Aria didn't sleep.
She lay on the vast bed staring at the ceiling, listening to a house that felt too large for two people who barely acknowledged each other's existence. The silence wasn't peaceful—it was watchful, as if the walls themselves were aware that she didn't belong yet.
Lucien hadn't stayed.
After delivering his ominous warning, he'd left the room without another word, the door closing softly behind him. No goodnight. No explanation. Just distance.
It shouldn't have bothered her.
This wasn't a real marriage. She knew that. The contract was clear. Emotional attachment was forbidden, and expectations were minimal.
So why did the emptiness of the bed feel heavier than the fear she'd carried into the wedding?
Eventually, exhaustion claimed her.
Aria woke to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows and the unfamiliar sensation of luxury pressing in on all sides. The sheets were softer than anything she'd ever owned. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne—woodsy, clean, unmistakably masculine.
Lucien.
She sat up, pushing the thought away.
After a quick shower, she dressed in one of the outfits already hanging in the wardrobe—tailored but tasteful, clearly chosen by someone who knew how appearances mattered. A note rested on the dresser.
Breakfast is at eight.
—L
No warmth. No unnecessary words.
She checked the time.
7:55 a.m.
The dining room looked like it belonged in a design magazine—long table, muted tones, polished surfaces untouched by clutter. Lucien sat at the far end, already dressed in a crisp black shirt and slacks, reading something on his tablet.
He didn't look up when she entered.
Aria hesitated, then took a seat across from him. The distance between them felt symbolic.
A housekeeper appeared silently, placing breakfast before her. Everything smelled incredible, but her appetite faltered under the weight of Lucien's presence.
"Good morning," she said, testing the sound of politeness in the room.
Lucien finally looked up.
"Morning."
One word. Neutral. Controlled.
She took a sip of coffee, needing something to anchor herself. "Is this how it's going to be?" she asked.
His brow lifted slightly. "How?"
"Two strangers playing house without speaking.".
His gaze sharpened, assessing. "You signed the same contract I did."
"I know." She met his eyes, refusing to shrink. "But public appearances will require us to at least seem human."
Something unreadable flickered across his expression.
"You'll attend events when necessary," he said. "You'll smile when cameras are present. Everything else is optional."
"And when we're alone?" she pressed.
Lucien set his tablet aside. "Then we respect each other's space."
It was a reasonable answer. Logical.
Still, it felt like rejection.
After breakfast, Lucien left for work without ceremony. Aria watched from the window as his car disappeared through the gates, the quiet settling in again.
She spent the morning exploring the house.
The mansion was beautiful, but impersonal. No family photos. No signs of life beyond the staff who moved like ghosts. It was a place built for power, not comfort.
In the library, she ran her fingers along shelves filled with books she suspected Lucien had never read—carefully curated intelligence rather than passion.
She paused when she noticed a locked drawer in the desk.
Curiosity stirred—but she remembered the rules.
No questions about my past.
Aria stepped back, forcing herself to respect the boundary. For now.
By evening, Lucien still hadn't returned.
She sat in the living room scrolling through her phone when the front door finally opened. His footsteps echoed through the house—measured, controlled, tired.
He loosened his tie as he entered, pausing when he noticed her.
"You didn't leave," he said.
"I live here," she replied simply.
A pause stretched between them.
"Did you need something?" he asked.
"Yes." She stood. "We need to talk about expectations."
Lucien studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Five minutes."
They sat across from each other, the space between them tense.
"I won't interfere with your business," Aria said. "And I won't pry into your past. But I won't live like a ghost in this house either."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you asking for?"
"Respect," she said. "And honesty—at least where it concerns me."
Lucien exhaled slowly. "Honesty is a dangerous currency."
"So is silence," she countered.
For the first time, something close to a smile touched his lips—but it held no humor. "You're not as compliant as I expected."
"I didn't survive this long by being compliant."
Something shifted then. Subtle. Unspoken.
"Very well," he said. "We'll have dinner together when our schedules allow. Public appearances will be discussed in advance."
It wasn't warmth—but it was progress.
That night, the house was quieter than before.
Aria was heading to her room when she heard voices downstairs—low, urgent.
She stopped.
"…not supposed to be here yet," a man was saying.
Lucien's voice followed, colder than she'd heard it before. "That timeline has changed."
"She's a liability," the man insisted.
Silence stretched.
Then Lucien spoke again.
"She's my wife."
Aria's breath caught.
"Which makes her leverage," the man replied. "And you know what happens when secrets are tied to leverage."
Aria backed away slowly, heart racing.
She hadn't meant to hear that.
But it was too late.
As she reached her door, her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
Watch who you trust, Mrs. Blackwood.
Her hands trembled as she stared at the screen.
From downstairs, footsteps approached.
Lucien's voice called her name.
"Aria?"
She looked at the door, then at her phone again.
Whatever she had married into—
It was far more dangerous than a contract.