. Her belongings had been neatly unpacked by the staff. The room was decorated in soft pastels, nothing like the cold marble and steel of the rest of the penthouse.
She opened the curtains. The city skyline stretched endlessly beyond the glass. Somewhere out there, her mother was recovering in a private hospital room, receiving the best care money could buy.
Hana placed a hand over her heart. This isn't forever, she reminded herself. Just until the contract ends.
Downstairs, breakfast was served by a quiet housekeeper. Leon was already seated, flipping through the morning paper, ignoring her presence entirely.
"Good morning," she greeted politely.
He didn't even look up. "You'll need to attend a gala tonight. My assistant will send you the details."
"A gala?"
"It's a charity auction. High society event. Our first appearance together as husband and wife."
Hana clenched her jaw. So it begins the parade. The performance.
"Understood."
Leon finally met her eyes. "Wear something elegant. And don't speak unless spoken to."
Her fingers tightened around the spoon. Breathe, Hana. Breathe.
That evening, the media buzzed as Leon Hartley arrived at the gala with a mysterious woman in a floor-length silk gown. Cameras flashed, reporters speculated.
"Who's the woman?" "Is that Leon Hartley's new girlfriend?" "Wait did he get married in secret?!"
Leon wrapped an arm around Hana's waist, his grip firm. He leaned in close. "Smile, Hana."
She forced a smile, her eyes betraying the pain beneath the surface.
Inside the ballroom, gold chandeliers sparkled overhead. Waiters moved between tables with champagne flutes. The elite of New York whispered and stared.
Leon introduced her as "Mrs. Hartley."
Each time, Hana felt a pang. The title didn't feel real. She was no one's Mrs. Not truly.
During dinner, an old friend of Leon's, Veronica Blake—a stunning redhead in a backless gown slid into the seat beside him.
"Leon," she purred. "Long time no see. You've been hiding."
He smirked. "I've been... busy."
Veronica glanced at Hana. "And this must be the reason. How adorable. A mail-order bride?"
Hana froze. The insult was clear.
Leon said nothing. He didn't defend her.
Hana excused herself to the restroom, her face burning.
She locked the stall and let the tears fall.
Later that night, back at the penthouse, Hana confronted him.
"You just let her humiliate me. Right in front of everyone."
Leon looked at her, confused. "It was a joke."
"No, it was an attack. And you stood there like I was invisible."
He sighed, loosening his tie. "This is high society, Hana. Learn to deal with it."
She turned away. "You bought a wife, Leon. Not a puppet."
He paused. Then, almost too softly: "Did I make a mistake choosing you?"
She whirled around. "No. But I did, marrying you."
They stared at each other, breathing hard. Words unsaid hung in the air.
Leon turned and walked away.
And Hana stood alone in the center of the cold, marble living room just a girl sold into a contract marriage, slowly losing pieces of herself.