The Thorne Estate didn't feel like a home; it felt like a fortress.
As the black Rolls-Royce swept up the winding driveway of the sprawling cliffside mansion, Seraphina clutched her silk so hard her knuckles turned white.
The wedding had been a blur of flashing cameras, cold vows, and the heavy weight of a veil that felt like a shroud.
She was officially Mrs Alexander Thorne. The lie was sealed in ink and blood-red rubies.
"You've been remarkably quiet since we left the cathedral," Alexander's voice cut through the silence of the car.
He was sitting in the corner of the leather seat, a glass of amber scotch in his hand. He hadn't touched her once during the reception, yet his presence seemed to occupy all the oxygen in the vehicle.
"I told you, I'm tired," Seraphina said, keeping her gaze fixed on the passing trees.
"Tired," he mused, the ice in his glass clinking rhythmically.
"The Selene I know would be halfway through a bottle of champagne, demanding to know why the paparazzi weren't allowed inside the ballroom. Yet you haven't even looked at your phone once."
Seraphina felt a cold sweat break out under her wig. She had forgotten that Selene was addicted to social media.
"Maybe the reality of being married to a man who hates me has finally humbled me, Alexander," she said, her voice laced with a genuine bitterness that she didn't have to fake.
Alexander set his glass down. Slowly, he leaned toward her. The scent of sandalwood and expensive tobacco grew stronger.
"Don't flatter yourself. I don't hate you. To hate someone, I would have to value them enough to feel an emotion. To me, you are simply a contract I've finally fulfilled."
The car came to a smooth halt.
The chauffeur opened the door, and Alexander stepped out without waiting for her. Seraphina struggled with the heavy layers of her gown, trailing after him into the grand foyer.
The interior was all white marble, soaring ceilings, and silent servants lined up like soldiers.
"Welcome home, Sir. Madam," a head butler bowed deeply.
"Take her things to the East Wing," Alexander commanded, not even looking back as he began to unbutton his tuxedo jacket.
"The East Wing?" Seraphina paused at the foot of the grand staircase.
"Isn't the Master Suite in the West Wing?"
Alexander stopped, his hand on the railing. He turned, his grey eyes sweeping over her with a look of pure disdain.
"Did you actually think we would be sharing a bed, Selene?"
He walked back down the three steps until he was level with her. He was so close she could see the dark ring around his irises.
"I married you for the land. I married you because my board of directors required a 'stable' family image. I did not marry you because I have any desire to touch a woman as shallow and manipulative as you."
He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw—a gesture that looked romantic to the servants watching, but felt like a threat to Seraphina.
"You will stay in the East Wing. You will attend the events I tell you to attend. You will play the part of the doting wife when the cameras are on. But when we are behind these doors..." He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
"You do not exist to me. Do you understand?"
Seraphina's heart pricked. It was exactly what she wanted—distance—yet his words stung more than she expected.
"Perfectly," she whispered.
"Good. Then take off that ridiculous dress. It's making you look even paler than usual."
He turned and strode toward his study, the doors slamming shut with a finality that echoed through the hall.
Seraphina was led to the East Wing by a young maid named Maya. The room was larger than the entire apartment Seraphina had shared with her sister, but it felt cold.
Once the maid left, Seraphina finally collapsed. She tore off the blonde wig, revealing her own chestnut hair, and began the agonising process of unzipping the couture gown.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror in her silk slip, looking at the "invisible" twin who had just stolen a life.
I just have to survive thirty days, she told herself, splashing cold water on her face to wash away Selene's heavy makeup. Thirty days, and then I can go back to my studio. Back to my paintings.
A soft knock on the door made her jump.
"Madam? Mr Thorne has requested that you join him in the dining hall for a late supper. He says it is... mandatory."
Seraphina froze. She hadn't put her wig back on. Her face was bare.
"I'll be down in ten minutes!" she called out, her heart racing.
She scrambled to find the wig, but as she reached for it, she noticed the vanity was empty.
The maid must have taken it to be "cleaned" along with the bridal accessories.
Panic surged. She couldn't go down as herself. But if she didn't go, Alexander would come up here.
She looked at a silk robe on the bed. She put it on, tying the sash tight, and let her natural brown hair fall over her shoulders. She would have to dim the lights. She would have to stay in the shadows.
When she entered the dining hall, the long table was lit only by candles. Alexander was at the head, his laptop open, a fork in one hand. He didn't look up as she sat at the far end of the table.
"You took your time," he said, his voice clipped.
"I was washing up."
Alexander finally looked up from his screen. He froze.
His eyes travelled from her bare, scrubbed face—devoid of the sharp contouring and fake lashes—down to her natural, dark hair.
The silence lasted for a minute. Then two.
Alexander stood up, his chair screeching against the marble. He walked the length of the table, his gaze fixed on her like a hawk.
Seraphina stopped breathing. She gripped the silk of her robe, her mind racing for an excuse. I dyed it? Is it a new look?
He stopped right beside her. He reached out, his large hand burying itself in her chestnut hair, pulling her head back so she had to look at him.
"What is this?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low.
"It's... It's just me, Alexander," she gasped.
He leaned down, his eyes searching her face with an intensity that made her tremble. He looked at the small mole near her collarbone that Selene always covered with concealer. He looked at the soft, honest curve of her lips.
"You look different," he whispered, his thumb brushing her lower lip. His eyes darkened, but not with anger. It was something else.
Something hungrier. "Why do you look like a completely different woman?"
Seraphina's pulse hammered against his palm. "Maybe you just never looked at me closely enough before."
Alexander's gaze dropped to her mouth. For a second, the "Ice King" vanished, replaced by a man who looked like he was about to lose his mind.
"Maybe," he breathed.
Then, his phone buzzed on the table. The spell broke.
He pulled his hand away as if she had burned him. He straightened his tie, his expression returning to a mask of ice.
"Put the wig back on tomorrow," he snapped, turning his back on her.
"I don't like surprises. And stay away from the West Wing. I have work to do."
He walked out, but Seraphina noticed something.
His hand was shaking.