The car ride was silent.
But it wasn't the kind of silence that begged to be broken.
It was the kind that warned you not everything that's beautiful is warm
Juliette Wren Vale sat in the backseat of the obsidian-black Bentley, her hands still clenched in her lap, the ring on her finger catching the city lights like a diamond that didn't belong to her.
She hadn't said a word in thirty-seven minutes.
Neither had he.
Cassian Rhys Vale sat beside her, suit still sharp, face unreadable, eyes on the glass.
Not once had he looked at her since they left the ballroom.
She didn't know what stung more:
His silence…
Or the fact that she expected it.
They arrived at Vale Manor just past 11 p.m.
Not a house.
A kingdom.
The gates opened like jaws, swallowing the car into a private road lined with silver streetlamps and trees trimmed so precisely they looked unreal. The air smelled like cold stone and old money.
And when the manor came into view, Juliette stopped breathing.
Marble steps stretched wide like palace stairs.
The house was five stories high—black steel and ivory glass, the windows glowing like firelight behind rainfall.
Ivy climbed the walls like it had been trained to behave.
The driveway was paved with crushed onyx stone. It glittered under the headlights.
She stepped out of the car slowly.
The rain was misty now, soft, like a hush in the air.
Cassian didn't wait for her.
He was already walking up the steps.
Not once had he touched her hand.
Inside, the silence only grew.
The foyer stretched two stories high, with a crystal chandelier shaped like falling rain.
The floors were white Italian marble, veins of gold running through them like lightning frozen in stone.
To her left: a staircase with black rails and mirrored steps.
To her right: a hallway lined with abstract paintings, each worth more than her father's old house.
The walls were warm ivory.
The scent? Expensive cologne and old books.
Every light was soft gold.
But somehow… it still felt cold.
She didn't speak as a housekeeper approached with a polite smile.
"Mrs. Vale, I'll show you to your suite."
Her suite.
Not their suite.
She turned to say something to Cassian.
But he was already walking up another staircase.
Without a word.
Without a glance back.
And just like that he disappeared
24 Hours Earlier…
The wedding was beautiful.
But not romantic.
A ballroom filled with a hundred strangers in suits too stiff and eyes too sharp.
Cameras, contracts, champagne—not love
Cassian didn't smile once.
He stood by her side like it was an obligation.
A signature.
A box to check.
The dress was designer.
The flowers flown in.
Even the rain had waited until after the ceremony to fall.
But nothing in that day belonged to Juliette.
Not the guests.
Not the name she now wore.
Not even the man beside her.
And the moment the rings were exchanged…
She knew.
She hadn't married a husband.
She'd signed herself into a prison.
Present Day
Juliette's suite was beautiful.
A four-poster bed with sheer white drapes.
A walk-in closet bigger than her childhood bedroom.
Velvet curtains. Candles in crystal holders. A window seat overlooking the city skyline.
Everything was soft. Gold. Expensive.
But it didn't feel like hers.
Not the slippers.
Not the silk robe.
Not the new last name embroidered on the pillowcases.
And definitely not the silence.
Because that silence meant one thing:
Cassian Vale hadn't returned.
Not the next morning.
Not two days later.
Not even after a week.
Juliette stared at the empty side of the dinner table again.
"He's in Tokyo for business," the butler had said politely.
"He'll be in Singapore next," the maid added two days later. "Very busy schedule."
"He doesn't do breakfast," another had murmured. "He prefers to be alone."
No one asked how she was.
No one welcomed her into the family.
No one treated her like a wife.
She was a guest in a mansion filled with art and quiet.
And her husband?
He hadn't called once.
But every time she passed his closed door at the end of the west wing…
She felt watched.
Like he was still there.
Like she was never truly alone.
End of Chapter One.