The morning sunlight filtered through the massive glass windows of the Blake estate, streaking across the polished marble floors like ribbons of gold. Ayla sat at the edge of the long dining table, a porcelain cup of untouched coffee before her, staring at the empty chair at the head of the table.
For someone who had essentially sold herself into this arrangement, she had expected at least some rules, some structure. Instead, Adrian Blake had left at dawn without a word, his towering figure disappearing into one of his sleek black cars while she stood by the stairs, ignored like the ornate vases in the hallway.
The silence of the estate gnawed at her. The staff moved quietly, their eyes downcast, as though she were just another one of Adrian's passing whims rather than his supposed wife. It stung, but she reminded herself: this wasn't real. She didn't need his affection. She just needed the year to pass, her family's debts cleared, and her freedom restored.
Still, that didn't explain why her chest tightened every time she remembered the flicker of something—something unspoken—in Adrian's eyes the night before at the gala. Approval? Possession? Or something far more dangerous?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden buzz of her phone. A message from an unknown number lit up the screen:
"He doesn't tell you everything, does he?"
Ayla frowned, her fingers tightening around the phone. Before she could reply, another message followed:
"Stay careful. His enemies aren't always across the table. Sometimes, they're in his bed."
Her pulse quickened. She quickly scanned the dining room, as though someone might be watching her even now. The chandelier above seemed to sway ever so slightly, though she knew it was just her nerves playing tricks. She slipped the phone into her pocket, making a mental note to confront Adrian later.
---
By noon, Adrian finally returned. The heavy double doors of the estate opened, and there he was, perfectly composed in a tailored charcoal suit, his sharp gaze cutting through the space as though assessing every detail in an instant.
"You're awake," he said casually, glancing at her as he handed his coat to one of the staff.
"Some of us don't keep vampire hours," Ayla replied, her tone laced with sarcasm.
The faintest twitch tugged at the corner of his mouth, though whether it was amusement or annoyance, she couldn't tell. "Come with me. There's something you need to see."
She hesitated. "And if I say no?"
Adrian's gaze darkened, a subtle but undeniable warning. "Then you'll miss the first lesson of surviving in my world."
Reluctantly, she followed him to the garage, where another sleek car—this one a silver Bentley—waited. The drive was silent, tension hanging heavy between them. The city's chaos faded as they wound their way to the outskirts, finally stopping at a sprawling construction site overlooking the Hudson River.
Workers bustled about, machinery roared, and massive steel frameworks reached toward the sky like skeletal giants. Adrian led her to a section cordoned off by security, where a blueprint of a towering skyscraper was pinned to a board.
"This," he said, his voice even but sharp, "is Blake International's next crown jewel. The Orion Tower. A deal worth billions. And the reason you're here is because some people would rather see me buried than see this built."
Ayla crossed her arms, arching a brow. "So, what, I'm supposed to be your shield now? Or is this your way of showing me how powerful you are?"
His gaze locked with hers, cool and unyielding. "You're here because as my wife, whether you like it or not, you're already a target. If something happens to you, it'll be a message to me. And I don't take kindly to messages."
Her stomach knotted. She hadn't signed up for this kind of danger. Debt repayment was one thing. Becoming collateral in a billionaire's shadow war was another.
---
That evening, as they returned to the estate, the air between them felt heavier than before. Ayla finally broke the silence as they entered the grand hallway.
"You keep dragging me into your world, Adrian, but you still haven't told me the truth. What's really going on? Who are these enemies?"
He paused, his hand resting on the banister of the staircase. For a moment, she thought he might actually answer. Instead, he turned, his eyes meeting hers with a cool, unreadable expression.
"Knowing too much can get you killed," he said softly. "But not knowing? That might be worse."
Before she could respond, he began climbing the stairs, his shadow stretching long across the marble floor. Ayla stood there, her heart pounding, realizing that whatever game she'd stepped into, the stakes were rising—and she was already in far deeper than she ever intended.
And somewhere, deep down, a small voice whispered that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't afraid anymore.