The west wing was too quiet.Ivy noticed it the moment the door closed behind her. The silence here was different from her apartment's familiar stillness. This one felt controlled, intentional, as though even sound had been trained to obey rules.
She set her bag down slowly, standing in the center of the spacious bedroom. The furniture looked untouched. Cream-colored walls, tall windows, a neatly made bed that felt like it belonged in a hotel suite rather than a home.
This is where you live now, she told herself to mentally prepare herself.
The thought didn't settle.
She walked toward the window and pulled the curtains aside. The estate grounds stretched endlessly, manicured lawns and stone paths curving into places she couldn't see.
Beautiful. Isolated. A gilded cage.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Ivy turned, startled by the sudden intrusion.
A middle-aged woman stood outside, her posture respectful but kind. "Good evening, Mrs. Blackwood. I'm Elena, the house keeper."
Mrs. Blackwood.The title sent a sharp jolt through Ivy's chest.
"Please," Ivy said quickly, "just Ivy is fine."
Elena hesitated, then nodded. "Of course. If you need anything, day or night, you can call for me or any of the staff. Dinner will be served at seven. Mr. Blackwood usually dines alone, but—"
"That won't be necessary," Ivy cuts her off. "I'm not hungry." she said.
Elena studied her for a moment, her gaze gentle but assessing. "Very well. I'll have something prepared in case you change your mind."
When the door closed again, Ivy exhaled slowly.
She changed into comfortable clothes and sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisting together in her lap. The day replayed itself in fragments—the vows, the signatures, Adrian's calm voice dishing out rules as if she was a business partner…
Which was true to some extent.
No expectations beyond what is legally required.
She was puzzled by what legally required truly meant.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message appeared on her phone.
Unknown Number.
Her heart skipped before she opened it.
> Adrian Blackwood:
Dinner is optional. However, we should establish schedules and boundaries. Meet me in the study at eight.
Optional. But not really.
Ivy typed a short reply.
> Ivy:
I'll be there.
She stood, smoothing her clothes as if she were preparing for an interview. In a way, she was.
The study was on the opposite side of the estate. Ivy followed the corridor, her footsteps muted by plush carpeting. When she reached the door, she hesitated, then knocked lightly.
"Come in."
Adrian stood by the desk, sleeves rolled up slightly, his tie loosened. The sight caught her off guard—not because it was intimate, but because it was human. Less composed than earlier.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.
She did.
Adrian picked up a tablet, scrolling briefly. "I'll be direct. This arrangement works best with clarity."
"I agree," Ivy said.
"There are rules," he continued. "Some are already in the contract. Others are… practical."
She waited.
"Public appearances will be limited and coordinated. You'll attend essential events as my wife, nothing more. The staff will treat you with respect, and I expect the same in return."
"I'm not here to cause problems," Ivy said quietly.
"I know." His gaze flicked up, holding hers for a moment longer than necessary. "You'll have a monthly allowance transferred to your account. Personal purchases don't require approval unless they attract media attention."
"So I need permission to exist?" she asked lightly.
His jaw tightened. "You need discretion."
"Fine," Ivy said. "And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"Rules go both ways," she said. "If we're doing this… properly."
A pause.
"You're right," Adrian said finally. "You won't be questioned about your movements. I won't invade your privacy. Your wing is yours."
"And emotional boundaries?" Ivy asked.
His expression hardened slightly. "There will be no emotional expectations."
"That wasn't what I asked."
Adrian leaned back, studying her. "What do you want, Ivy?"
The question caught her off guard.
"I want honesty," she said after a moment. "Not protection. Not luxury. Just honesty."
He held her gaze, something unreadable passing through his eyes. "That's more difficult than you think."
"Try," she said.
Silence stretched.
"Very well," he said at last. "You deserve that much."
When the meeting ended, Ivy felt oddly unsettled. Not because of what he'd said—but because of what he hadn't.
As she left the study, she sensed his eyes on her back.
That night, sleep came in fragments.
She dreamed of ink bleeding through paper, contracts unraveling into threads she couldn't pull free from it. She woke just before dawn, her heart racing.
Unable to stay in bed, Ivy dressed and stepped out into the hallway. The estate was quiet, but not empty. Somewhere, a door opened softly.
She followed the sound before she could stop herself.
The gym was lit.
Adrian stood in the center, shirtless, a towel draped over his shoulder. He froze when he noticed her reflection in the mirror.
"I didn't know anyone used this so early," Ivy said quickly.
"I usually do," he replied, reaching for his shirt. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep."
Neither could I, she almost said aloud.
An awkward pause settled between them.
"You don't have to avoid common spaces," Adrian said, pulling the shirt on. "This is still your home."
The word felt strange coming from him.
"I know," Ivy said. "Old habits."
He nodded once, as if he understood more than she expected.
Over the next few days, a routine formed.
They passed each other in hallways, exchanged brief conversations over schedules and events. Polite. Distant. Careful.
But Ivy noticed things.
The way Adrian's expression tightened when certain phone calls came through. The way staff lowered their voices around him. The locked drawer in his study he never left unattended.
One afternoon, Ivy found herself in the library, running her fingers along shelves of books she hadn't expected him to own. Philosophy. History. Medicine.
Medicine.
Her curiosity stirred uneasily.
Later that evening, she attended her first formal event as Mrs. Blackwood.
The dress Elena selected was elegant and understated. Ivy barely recognized herself in the mirror.
"You look perfect," Elena said softly.
Ivy forced a smile. "I don't feel like it…"
Adrian waited by the car, impeccably dressed. His gaze flicked over her, sharp and assessing—and then something shifted.
"You'll do," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
At the event, Ivy played her role. She smiled when required, spoke when addressed, stayed close enough to Adrian to appear united.
She noticed how his hand hovered near her back, never touching, but always there.
When they returned to the estate, the tension lingered like a held breath.
"I handled myself well," Ivy said as they stepped inside.
"You did," Adrian replied. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not making it harder."
She turned to face him. "I don't intend to."
Their eyes held.
For a moment, the space between them felt charged, fragile.
Then his phone rang.
The moment shattered.
He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening. "I need to take this."
Ivy nodded and walked away.
That night, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was circling closer.
Days later, it came to a head.
Ivy was in the study, searching for a document Elena had asked her to sign. As she opened a drawer, a file slipped out.
Medical records.
Her breath caught.
She hadn't meant to read them. She told herself she'd put them back.
But her name was there.
Spouse: Ivy Blackwood.
Her hands trembled as she flipped through pages she didn't fully understand. Dates. Tests. Legal language tied tightly to medical terms.
The door opened.
Adrian froze when he saw her.
The file slipped from Ivy's fingers.
"You weren't supposed to see that," he said quietly.
Her heart pounded. "You lied."
"I omitted," he corrected.
"You said honesty," she shot back.
His jaw tightened. "This is complicated."
"So is my life," Ivy said, her voice shaking. "What am I to you, Adrian? A safeguard? A solution?"
Silence answered her.
That was enough.
She met his gaze, fear and anger colliding in her chest.
"This marriage," she said softly, "isn't just about inheritance, is it?"
Adrian didn't deny it.
And in that moment, Ivy realized the truth was far more dangerous than the contract she had signed.
Because whatever he was hiding—it had already bound her to him far more deeply than ink ever could.