The limousine rolled up the long, winding driveway, its tires crunching against gravel as the Blackwood mansion loomed into view. Elena pressed her forehead lightly against the cool glass, her chest tightening as the structure drew closer.
It was less a home and more a fortress. Tall stone walls climbed skyward, crowned with ivy and lit by strategically placed lamps that made the place appear both regal and foreboding. The vast windows glowed faintly in the night, their light golden yet distant, like stars she could never touch.
Her hands clenched in her lap. She had never imagined her wedding night would end this way — not in celebration, not in love, but in silence beside a man who had refused to so much as look at her after the ceremony.
Adrian sat across from her in the limousine, his posture straight, his expression unreadable. The dark suit he wore still looked crisp, not a crease out of place, as if he had been untouched by the hours of strain. He hadn't said a word during the entire ride. Not a single acknowledgment, not even a glance.
When the car came to a halt before the mansion's grand entrance, the chauffeur hurried to open the door. Adrian stepped out first, tall and commanding, his very presence enough to make the servants waiting at the steps bow in unison.
"Welcome home, Master Blackwood," they chorused.
Elena stepped out slowly, her heels clicking against the marble steps. At once, she felt their eyes on her. Curious. Measuring. Some disapproving. Others pitying.
Her cheeks heated under their scrutiny. She knew what they saw — the bride who was not meant to be. The substitute. The unwanted.
"Mrs. Blackwood," Adrian's butler, Harris, greeted her politely. He was an older man with silver hair and a rigid posture, his eyes cool but not unkind. "The household is at your service."
Elena attempted a small nod. "Thank you."
But she could feel the chill in the air. Respect for Adrian was absolute. For her, it was restrained courtesy at best.
Adrian didn't linger. He handed his coat to Harris, his voice as firm as ever. "Prepare the west wing."
Elena blinked. "The west wing?"
He finally met her eyes, his gaze sharp and without warmth. "That will be your quarters. My room is in the east wing. I expect we won't disturb each other."
The words, though calm, landed like icy daggers. Elena's throat tightened. Separate rooms. On the very first night.
Her lips parted, instinctively wanting to protest, but she caught herself. No. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her hurt.
"As you wish," she murmured, her voice steady, even as her stomach twisted.
Without another word, Adrian turned and ascended the sweeping staircase, his footsteps echoing against the marble before disappearing into the shadows above.
The silence he left behind was suffocating.
"Please follow me, Mrs. Blackwood," Harris said, gesturing for her to come.
Her gown trailed behind her as she followed the butler through the endless corridors of the mansion. Portraits of long-dead Blackwoods lined the walls, their stern eyes following her every step. The sheer vastness of the estate made her feel small, like an intruder wandering through a history she didn't belong to.
At last, Harris opened a pair of ornate double doors. "This will be your room. If you require anything, ring the bell on the desk. Someone will attend you."
The room was magnificent — high ceilings, tall windows framed by heavy curtains, a four-poster bed draped in silver silk, antique furniture polished to perfection. It was beautiful, breathtaking even, but it wasn't hers. It never would be.
"Thank you," she whispered, though Harris was already bowing himself out.
The door clicked shut, leaving her in silence.
Elena exhaled shakily and sank onto the bed. The events of the day replayed in her mind like a cruel film — her father's betrayal, her sister's absence, Adrian's piercing glare at the altar, the vows spoken like a transaction instead of a promise.
Her chest ached. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had already been humiliated enough. She wouldn't break down again — not where the walls themselves seemed to watch her.
Instead, she clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. If Adrian thinks I'll crumble, he's wrong. I didn't choose this marriage, but I won't let it destroy me.
She rose from the bed and wandered to the window. The gardens stretched out below, dark and quiet, the moonlight painting them in shades of silver. Somewhere, far away, she thought she heard the faint cry of an owl.
Her heart felt heavier with every second. She was trapped in a gilded cage. And yet, something deep within her whispered that cages could be broken.
A sharp knock at the door made her jolt.
Her breath caught. Who could it be? Adrian? No, he had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. A maid? Perhaps. Or—
The door creaked open before she could answer.
A tall figure stepped inside.
He was not Adrian.
The man was striking in his own way — dark hair falling carelessly over his forehead, sharp eyes gleaming with something between curiosity and amusement. He wasn't dressed like a servant, but rather in tailored casual wear that still spoke of wealth and confidence.
His gaze swept over her slowly, lingering in a way that made her skin prickle. Then, a smirk curved his lips.
"Well," he drawled, his voice smooth but edged with mockery, "so you're the replacement bride."
Elena froze.
Her pulse hammered in her ears. "Who… who are you?"
The man stepped further inside, closing the door behind him with deliberate ease. He leaned casually against it, as though he owned the room, as though nothing about this situation was strange at all.
"Relax," he said, his smile widening. "I'm not here to harm you. I'm family. Well—sort of."
Her eyes narrowed. Family?
As if sensing her confusion, he gave a low chuckle. "I'm Adrian's cousin. The one no one likes to talk about."
His words dripped with mischief, and yet his gaze was piercing, too sharp to be dismissed.
Elena's throat tightened. The last thing she needed was another stranger prying into her humiliation.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
The man tilted his head, studying her as though she were a puzzle. "To see for myself the woman who dared to stand where another should have. The one who married Adrian Blackwood when she wasn't meant to."
The intensity in his eyes made her skin crawl, but she refused to shrink back.
She lifted her chin. "I didn't ask for this marriage. But I won't be treated like a joke."
For a moment, his smirk faltered. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed — a low, amused sound that sent shivers down her spine.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Maybe this household just got more entertaining."
Elena's stomach twisted. She had no idea who this man really was, or what game he was playing, but instinct screamed that his presence meant trouble.
And trouble was the last thing she needed.
⚡ End of Chapter Two ⚡