The morning sun poured through the silk curtains of Elena's new bedroom, its light mocking the hollowness in her chest. For a moment, she forgot where she was. The smell of roses from the bouquet placed on her bedside table tricked her into thinking she had woken up in a dream.
But reality was a crueler thing.
This wasn't her dream.
This was her cage.
Her eyes fell on the wedding dress neatly folded across the chair. White lace, pearls, and silk—symbols of purity and happiness. Yet to her, it was nothing but a costume in a play she had been forced into.
A soft knock broke her thoughts.
"Madam, breakfast is ready," a maid said politely from behind the door.
Madam. The word twisted in her chest. She hadn't earned the title, and she wasn't sure she ever would.
Elena rose slowly, washed her face, and slipped into a pale blue dress. She had no illusions—Alexander wouldn't care how she looked—but she refused to let the staff see her as pitiful. If she was to survive in this house, she needed dignity.
---
The dining hall stretched longer than the street she had grown up on. A crystal chandelier glittered above a table big enough for twenty, though only two seats were occupied.
Alexander sat at the head, already sipping his black coffee while flipping through documents. His silver watch gleamed against his wrist, his dark brows furrowed in concentration. He looked as though the world and its problems bowed before him—everyone except his new wife.
Elena approached quietly and sat across from him. The maids placed eggs, toast, and fruit before her. She murmured a polite "thank you," but Alexander didn't even glance up.
Minutes ticked by in silence, broken only by the clink of silverware. Elena nibbled at her toast, her stomach twisting with unease.
Finally, she gathered the courage to speak. "Good morning."
Alexander's eyes flickered briefly toward her, then back to his papers. "Morning."
One word. Clipped. Empty.
She swallowed. "Did you… sleep well?"
"I don't discuss my private habits with strangers."
Her fork froze mid-air. Strangers. The word stung more than it should have. She wanted to snap back, to remind him that she was no stranger but his wife. Instead, she bit her tongue until it hurt.
---
Breakfast ended without warmth. Alexander rose, adjusting his suit jacket. "I'll be at the office until late. Don't cause trouble. Don't speak to the media. And don't touch the west wing of the house."
"The west wing?" she echoed softly.
His eyes narrowed, a shadow flickering across them. "It's off limits. Remember that."
Before she could ask why, he was gone, his footsteps fading into the distance, leaving her alone at the massive table.
The butler approached gently. "Madam, would you like a tour of the estate?"
Elena forced a smile. "Yes. Please."
---
The tour revealed endless hallways, grand ballrooms, libraries filled with leather-bound books, and gardens blooming with roses. Beauty surrounded her, but none of it felt like hers. Each door she passed seemed to whisper the same reminder: You don't belong here.
When they approached the west wing, the butler hesitated. "This area is private, Madam."
Elena nodded, though curiosity burned inside her. Why did Alexander guard that side so fiercely? What secrets lay behind those locked doors?
---
The day passed slowly. Elena wandered the garden, touched the piano in the music room, and stared at her reflection in the massive mirrors. No matter what angle she looked from, she always seemed like an imposter.
By evening, Alexander returned. His tie was loosened, his expression unreadable. Elena sat in the living room, pretending to read a book.
"You're still awake," he remarked flatly.
She lowered the book. "It's only nine."
He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Then go to bed early. You'll need the practice for when you have nothing else to do here."
Her jaw tightened. "I'm not a prisoner."
His gaze sharpened. "Aren't you? You're bound here by a contract, Elena. Don't delude yourself into thinking this is more than it is."
Her heart pounded, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. "I may be here because of a contract, but I'm still your wife. At least respect that."
For the first time, his mask cracked. His lips curved into a cold, almost mocking smile. "Respect is earned, not given. Earn it, and perhaps I'll reconsider."
Her throat tightened. She had expected cruelty, but hearing it so plainly left her trembling.
---
Later that night, as Elena lay in her bed, she heard footsteps outside her door. For a moment, hope flared—maybe he had come to speak, maybe even apologize. But the footsteps faded past her room, disappearing down the hallway.
She pressed her face into the pillow, tears spilling silently.
She didn't want to love him. She didn't even want his affection. All she wanted was a shred of warmth, a sliver of humanity. Was that too much to ask?
Her mind whispered cruel truths. To him, yes. It is too much.
---
The next morning, Elena decided she would not crumble so easily. She dressed in a simple white blouse and skirt, tied her hair neatly, and sat down for breakfast before Alexander arrived.
When he entered, she offered a polite smile. "Good morning."
He arched a brow, sitting opposite her. "Still trying?"
"Trying?" she asked.
"To play the role of the perfect wife."
Her fingers tightened around her teacup, but her voice remained calm. "Maybe I'm just trying to be civil. Not everything is an act."
For the first time, his eyes lingered on her, searching, testing. But whatever thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it quickly.
"Do whatever you want," he said coldly. "Just remember—it changes nothing."
---
That day, Elena walked the garden alone, her thoughts heavy. She remembered her mother's trembling hands as she begged Elena to take her sister's place. She remembered the cold smile of the Reid family lawyer when the contract was signed.
Her life was no longer her own.
Yet as she gazed at the blooming roses, she whispered a vow to herself: If Alexander Reid believes he can crush me, he's mistaken. I may be his wife in name, but I am still Elena Hart. I will not vanish into his shadow. One day, he will see me—not as a substitute, not as a stranger, but as the woman who refused to break.
Far across the garden, on the balcony of his study, Alexander stood with his hands in his pockets. His eyes fell on her slender figure among the roses.
For a fleeting moment, something stirred in his chest. He quickly crushed it.
"She won't last," he muttered under his breath. But his gaze lingered longer than he intended.