Aisha woke up to silence.
Not the silence of her old, tiny room where the ceiling fan rattled and neighbors shouted at dawn.
This silence was different—
thick, heavy, expensive.
The kind of silence that belonged to people who didn't worry about rent or tomorrow.
Her eyes opened slowly.
She was lying on a bed softer than anything she had ever touched.
The curtains were half-open, revealing a city skyline stretching endlessly.
For a few seconds, she forgot where she was.
Then the memories slammed back.
The marriage contract.
The rules.
The penthouse.
Adrian Black.
Aisha sat up quickly, her heart racing.
This is real.
I really married him.
Her suitcase sat neatly in the corner, placed there by the staff. Nothing had been unpacked yet.
She wasn't sure she had the right to.
9:00 a.m.
A soft knock echoed at her door.
Aisha jumped up and opened it slightly.
A woman in a crisp uniform stood outside. "Good morning, Mrs. Black. Mr. Black requests your presence in the dining hall."
"R-requests?" Aisha repeated.
The woman smiled rigidly.
"Mr. Black never repeats himself, so I advise you hurry."
Aisha swallowed and dressed quickly, brushing her hair with trembling hands.
The Dining Hall
She expected a normal table.
What she found was a space larger than her entire old house.
A long polished table stretched across the room. A chandelier glittered above like a thousand tiny stars.
Adrian sat at the far end, reading the morning reports. He wore a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled back, veins visible along his forearms.
He looked like he walked out of a billionaire romance novel.
Except he wasn't fiction.
He was dangerously real.
Aisha hesitated.
His eyes lifted. "You're late."
She checked the clock.
9:00 a.m. sharp.
"I—I came as soon as—"
"In my house, 'as soon as' is not a time."
His voice was cool, but not angry.
Just factual.
She sat down silently. A housekeeper placed a plate of breakfast in front of her.
Aisha whispered, "Thank you."
Adrian glanced at her, almost surprised she thanked staff. But he said nothing.
After several minutes of quiet eating, he spoke.
"We need to establish a schedule."
Aisha paused mid-bite. "A… schedule?"
"You will accompany me today," he said. "There are places you need to see. People you must meet."
"For what?"
"For the role you signed for," he replied.
"My wife."
Her pulse skipped.
Right.
This wasn't just a contract.
This was a performance.
"You will get new clothes," he continued. "The ones you own don't suit the public image."
Her cheeks flushed with shame. She knew her faded clothes weren't impressive, but hearing it from him…
He noticed her silence.
"Aisha," he said calmly, "this is not criticism. It is preparation."
She nodded weakly.
He rose from his seat.
"You have fifteen minutes. Then we leave."
Without another word, he walked away.
She exhaled shakily.
He was cold, controlled, and complicated.
But he hadn't raised his voice.
He hadn't belittled her.
He treated her… like someone who had entered his world, not someone beneath it.
Still, he felt like a storm she had to learn to survive.
The Mysterious West Wing
As she walked back to her room, she passed the hallway Adrian had warned her about.
The west wing.
A long, shadowed corridor that felt colder than the rest of the penthouse.
Aisha stopped.
The air itself felt different—
like the walls were holding their breath.
A faint humming noise came from somewhere deep inside.
Almost like machinery.
Or… something electrical.
Why would a penthouse have that?
She took one step closer.
Just one.
"Mrs. Black."
A deep voice behind her made her jump violently.
It was the head security officer—big, silent, intimidating.
Aisha stuttered, "I—I wasn't entering. I just—"
"I know," he said. "But Mr. Black's rules are to be followed. That part of the penthouse is strictly off-limits."
Aisha nodded quickly.
Her heart thudded painfully.
What is he hiding there?
Shopping With a Billionaire
The ride to the private boutique was silent.
Adrian sat beside her, scrolling through something on his phone, completely unaware of her staring.
Or… maybe he was aware.
She never knew with him.
When they entered the store, the staff reacted instantly—standing straighter, bowing slightly.
"Mr. Black. Everything is prepared."
Racks of designer outfits were lined up, all in her sizes.
Aisha whispered, "This is too much."
Adrian didn't look at her. "You represent my name now. You will dress accordingly."
"I can be simple," she said quietly.
"You can," he agreed.
"But you won't."
She bit her lip.
Suddenly, a dress slipped from a hanger and nearly fell. The salesgirl tried to grab it but failed.
Aisha stepped forward, catching it quickly.
The girl exhaled in relief. "Thank you, ma'am."
Aisha smiled gently. "It's okay. It happens."
Adrian watched the interaction, something unreadable in his eyes.
Most rich wives would have snapped at the girl, demanded replacement.
But Aisha…
She was different.
After she tried on several outfits, he finally spoke.
"This one," he said, pointing to a soft beige dress that hugged her waist gently.
Aisha looked in the mirror.
She didn't look poor.
She didn't look weak.
She looked like someone who could stand beside him.
But she whispered, "Are you sure? It looks so expensive."
Adrian stepped closer, adjusting a strand of her hair behind her ear—his fingers brushing her skin lightly.
She froze.
"It suits you," he said softly.
Her heartbeat tripped.
Why did his voice sound… almost warm?
But before she could analyze it, he stepped back, walls rising again.
"We're done here."
At the Cafe
To the world, Adrian Black never ate in public.
But today, he guided her into a quiet, exclusive café.
People watched.
Whispers traveled.
"Is that him?"
"Who's the girl?"
"Is she his new—?"
Aisha felt her stomach twist.
Adrian leaned closer. "Ignore them."
"I can't," she whispered.
"You must," he said. "You're my wife now. Their eyes will always be on us."
Her cheeks warmed.
Wife.
That word was a stranger on her tongue.
When the waiter arrived, Adrian ordered for both of them, without asking her.
She blinked. "You know what I like?"
"I know everything necessary about you," he said simply.
A chill ran down her spine.
Not of fear—
But of realization.
He truly had investigated her life before approaching her.
Why?
Before she could ask, a woman approached their table suddenly.
Beautiful, tall, confident—clearly from Adrian's world.
"Adrian?" she said with a strange smile. "I didn't expect to see you… with someone."
Aisha stiffened.
The woman's gaze moved to her ring.
"Oh. Married? Already? Interesting."
Adrian's eyes sharpened. "This is my wife. Speak respectfully."
Something in his tone made the woman step back.
But Aisha remained frozen.
Wife.
He said it like it was the only truth in the world.
And for a moment…
Aisha felt her heartbeat respond.
Back at the Penthouse
By the time they returned, she was exhausted.
But the west wing pulled her attention again.
The hum was louder this time.
Or maybe she was imagining it.
Aisha stepped one foot forward—
"Aisha."
She jumped, turning to find Adrian behind her.
His expression was cold.
Too cold.
"I told you not to come here."
"I—I wasn't going inside," she said quickly. "I just… heard something."
He took a slow step closer.
"There is nothing there for you."
"But why is it locked?" she whispered.
Adrian's jaw tightened.
She wasn't sure if he was angry, nervous, or something else.
Finally, he spoke.
"Because some truths," he said quietly, "are too dangerous to open."
Aisha stood still, breath caught.
His eyes—dark, shadowed—held a warning.
And a secret.
The kind of secret that could break a marriage.
Or save it.
Or destroy a life.