Elara didn't expect Lucien Blackwood's house to feel like this.
Cold.
Not empty—just cold. The kind of cold that came from too much space and too little warmth. The marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers, and the walls were lined with art that looked expensive but unloved.
"This doesn't feel like a home," she muttered.
Lucien, removing his coat, glanced at her. "It's not meant to."
That told her everything she needed to know.
A maid approached quietly. "Sir, shall I show Madam to her room?"
Elara stiffened at the title.
Lucien nodded. "Yes. The east wing."
The east wing.
Her chest tightened. "We're not sharing a room?"
His eyes darkened slightly. "This is a contract marriage, Elara. Don't misunderstand it."
She wasn't sure why that stung.
"Of course," she replied coolly. "I wouldn't dream of it."
The maid led her upstairs, past doors that looked like they belonged in hotels rather than homes. When they stopped, Elara nearly gasped.
The room was massive.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. A king-sized bed draped in white silk. A walk-in closet larger than her old apartment.
"This is temporary," Elara reminded herself.
The maid smiled politely. "If you need anything, Madam, just ring."
The door closed.
Silence swallowed her whole.
Elara sat on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in her lap. This was real now. No going back. No escaping the man whose last name she now carried.
A knock broke her thoughts.
Lucien entered without waiting for an answer.
"You'll attend tomorrow's charity dinner with me," he said. "Public debut."
Her heart skipped. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"I don't even have a dress."
His gaze swept over her slowly—not leering, just assessing.
"You will."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"And Elara?"
She looked up.
"In public, you smile. You hold my arm. You look like you belong to me."
Her pulse raced. "And in private?"
Lucien's lips curved slightly. "In private, we pretend we're strangers."
The door shut behind him.
She exhaled shakily.
That night, Elara lay awake, staring at the ceiling, every sound in the mansion unfamiliar. She told herself she wasn't afraid.
She was lying.
A soft knock came near midnight.
Her door opened.
Lucien stood there, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened—less polished, more dangerous.
"There's a storm," he said. "Power outage in the east wing."
Almost on cue, the lights flickered… then went out.
Darkness.
"I'll stay here," he added calmly. "Until it passes."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
The bed felt suddenly too small.
This was a mistake.
Because in the darkness, when his voice was no longer cold and his presence no longer distant, Elara realized something terrifying.
Living with Lucien Blackwood wasn't going to break her.
Falling for him would.