The room they gave me was too perfect.
White walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A bed so large it looked untouched, unused—like no one ever truly rested here.
It didn't feel like a bedroom.
It felt like a holding cell dressed in silk.
I stood in the center of it, arms crossed, listening to the silence of the house. No music. No laughter. No warmth.
Just space.
And somewhere on the other side of this mansion—
Damien Cross.
My husband.
The thought made bile rise in my throat.
I dropped my bag on the bed and walked to the window. The city stretched endlessly below, glittering and indifferent.
This was his world.
And I was trapped inside it.
---
Dinner was served at exactly seven.
Not seven-oh-five.
Not seven-ten.
Seven.
A woman I hadn't met knocked once before opening the door.
"Mr. Cross expects you downstairs," she said politely.
Not your husband.
Mr. Cross.
Good.
I followed her to the dining room.
Damien was already seated.
Of course he was.
Suit jacket off. Sleeves rolled. Calm. Controlled.
Eating like nothing in the world had changed.
I stopped a few feet away.
"You're punctual," he said without looking up.
"You're predictable," I replied.
His eyes lifted slowly.
Dangerous. Assessing.
"Sit," he said.
I pulled out the chair across from him and sat.
Across.
Not beside.
I refused to play the part unless I had to.
We ate in silence.
Silverware clinked. Plates shifted. The tension sat heavy between us like a loaded weapon.
"You didn't touch your food," he said after a while.
"I'm not hungry."
"You need to eat."
"You don't get to care."
He paused.
Then continued eating.
"Your father's surgery was approved," he said casually. "It's scheduled for tomorrow morning."
My fork froze.
"You already—?"
"Yes."
Just like that.
No hesitation.
My chest tightened painfully.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"You don't thank me," he replied. "You comply."
The words snapped something inside me.
"I am not your property," I said sharply.
"No," he agreed calmly. "You're my liability."
That hurt more than I expected.
He stood.
Dinner over.
"Your schedule will be sent to your phone," he said. "Public appearances. Events. Where you need to be and when."
"And if I don't show up?"
He stepped closer.
Close enough that I had to tilt my head to look at him.
"Then the illusion breaks," he said softly. "And illusions are the only thing keeping you safe."
I clenched my jaw.
"I will never forgive you," I said.
He leaned in slightly.
"I don't need forgiveness," he replied. "I need obedience."
Then he walked away.
---
I didn't sleep.
I lay awake listening to the house breathe around me.
At midnight, I got up.
Quietly.
Carefully.
I didn't know what I was looking for.
Just something.
Anything.
Proof.
The hallway lights were dim.
The security cameras blinked softly.
I memorized their positions as I moved.
One thing I'd learned growing up around businessmen?
Every empire has cracks.
Damien's office was locked.
But not enough.
The code panel blinked red when I tried the handle.
I stared at it.
Thought.
Then tried again.
His birthday.
Nothing.
Then—
The date my father was arrested.
The light turned green.
The door opened.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Inside, the office was dark and pristine.
A man who controlled everything down to the smallest detail.
I moved quickly.
Folders. Files. Locked drawers.
Then—
A flash drive tucked into the back of a drawer.
Unlabeled.
Hidden.
My fingers trembled as I slipped it into my pocket.
Just as I turned—
The lights flicked on.
I froze.
Damien stood in the doorway.
Hands in his pockets.
Expression unreadable.
"How disappointing," he said calmly.
My blood ran cold.