Chapter 4:
The car slowed as they passed through tall gates, iron and imposing, closing behind them with a dull metallic sound Elara felt it in her chest — the finality of it. This wasn't just a house. It was a boundary she couldn't cross back over so easily.
Elara sat stiffly in the passenger seat, hands folded tightly in her lap, watching the unfamiliar surroundings blur past the window. Everything looked expensive, quiet, controlled. The kind of place where nothing happened by accident.
When the car finally stopped, she lifted her gaze.
The house stood before her — large, modern, and coldly elegant. Glass, stone, sharp lines. It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a statement.
"This is where you'll be staying," Adrian said, stepping out without waiting to see her reaction.
Elara followed slowly, dragging her suitcase behind her. Each step toward the door felt heavier than the last. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she knew something was wrong — not because of what she saw, but because of what she felt.
She didn't belong here.
The interior was spotless, almost too perfect. No warmth. No signs of life. It felt like a place designed to impress, not to live in.
A woman appeared, professional and composed. "Welcome, ma'am. I'm the house manager."
Ma'am.
The word sounded foreign, almost mocking.
She nodded politely, unsure of what else to do. Her husband had already moved ahead, speaking quietly with the staff, giving instructions as though she were invisible.
Her room was large — larger than anywhere she had ever slept — but it felt emptier than the smallest space she'd ever called her own. She placed her suitcase down and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the unfamiliar walls.
This was the life she had agreed to.
This was the price.
Later that evening, she went downstairs, hoping — foolishly — for some sense of normalcy. Maybe dinner. Maybe conversation. Maybe acknowledgment.
Instead, she found him seated at the dining table, phone in hand, expression unreadable.
"You don't need to wait for me," Adrian said without looking up. "We'll live separately. This marriage is only public."
Her heart sank, even though she had expected the words.
"I understand," she replied quietly.
He finally looked at her then, eyes sharp, calculating. "There are rules."
She straightened.
"No feelings. No expectations. And most importantly — no mistakes."
She nodded again, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"Tomorrow," he continued, "you'll attend an event with me. Our first public appearance as a married couple."
Her breath hitched. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes." His gaze hardened. "People will be watching. I suggest you learn quickly."
She wanted to ask questions. Wanted to say she wasn't ready. Wanted to admit she was terrified.
But she said nothing.
As she turned to leave, her phone vibrated in her hand.
A message notification.
Unknown Number: So you're really married now?
Her fingers froze.
Another message followed.
Be careful. Not everyone wants this marriage to succeed.
Her pulse raced as she stared at the screen, dread creeping into her chest.
She slowly looked back at the man she had married — and realized she had just stepped into something far more dangerous than she had imagined.