The grand bedroom echoed with silence, a silence so loud it made Hana's heart pound. She stood awkwardly near the door, clutching her silk robe, her fingers trembling slightly. The wedding had just taken place hours ago, yet it felt like she was about to sleep in a stranger's house.
Or worse, with a stranger.
Leon stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his silhouette outlined by the city lights. He looked calm, distant, and cold as always. He didn't turn around to face her. Instead, he sipped his whiskey slowly, as if savoring the last few moments of solitude.
"I've arranged a room for you down the hall," Leon said finally, his voice low but cutting. "You'll find your things already placed inside."
Hana blinked, trying to register what he meant. "You mean… we're not sharing a room?"
He finally turned. His sharp eyes locked with hers, unreadable. "This marriage may be legal, but it's not real. There's no need to pretend behind closed doors."
His words cut deeper than she expected. She nodded, keeping her face emotionless. "Of course."
He studied her for a moment, then turned his back again.
Without another word, Hana left the room, her heart heavy with a mixture of confusion and… disappointment? She wasn't even sure why she felt that way. She should have been relieved that he wasn't going to touch her. After all, this was just a contract. A transaction. Nothing more.
But as she lay in the cold, unfamiliar bed of the guest room, sleep didn't come easily. The silence was suffocating.
The next morning, the media went wild. Photos of their extravagant wedding splashed across tabloids and gossip sites. The news declared it the union of the year billionaire CEO Leon Hart and mysterious beauty Hana, the girl who seemingly came from nowhere.
Paparazzi waited outside their penthouse. Employees whispered in corners at Hart Enterprises. Everyone speculated about the bride. Who was she? Where did she come from? Why her?
But inside the house, the atmosphere was like an icebox.
Leon and Hana sat across from each other at the long breakfast table, a silent wall between them. A maid came in and placed two cups of coffee and a plate of croissants.
Hana broke the silence. "Do we have a schedule today?"
Leon didn't look up. "You have a photoshoot with Hart Foundation's PR team. At noon. I'll send Marcus to escort you."
"And you?"
"I have meetings. A full day." He flipped through a document, his tone curt. "Try not to embarrass the family name."
The words stung. She looked down at her plate, her appetite gone. But she swallowed her pride, as she always did.
"I'll do my best, Mr. Hart."
His eyes flicked toward her. For a split second, there was something behind them a flicker of regret? Guilt? But it vanished too quickly to catch.
The photoshoot was a blur. Stylists hovered around her, fixing her makeup, arranging her dress. She posed beside Leon's image on giant posters, smiling for the camera, pretending she belonged.
"You're doing great," the photographer encouraged. "Just give us that 'newlywed glow'!"
Hana smiled on cue, though it felt like her face was made of porcelain.
When the shoot ended, she asked Marcus to take her to a bookstore. She needed to breathe, to feel like herself for a moment. Inside the quiet store, she wandered the aisles, her fingers trailing along the spines of novels.
A soft voice startled her. "Mrs. Hart?"
She turned. A young woman in a trench coat smiled nervously at her.
"Yes?"
"I just wanted to say… you looked stunning in the wedding photos. You're very lucky to marry Mr. Hart."
Hana forced a smile. "Thank you."
The woman hesitated. "But… be careful. He's not as perfect as he seems."
Before Hana could ask what she meant, the woman disappeared.
That night, Hana returned home to silence again. Leon wasn't in the living room. The light in his study was on. She debated whether to knock or just go to her room.
Before she could decide, the door opened. Leon stood there, a hint of tiredness in his eyes.
"You went out."
"Yes. After the shoot."
He nodded. "You didn't tell Marcus."
"He was with me."
A long pause.
"You should've said something."
"I didn't think you cared."
His jaw tightened. "Don't mistake indifference for irresponsibility. You're under my protection now."
"And yet, I sleep in a different room."
His gaze darkened. "Do you want that to change?"
The air thickened. Hana looked at him, her pulse quickening. "No," she said quietly.
"Good." He walked past her. "Keep it that way."
She stood there, rooted, her heart thudding painfully.
Why did this hurt more than it should?
In the following days, their routine became mechanical. He worked late. She attended charity events. They rarely spoke more than a few words at home.
But the tension was always there.
Sometimes, she caught him watching her when he thought she wasn't looking. Sometimes, he seemed like he wanted to say something—but didn't.
And sometimes, when she closed her eyes at night, she imagined what it would be like if he held her Just once.
But the first night never happened. And perhaps, it never would.