The Blackwood Estate had never felt so suffocating. Zara walked the grand halls like a ghost draped in elegance—polished shoes, expensive fabric, a carefully crafted mask of composure. But inside, she was unraveling.
Every smile from the staff, every glance from Damien, every press article labeling her *"The Mysterious Bride"* chipped away at her calm. She wasn't just hiding secrets anymore she was becoming one.
At breakfast, she found Damien already at the table. He looked exhausted. Dark circles underscored his eyes, and his fingers curled tightly around his coffee mug.
"You look like hell," Zara said as she sat.
He smirked without humor. "Business is war. Sleep is a luxury."
"Maybe if you trusted people, it wouldn't be."
"I trust no one. It's why I'm still alive."
Zara paused, watching him. "And yet you married a stranger."
"Because sometimes the only way to win is to change the game."
She frowned. "What are you really fighting, Damien?"
He didn't answer.
***
That afternoon, Zara was ushered into a room by Eleanor.
"I've arranged a small lunch for you and a few acquaintances," Eleanor said. "It's important they begin seeing you as part of this world."
"Meaning what? I smile and pretend I don't hate being here?"
"No. You smile and let them wonder what you're hiding. Power isn't always loud, Zara."
The lunch took place on the garden terrace. Four women were already seated, sipping tea from porcelain cups, their eyes sharp behind painted faces. Among them was a woman who stood out immediately, Celine Masters.
Tall, blonde, perfect. The kind of woman who never had to explain herself.
Celine's smile was venom sweet. "So you're her. The one who managed to put a ring on Damien Blackwood."
Zara gave her a calm look. "And you are?"
"Someone who knew him before you learned how to pronounce his last name."
The table chuckled softly, but Zara didn't flinch.
"Nice to meet you," Zara said smoothly. "I'm sure it must be difficult adjusting to irrelevance."
The silence that followed was thick. Eleanor, standing by the edge of the terrace, gave a slight nod of approval.
Zara had won that round.
***
Later that evening, Zara found herself pacing the library, heart still thudding from the encounter. Damien entered, tossing his jacket on the couch.
"Heard you met Celine," he said.
"She's charming."
He gave her a sideways glance. "Don't let her fool you. She's dangerous."
"I can handle her."
"She's not the only one to worry about," he said, walking toward the bar and pouring a drink.
Zara hesitated. "You're surrounded by enemies, aren't you?"
Damien sipped. "Only on the days I breathe."
"Why not just walk away from it all?"
"Because this empire is mine. I built it from blood and steel. And I won't let anyone take it."
Zara watched him, realizing he wasn't just a man fighting enemies,he was a man fighting time, loss, and the fear of dying with nothing to show for it.
"I don't care about your empire," she said quietly.
"I know. That's why I married you."
Their eyes met for a long moment.
In that silence, something shifted.
Not love.
Not yet.
But understanding.
Maybe even the beginning of loyalty.
***
That night, Zara sat alone in her room, flipping through an old photo album she had brought from her past life. Her fingers traced the worn edges of a picture of her as a child—smiling, hopeful.
So much had changed.
She wasn't that girl anymore.
And maybe that was okay.
Because the woman she was becoming?
She was strong.
She was dangerous.
And she was ready.
---
Ghosts Beneath the Glass*
Zara adjusted her dress in the mirror, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach. Tonight was Damien's charity gala—an annual event where the rich flaunted their generosity and fed on gossip like wine. She was expected to smile, sparkle, and fit in like she belonged.
She didn't.
The satin gown Eleanor had picked for her hugged her figure in a way that made her self-conscious. Her makeup was flawless, hair pinned with precision, but inside, her thoughts were tangled. She felt like a beautiful pawn, dressed for sacrifice.
Damien entered without knocking. His black tux hugged his frame effortlessly, his cufflinks glinting in the light.
"You clean up well," he said, glancing at her reflection.
"You say that like I'm usually a mess."
He walked over, adjusting a loose strand of her hair. "You're just not the type who tries. That's what makes you dangerous."
Their eyes locked briefly in the mirror. Then, just as quickly, he stepped back.
"Let's go. They're waiting."
***
The gala was held at Blackwood Tower's ballroom glass chandeliers, marble floors, and classical music floating beneath murmurs of the elite. Cameras flashed as they entered. Reporters whispered. Zara held Damien's arm, posture perfect.
"Smile," he whispered.
"I am."
He chuckled softly. "No, you're glaring. People should envy us, not pity you."
As they moved through the crowd, Zara recognized a few faces from the terrace lunch, including Celine, who looked stunning in red. Her smirk was back, as if she were waiting to strike.
"Ah, Damien," said a tall man with silver hair, extending his hand. "You've brought your wife this time. A pleasure."
Zara smiled politely. "Zara Blackwood."
"Indeed. We were beginning to think you were a myth."
"I like to make an entrance," she replied coolly.
Damien squeezed her hand slightly in approval.
Soon after, Zara broke away to get some air. She wandered to a quiet hallway lined with framed photographs past events, Damien with politicians, celebrities, and… a younger Celine, smiling beside him.
Zara stared at the photo, her throat tightening.
"Lovely, isn't it?" Celine's voice cut through the silence.
Zara turned slowly. "This where you remind me of your history with him?"
"I don't have to. It's in the walls. You're playing house with a man whose heart is sealed."
Zara didn't flinch. "Maybe you should ask yourself why he sealed it."
Celine's smile thinned. "Enjoy your moment, Zara. They never last."
***
Back in the ballroom, Zara moved to a corner table and sat alone, watching the orchestra play. Her head pounded.
Then Damien appeared, two glasses in hand. He offered one to her.
"You vanished."
"I needed air."
"Did you also need Celine's advice?"
Zara blinked. "You saw?"
"I see everything. Especially her."
He paused, his gaze serious now. "Don't let her get in your head. She doesn't want me she wants the power I built."
Zara looked away. "And what about you? Do you want me, or just a name on paper?"
"I wanted someone who wouldn't lie to me," he said quietly. "You're the first person in years who looks me in the eye without pretending."
Zara was silent.
Then, she asked, "Do you regret marrying me?"
He took a slow sip of his drink. "No. But I regret that you still feel like a stranger."
***
After the event, Zara returned to her room, exhausted. She took off her heels, her gown, and collapsed onto the bed. Her mind reeled Celine's words, Damien's gaze, the pressure of this life.
She stood and approached the full-length mirror.
Behind the reflection of satin and makeup, she saw the truth: she was still the same girl from the van, plucked from nothing into a storm.
But maybe… just maybe… she could own the storm.
She touched the mirror, whispering to herself, "I'll make them remember my name."