Unlike every other marriage I had heard about, Lucien and I didn't date.
We barely knew each other.
Just a month ago, we were complete strangers who happened to cross paths.
I was an Intel student, studying International Relations, hoping to land a job in diplomacy or something exciting.
One day, I was placed on an internship at Blackwood Enterprises, Lucien's empire.
I didn't think much of it. Just another fancy company with suits and deadlines.
But Lucien Blackwood was nothing like the pictures in the news or the headlines screaming about his business deals.
He was colder. Sharper. More calculating.
Our first meeting was brief.
He didn't smile.
He didn't ask how I was doing.
He just stared.
Not with interest.
With evaluation.
Like I was a puzzle to solve or a piece on a chessboard.
I should have walked away then.
But I didn't.
Instead, I found myself drawn into his orbit.
And just a few weeks later, here I was...standing beside him at the altar.
I should have known something was wrong when my husband didn't smile at our wedding.
Not even once.
Everyone else was beaming, my mother crying dramatically as my father walked me down the Aisle, my friends whispering about how lucky I was. But Lucien Blackwood stood there like he was signing a business deal.
Tall. Impeccably dressed. Calm grey eyes that missed nothing.
Too calm.
"Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the priest asked.
Lucien paused.
One second.
Two.
Long enough for me to wonder if I had just married a man who negotiated with silence.
"Yes," he said at last, voice smooth and measured. "I do."
Not I will.
Not I promise.
Just_I do.
Like a statement of fact.
The reception was filled with laughter, music, and too many champagne toasts. My mother cried again, this time with relief, and my friends whispered nonstop about how lucky I was to have landed someone like high and influential like Lucien.
Me? I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I'd just married a man who didn't crack a smile once all day.
Lucien stood beside me, perfectly still, holding his champagne flute like it was a fragile artifact. His calm gray eyes scanned the room as if he was analyzing some complex data set. Not once did he join the laughter or raise his glass to anyone.
"You're very quiet," I whispered, leaning into him.
"I'm listening," he replied without taking his eyes off the crowd.
"To what?"
"Patterns," he said simply.
I blinked. "Patterns of... what? Dancing? Laughing?"
He finally turned his gaze to me, eyes sharp and unreadable.
"Behavior. Human interaction. What they reveal when they think they're not being watched."
I swallowed, trying to hide the chill running down my spine.
"Lucien, you make that sound... creepy."
He gave a half-smile. Or maybe it was a smirk. Hard to tell.
"I didn't intend to," he said, voice low. "But it is."
I laughed nervously and tried to shake off the feeling. After all, this was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
But there was something about Lucien Blackwood, about the way he observed people like they were chess pieces_that made me feel like I'd just married a well-dressed warning sign.
As the night wore on, laughter grew louder, glasses clinked more often, and the dance floor filled with swirling colors.
But Lucien remained still_an island of calm in the storm.
Then, from across the room, his eyes locked onto someone I didn't recognize.
He didn't blink.
He didn't smile.
He just watched.
The night after the wedding, Lucien drove us to his mansion, a vast, dark silhouette carved against the moonlit sky. The estate was massive, surrounded by thick iron gates and manicured gardens that looked more like a fortress than a home. Stone lions guarded the entrance, their cold eyes seeming to follow me as I stepped inside.
Inside, the halls were immaculate and eerily quiet. Marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers, and every piece of furniture was sleek, expensive, and precisely placed. The air smelled faintly of leather and something else I couldn't quite name...an undercurrent of control.
A flutter of nerves mixed with awe settled in my chest.
This was my new home.
His world.
Lucien walked ahead without a word, long strides purposeful, until he stopped at a large room at the end of the corridor. I followed behind, my wedding gown trailing softly across the floor.
Once inside, I began to remove my dress, my fingers trembling just slightly.
I felt his gaze before I saw it.
Unblinking. Steady.
"Please make a turn," I said shyly, avoiding his eyes. "I don't like being watched when changing."
"I can't," he replied coldly, his voice calm and unwavering. "We are married, remember?"
"Yes, I know," I said softly, "but it's my first time sharing a room. I'm a little shy being watched… getting naked."
He stepped closer, one perfectly arched eyebrow lifting.
"You're mine now. Your body is too."
The words landed heavily, possessive, but strangely clinical.
"You shouldn't have a problem with me looking at you."
My heart raced, not with excitement, but with something sharper. Something wrong.
"I… I just need a moment," I whispered.
He studied me for a brief second, then nodded. "Take all the time you need."
As I turned away, my skin prickled under his gaze.
After changing, I retreated to the bathroom to shower, grateful for the barrier between us. The sound of running water helped steady my thoughts..until a soft knock broke the quiet.
"I'm coming in," Lucien said.
I froze.
Coming in how? Where?
Was this how marriage worked? Showering together on the first night?
I almost laughed inwardly. From how cold and expressionless he was, one would think he was as stiff as a log of wood.
"Come in," I said hesitantly.
"Put on your robe and step out," he replied instead. "I'll wait for you to be done."
Then why say you were coming in? I wondered.
I stepped out wrapped in my robe, cheeks warm with embarrassment. Lucien walked past me without a glance and entered the bathroom. Time stretched endlessly before he finally emerged.
He sat at the edge of the large bed, opening his laptop as silence settled between us.
I remembered the advice my mother and friends had given me...tips on how to spice up a wedding night so it wouldn't feel awkward. I decided to try.
Slowly, I moved closer, adjusting my nightgown as he focused on his screen. I placed my head gently against his chest and spoke softly, forcing my best bedroom voice.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
The moment my hand touched his bare skin, he flinched.
Instantly.
He shifted to the very edge of the bed, pulling away without a word, so abrupt it felt like rejection had weight.
I sat there, stunned.
Sadness crept in quietly, settling deep in my chest.
Even if this marriage was built on terms, I was still his wife. His legal wife. I deserved at least acknowledgment.
Yes, I married him because I needed the money...but I hadn't signed up for a lifetime of silence.
And for the first time since saying I do, I wondered what I had truly married into.