The sound of engines flooded the narrow alley.
One car.
Then another.
Then another.
Black. Polished. Quietly threatening.
Aria stood at her bedroom mirror, fingers tightening around the handle of her suitcase as the low hum settled outside her house like a warning. Lucien didn't arrive loudly. He arrived inevitably.
She took one steadying breath.
For Kaya, she reminded herself.
When she stepped out, the night seemed to pause.
Lucien was already there, speaking to her father, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. He turned at the sound of her footsteps—and froze.
Aria wore confidence like armor. The outfit was deliberate: elegant, sharp, just soft enough to invite attention and just bold enough to dare it. Her hair framed her face perfectly. Her eyes didn't seek his approval—but they didn't avoid him either.
Lucien's gaze lingered a second too long.
He recovered quickly. Too quickly.
But Aria noticed.
She hated the small spark of satisfaction that flared in her chest.
As she walked past him, she caught his eye and—just once—gave him a slow, calculated wink.
Lucien's composure cracked. Barely. But enough.
Interesting.
The Car Ride
Silence ruled the backseat.
Not the comfortable kind.
The loaded kind.
Lucien sat beside her, close enough that she could feel his presence without touching him. He didn't speak. Neither did she. The city lights slid past the window like a film she wasn't watching.
Lucien studied her reflection in the glass.
She looked calm. Too calm.
"You've changed your mind," he said finally.
Aria smiled faintly, eyes still on the window. "People are allowed to think."
He turned fully toward her now. "You didn't seem like the thinking type yesterday."
Her smile sharpened. "And you didn't seem like the listening type. Yet here we are."
Lucien watched her for a long moment. "You're playing something."
She turned to face him then, tilting her head innocently. "Is that what marriage is to you? A game?"
His jaw tightened. "Careful."
She leaned closer—not touching, just close enough to disturb the air between them. "Relax, Lucien. I agreed to marry you. Isn't that what you wanted?"
He didn't answer.
Because for the first time, he wasn't sure.
the gates opened without pause.
The house wasn't just large—it was designed to dominate. High walls. Controlled lighting. Staff moving silently, efficiently, eyes trained forward, never curious.
Aria stepped inside and felt it immediately.
This wasn't a home.
It was a system.
Her room was immaculate. Too perfect. A guest room dressed like a queen's cage.
When the door closed behind her, the quiet pressed in.
She sat on the edge of the bed, suitcase untouched, heart beating faster now that she was alone.
I walked into this, she thought. On purpose.
Still—
The weight of it hit harder than she expected.
She wasn't just marrying Lucien.
She was stepping into his territory.
Dinner was formal.
Too formal.
Lucien sat at the head of the table. Aria beside him. Staff lined the walls like witnesses. Every move was observed. Every word remembered.
Lucien spoke when the last dish was cleared.
"There are rules," he said calmly.
Aria raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
He ignored the tone. "In public, we are a married couple. United. Polite. Untouchable."
"And in private?" she asked.
His gaze locked onto hers. "In private, there is nothing between us."
Aria scoffed inwardly.
Nothing?
Hatred curled in her chest, slow and burning.
There is something between us, she thought. You just don't want to name it.
Lucien continued, voice steady. "No emotional expectations. No interference. No crossing lines."
She smiled sweetly. "And Kaya?"
The table went silent.
Lucien's eyes darkened. "We are not discussing her."
Aria's smile didn't falter—but her voice turned cold. "Then you better hope I don't find a reason to."
The next day,Aria found out at breakfast.
Lucien wasn't home.
The information came casually—from a servant pouring tea, like it meant nothing. Business trip. Back late. As if his absence didn't loosen something tight inside her chest.
His family barely acknowledged her existence. Polite nods at best. Cold indifference at worst. She wasn't a wife here—she was an obligation.
The staff, at least, did their jobs.
Breakfast was served precisely. Quietly. Too quietly.
Her phone was gone—confiscated the night before without discussion. In its place sat a sleek tablet, preloaded with games, entertainment, distractions.
A leash disguised as kindness.
Aria spent the morning sprawled across a couch, tapping at the screen, pretending to be bored.
But her mind was racing.
If someone wanted to hide a person, she thought, eyes drifting toward the high ceilings, this house could swallow them whole.
Too many rooms. Too many locked doors. Too many spaces no one questioned.
By noon, she couldn't sit still.
She changed—messy hair, loose clothes, deliberately careless. She needed to look harmless. Unthreatening. Curious, not calculating.
She stepped into the hallway and spotted the head maid.
"Excuse me," Aria said lightly. "Could I get a tour of the house? I keep getting lost."
The woman hesitated—then smiled.
"Of course, Mrs. Lucien," she said warmly. "I'm Olivia."
Olivia was kind. Older. The sort of woman who explained things because she wanted to, not because she was ordered to.
They walked.
West wing. East wing. Guest rooms. Art gallery. Indoor garden. Wine cellar (locked). Study (locked). Hallways that curved too much to feel accidental.
Aria memorized everything.
Every door. Every pause. Every don't go there tone.
Then—
A presence shifted behind her.
Close.
Too close.
"I think," a voice said smoothly, "you're already lost enough."
Aria's breath caught.
She didn't turn.
She didn't have to.
She knew that voice like instinct knows danger.
Deep as the ocean. Calm. Controlled. Each word deliberate, as if he measured impact before sound.
Lucien.
That voice—
It sent shivers through her spine and, disturbingly, a flicker of comfort she hated herself for feeling.
Olivia stiffened. "Mr. Lucien—you weren't expected back—"
"I returned early," he said. "That will be all, Olivia."
The maid hesitated, glanced at Aria, then nodded and walked away.
Silence fell.
Heavy. Intimate.
Aria finally turned.
Lucien stood there, immaculate as always, eyes dark and unreadable. He looked at her like she was a problem he hadn't finished solving.
"You said you were busy," she said coolly.
"I was," he replied. "Then I wasn't."
Her jaw tightened. "Following me now?"
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "You're in my house."
She crossed her arms. "I asked for a tour."
Lucien stepped closer—not touching, but close enough that the air changed.
"And you thought I wouldn't notice?" he murmured. "A bored wife suddenly curious about restricted spaces?"
Her pulse jumped. She masked it.
"Maybe I just wanted to know where I live," she shot back.
He studied her for a long moment.
Then—
"I'll give you the tour," Lucien said.
Her brows knit. "Why?"
His gaze locked onto hers. "Because if you're looking for something… I want to know what it is."
A chill slid down her spine.
This wasn't protection.
This was surveillance.
As he gestured for her to walk ahead, Aria realized something terrifying:
Lucien wasn't keeping her out of secrets.
He was letting her close—
So he could see how far she'd go.
And that meant—
She was already playing his game.