Morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the mansion, casting a soft golden hue across the marble floor. Aurora stirred slowly, the warmth of the blanket still wrapped around her. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light, momentarily forgetting where she was—until she turned her head and saw Adrian seated near the edge of the couch, fully dressed, a cup of coffee in his hand.
"Good morning," he said, his voice calm, almost gentle.
She sat up, brushing her hair out of her face. "Morning," she replied, studying him carefully. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept at all, but there was a quiet resolve in his expression that hadn't been there before.
"I had Samuel bring breakfast," he said. "It's on the table."
Aurora glanced toward the dining area and saw two plates, still steaming. This wasn't like him. He never waited for her to eat. He barely acknowledged her presence most mornings. But today was different. She stood and walked over, slowly. Adrian followed behind her, silent but present.
They ate in a kind of quiet that wasn't tense—just unfamiliar. She took a sip of tea and dared to look up.
"Thank you," she said.
"For breakfast?" he asked.
"For trying," she answered.
Adrian nodded. "I thought a lot last night. About the things you said. About the things I've been avoiding."
Aurora watched him, not interrupting.
"I've spent years believing that distance was safety," he continued. "That keeping people at arm's length was the only way to protect myself… and them."
She lowered her fork. "But it only leaves you alone."
His gaze flickered to hers. "Yes."
For a moment, it felt like they were no longer strangers forced into a contract, but two people cautiously rediscovering what it meant to be seen. Aurora leaned back in her chair, letting her shoulders relax.
"I want this marriage to work, Adrian," she said, her voice clear. "Not because of a contract or appearances. But because I don't want to live in a house where love feels like an illusion."
"I don't know what love is supposed to look like," he admitted. "But maybe… we can learn."
The vulnerability in his tone caught her off guard. Adrian Blackwood didn't say things like that. At least, not before. She smiled softly, and for the first time, it wasn't forced.
"Learning together sounds better than learning alone."
They finished their meal in that same soft silence, and when they rose from the table, he didn't leave for his office. Instead, he stood beside her.
"I've cleared my schedule for the day," he said.
Aurora raised a brow. "You? Mr. 24/7 business mode?"
He chuckled. "One day won't hurt. I thought maybe you'd let me show you the rest of the estate. Properly, this time."
A small part of her hesitated. Was this real? Or just a moment that would fade tomorrow?
"I'd like that," she replied.
They spent the rest of the morning walking through the estate gardens. Adrian guided her through each path like he was seeing it for the first time through her eyes. She knelt to smell the roses, marveled at the maze hedges, and let her fingers graze the soft petals of tulips blooming along the stone walkway.
"You really don't come out here often?" she asked.
Adrian shook his head. "Not since my mother died. It reminded me too much of her."
Aurora glanced at him, hearing the ache in his words. "She loved this garden?"
"She designed it," he said. "Every curve, every flower, every bench. It was her escape."
"It's beautiful," she said. "It doesn't feel sad. It feels like peace."
Adrian paused by the edge of the koi pond, watching the fish swim lazily beneath the water.
"She used to say beauty could soften even the hardest hearts."
Aurora smiled. "Maybe she was right."
He looked at her, eyes softer than she'd ever seen. "Maybe she was."
They wandered until the sun rose higher in the sky. By the time they returned to the mansion, hours had slipped by like minutes. Aurora felt lighter. Not because everything had changed, but because something had finally begun to shift. She could feel it in the way Adrian looked at her—not with suspicion or calculation, but with curiosity. Like he wanted to know who she really was, beyond the marriage, beyond the façade.
That evening, Aurora sat at the vanity in her room, brushing her hair when a knock came at the door.
"Come in," she said.
Adrian stepped inside, holding a thin box.
"I know it's not a special occasion," he said, "but I thought you might like this."
She blinked, surprised, and took the box gently. Inside was a necklace—simple, elegant, a delicate chain with a small amethyst stone at the center.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, touched.
"It was my mother's," he said. "She gave it to me before she passed. Told me to give it to someone who reminded me of her."
Aurora's breath caught. "Why me?"
He didn't hesitate. "Because you challenge me. Because you see things I don't want to admit. Because you care, even when I push you away."
She stood slowly and stepped toward him. "I'm honored, Adrian. Truly."
He helped her clasp the necklace behind her neck, his fingers brushing against her skin, sending a flutter through her chest. She turned around to face him, her eyes searching his.
"Do you think this is the start of something real?" she asked.
He didn't look away. "I hope so."
For the first time in weeks, Aurora believed him. She wasn't naive. She knew healing didn't happen overnight. But maybe, just maybe, they were no longer pretending. Maybe they were finally trying.
That night, she slept in the same room as him. Not because she had to. But because she wanted to. They lay in silence, not touching, just existing in the same space without walls between them.
And in that stillness, Aurora whispered, "Goodnight, Adrian."
He turned toward her, his voice low. "Goodnight, Aurora."
And somehow, that simple exchange felt more intimate than any kiss ever could.