I walk down the corridor, not bothering to notice the décor or the portraits that line the walls. None of it matters. What matters is finding a bed—any bed—and shutting the world out for the night. My heels click against the polished floor until I stop at the first door I see upstairs. It swings open without protest, and relief washes over me when I see what I came for: a bed. That's all I need right now. A place to collapse.
I step inside, shutting the door behind me. The lock clicks, and that small sound feels like the first control I've had all day. I need time to breathe. Time to think.
Why is he acting like that toward me? Cold one moment, dismissive the next, as though marrying me was an inconvenience he barely tolerates. We don't even know each other, but if he thinks I'll stay here and allow him to treat me like this, he is sorely mistaken.
I sit on the edge of the bed, pulling in a steadying breath. I have money in my account. Not much, but enough for a small apartment. Enough to get away. I am not going to live under his roof, playing wife to a man who doesn't want me.
The bathroom catches my eye, and I step inside. It's sleek, the walls veined in marble, silver fixtures gleaming beneath the soft lights. Black and silver. Of course it suits him. Cold, commanding, beautiful in a way that makes you shiver.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror and stop. My reflection stares back—hair pinned, makeup fading, lips painted in a color that suddenly feels like a mask. Slowly, I pull the pins from my hair, letting the strands fall loose over my shoulders. I reach for a tissue and wipe away the lipstick, watching my mouth return to something softer, something real. The woman staring back at me now feels like me again—not the doll that was paraded down the aisle.
Back in the bedroom, I lower myself onto the bed, but the gown digs at my skin, suffocating me even as I try to lie still. With a frustrated sigh, I sit up, fingers fumbling at the back until I loosen it enough to slip free. The fabric pools at my feet, a reminder of everything I didn't choose. I made sure to lock the door—no one will walk in and find me like this.
Now only in my underwear, I pull the covers over me and sink into the pillow, staring blankly at the ceiling above. The chandelier light casts faint patterns against the walls, but my mind refuses to rest. Tomorrow, I'll leave this place. If I can't get an apartment right away, I can stay with Vivian until I piece my life together.
I was compliant with my parents, yes. But I am not naïve. And I won't let Vincent—no matter how powerful he thinks he is—have even the slightest way with me.
~~~
The night passes in a blur, and when I finally stir awake, I sit upright in the bed, leaning against the headboard. I was too exhausted to notice the strangeness of the place last night, too drained to be uncomfortable.
The room is swallowed in shadows, the heavy black curtains shutting the morning out. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and walk over, pulling them open until the first rays of sun spill through. Warmth touches my skin, a quiet reminder that today isn't just any other day. Today is the day I decide what to do with my life.
I turn back, and my gaze falls on the gown lying crumpled on the floor. For a fleeting moment, I consider whether I should put it back on before figuring out where my actual clothes are. But then I shake my head. No. I refuse to step into that gown again—not when it feels like a chain.
The bathroom welcomes me with steam and soft light, and I step beneath the shower. The hot water runs over me, relaxing every muscle, washing away the remnants of yesterday. By the time I step out, wrapped in a thick robe I find hanging nearby, I feel more myself than I have in days.
As I open the bedroom door, I nearly bump into a maid. She isn't the young one from last night. This one is older, maybe in her fifties, with kind eyes that soften when they meet mine.
"Good morning, madam," she greets politely.
"Good morning," I return with a small smile. "Do you know where my clothes might be?"
She nods, offering to take me, and I follow her down the corridor. My footsteps echo against the polished floor, and I can't help but wonder—why does one man need such a house? Rooms upon rooms, yet he lives alone.
The maid opens a door on the upper floor and gestures inside. "Everything should be here, madam."
"Thank you," I murmur, and step inside.
This room is bigger than the one I claimed last night, though the same dark palette runs through it—black and silver, muted greys. Gloomy yet undeniably elegant. A large walk-in closet stretches along one wall, and when I step inside, I find my clothes already hanging neatly, as though they'd always belonged here.
It will take me some time to fold and pack them back into suitcases, but I set to it anyway. I'll need something simple to wear—nothing flashy, nothing heavy. Just something practical for moving around the city. I pull out a pair of slim dark jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and a light cardigan, soft beige against the starkness of the closet. Flats instead of heels. The kind of outfit that won't draw too much attention while I go apartment hunting.
I pack everything I own, tugging zippers closed and stacking the bags in front of me. The sight of them makes my chest tighten—too much for one person to carry, too much of my life packed away—but I push the thought aside. First, I need to leave this house. Then I can eat. Then I can plan.
Dragging the heavy suitcases behind me, I make my way down the stairs, struggling with every step. By the time I reach the main floor, my arms ache, but what catches me off guard is the silence. Guards and maids stand in the hall, their eyes following me as though I'm a spectacle they can't look away from.
I tighten my grip on the handles and walk straight past them, ignoring the stares. But just as I reach the door, a guard finally speaks up, his voice polite, careful.
"Madam, may I ask where you're headed?"