Esther realized something unsettling on the fourth morning of the so-called honeymoon.
Astor never slept.
Or at least, he never seemed to.
She woke up to the faint glow of dawn slipping through the sheer curtains, the room painted in pale gold. The bed beside her was empty—cold sheets, untouched pillows. For a brief second, panic fluttered in her chest before logic caught up. This had become a pattern.
Astor always left before sunrise.
She pushed herself upright, her silk robe sliding down her shoulders as she listened. The suite was quiet—too quiet for a man who controlled empires and boardrooms. No phone calls. No pacing. No clinking of glasses.
Curious despite herself, Esther slipped out of bed.
The villa was massive, designed with wealth that whispered rather than screamed. Marble floors cool beneath her bare feet, muted art lining the walls—expensive, tasteful, impersonal. Very Astor.
She followed the faint sound of water.
The balcony doors were open.
Astor stood outside, sleeves rolled up, dark hair slightly disheveled by the breeze. He leaned against the railing, staring out at the endless blue sea as if it might confess something to him if he waited long enough.
For the first time since their engagement, he looked… human.
No sharp suit. No calculated expression. Just a man alone with his thoughts.
Esther hesitated.
She could go back. Pretend she hadn't seen him like this. But something tugged at her chest—an unfamiliar pull she refused to name.
"You're up early," she said instead.
Astor stiffened.
Only slightly. But she noticed.
"You shouldn't be awake," he replied coolly, turning just enough to acknowledge her presence. "You barely slept last night."
She scoffed, crossing her arms. "I sleep just fine."
A lie.
He studied her for a moment, dark eyes sharp, as though peeling back layers she didn't realize she was wearing. Then he turned back to the ocean.
Silence settled between them—not awkward, but heavy.
"Why do you always leave before I wake up?" Esther asked quietly.
Astor didn't answer immediately.
The waves crashed below them, rhythmic and relentless.
"Habit," he finally said.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you'll get."
Her irritation flared. "You always do that."
"Do what?"
"Hide," she snapped. "You act like you're carved from ice. Like nothing touches you."
His jaw tightened.
"You wanted honesty," he said slowly. "Some people aren't meant to be touched."
The words struck deeper than she expected.
Esther laughed, sharp and humorless. "Funny. Because your family had no problem forcing you to touch me."
Astor turned fully this time.
The distance between them shrank, tension thick enough to choke on. His gaze darkened, not with anger—but something far more dangerous.
"Do not confuse obligation with choice," he said.
Her breath hitched.
"Then why did you choose this?" she asked, her voice softer now. "Why not fight it?"
Astor's eyes flickered.
For just a moment.
A crack in the armor.
"You think I didn't?" he murmured.
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed sharply, shattering the moment. Astor glanced at the screen, his expression hardening instantly—walls snapping back into place.
"I have work," he said.
Of course.
He stepped past her, brushing her shoulder as he went. The contact was brief, accidental—but it sent a strange warmth through her chest.
Esther stood there long after he disappeared into the suite.
Something wasn't adding up.
---
That evening, they attended another carefully staged public appearance—dinner with influential investors who wanted proof of unity between the rival families.
Esther wore a deep emerald gown, the fabric hugging her curves elegantly. Her hair was swept back, exposing her neck. She looked every bit the powerful woman she was, and she knew it.
Astor noticed.
She saw it in the way his gaze lingered half a second longer than necessary before returning to his neutral mask.
Throughout dinner, he played the perfect fiancé—hand resting at the small of her back, fingers brushing hers under the table, his voice calm and controlled as he spoke of mergers and futures.
But his touch was different tonight.
Warmer.
More deliberate.
It confused her.
When one of the investors laughed too loudly and leaned a little too close to her, Astor's hand tightened—possessive, unmistakable.
Esther looked up at him, surprised.
His expression didn't change.
But his thumb traced a slow, absent circle against her skin.
Her heart skipped.
Later, in the car ride back to the villa, the silence between them felt charged. Esther stared out the window, her thoughts racing.
"You didn't have to do that," she said suddenly.
"Do what?"
"Act jealous."
Astor's eyes flicked to her reflection in the glass. "I wasn't."
She turned toward him. "You were."
Another pause.
Then, quietly, "It was strategic."
She smiled faintly. "You're a terrible liar."
Something unreadable crossed his face.
When they arrived, Esther surprised herself by speaking again.
"Why do you look at me like you're about to say something—and then don't?"
Astor stopped walking.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
"If I start," he said slowly, "I won't stop."
Her pulse thundered.
"Maybe I want you to."
Their eyes locked.
The air between them tightened, charged with something neither of them was ready to face.
Astor stepped back.
"Goodnight, Esther."
And just like that, he was gone again.
Esther stood alone in the hallway, heart racing, one truth echoing loudly in her mind:
Astor was not as cold as he pretended.
And that made him far more dangerous than she'd ever imagined.