The Blackwood penthouse felt more like a gilded prison than a home. Every corridor was lined with cold marble, every chandelier glittered with silent mockery, and every servant bowed with forced politeness. Four maids did all the chores and left by the evening.
Elena had spent days confined within those walls, suffocating under the weight of Damian's absence and the memory of his cutting words at the wedding.
But she was not a woman who could be caged forever.
That morning, Elena stood before the mirror in her room. Her reflection stared back at her, pale from sleepless nights, eyes red-rimmed but blazing with determination. She ran her fingers across the delicate lace of the nightgown she still wore, an unwanted reminder of her role as Damian's bride. He had filled her wardrobe with luxury clothes and nightgowns and dresses, and most of them were the type she would never wear. She did try to wear the nightgown last night, but it felt ridiculous. She could wear all the clothes he got for her, she'd wear what she wants.
She whispered to herself. "I won't let him define me."
The thought gave her strength. Instead of wallowing, she dressed in simple clothes, pulled her hair into a neat bun, and sat down at the desk with her laptop. With trembling fingers, she began scouring job postings.
She had had enough. She waited a month to observe things, and it was obvious Damian had no interest in the marriage or in her whatsoever. He would come home four days a week, and mostly he'll come home late and spend the night in his room and leave at early dawn before she wakes up. Elena had refused to answer the calls from her parents. It was now just her.
Her father's debts had chained her to Damian. But work, her own money, her own choices, could give her something Damian could never control. She'll be happy for herself and do something solely for herself.
She applied everywhere she could. Small firms, local offices, and even internships that paid less than scraps. She didn't care. What mattered was freedom.
By the afternoon, her phone buzzed with an email: Interview invitation, entry-level assistant. Elena's heart pounded. For the first time in weeks, she smiled.
But that smile didn't last long.
That evening, Damian arrived home, tall and sharp in his tailored suit, his aura filling the room before he even spoke. His piercing gray eyes flicked over her laptop.
"What are you doing?" His voice was a silken blade, quiet but cutting.
Elena's chin lifted, and she answered calmly without meeting his eyes. "I'm applying for jobs."
His lips curled in a humorless smile. "Jobs? Do you think anyone in this city would dare hire the wife of Damian Blackwood without my permission?"
"You can't control everything," she shot back, her voice trembling with both fear and defiance.
In two strides, he was before her. He placed his big, veiny hands on the headrest of the sofa on either side of her head. He leaned close enough that she could feel the cold energy radiating from him as his hot breath caressed her lips. Her eyes were wide as saucers at the proximity, at his defiant act of caging her. She leaned back as much as she could until the back of her head was pressed against the headrest and his nose was just an inch away from touching hers.
"Oh, little wife… I already do." His hand brushed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. Her breath hitched at that feather-light touch. "Your life, your freedom, even your future, it's all mine."
She placed her palms on his shoulder and tried to shove him away, but he won't budge. His shoulders were built like bricks. So hard and solid beneath her touch. Her laptop slid from her lap and fell beside her. Her nose brushed his, and she stiffened.
He noticed how her body froze up at the slightest touch. A tiny smirk curved the corner of his lips, and within a blink it was gone as he pulled back and walked away.
"We'll see about that," she whispered in a shaky voice because of his proximity, his dark gray eyes, and scent made her heady and scared.
The next morning, Elena walked into the heart of the city dressed in a plain blouse and skirt. She had taken another name, Lena Hale. It was risky, but it was her only chance. Luckily, Victor was nice enough to help her make the fake documents without Damian's knowledge, which was lucky of her.
The office lobby was grand, buzzing with employees in sleek suits. She clutched her forged résumé and waited nervously for the interview. When her name was finally called, she stepped into the panel room, palms damp, heart hammering.
Hours later, when she left, a small smile tugged at her lips. She had been hired. Entry-level assistant. The pay was small, but it was hers. Her own step toward freedom and a bit of peace with a change of scenery. She'll feel a lot better out of the beautiful prison she was kept in.
Only when she glanced at the company letterhead did she freeze.
Blackwood Enterprises. But its name was different when she applied. So did Damian just buy it overnight or what?
Her blood ran cold. The cruel twist of fate was almost laughable. Out of every company in the city, she had just signed herself into the belly of Damian Blackwood's empire.
But no... this wasn't defeat. It was an opportunity. If she could survive under his nose without him realizing, she could prove that her life wasn't his to control.
She'll be any other employee, and he'd never notice. All of this company, turning out under Blackwood Enterprises, could be a huge coincidence.
The next morning, Elena dressed for work and slipped out before dawn, her heart racing with anticipation and fear. She rode the elevator up with other employees, keeping her head down, trying to blend into the crowd.
But fate was merciless.
As she stepped into the vast, glittering lobby, the world seemed to freeze. The echo of polished shoes on marble rang out behind her.
Her breath caught.
She turned her head and saw him.
Damian Blackwood, in all his ruthless glory, striding into his own empire. His presence dominated the room, the very air bending around him. Employees scattered, lowering their heads in reverence.
And Elena stood frozen, her disguise suddenly feeling paper-thin.
Damian's eyes swept the room like a predator surveying his territory. And in that terrifying instant, Elena prayed he wouldn't notice her.
But his gaze was sharp. Unforgiving. And it was moving closer.
Would he recognize her, or would her defiance survive another day?