The city lights blurred past the tinted windows of Lucien's car.
I didn't speak.
Neither did he.
The silence between us wasn't empty.
It was heavy.
His presence filled the backseat, even though there was space between us. I could feel his eyes on me, studying, calculating… owning.
I kept my gaze fixed outside, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear on my face.
"You're quiet," he finally said.
His voice was calm. Controlled.
"I have nothing to say to you."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"That will change."
The car slowed.
When the gates opened, I realized something.
This wasn't a house.
It was a fortress.
Tall iron gates. Armed security. Cameras at every corner. A driveway long enough to swallow the world I once knew.
My stomach tightened.
This wasn't marriage.
This was captivity.
The car stopped in front of a massive marble entrance.
Before I could reach for the handle, Lucien stepped out first. One of his men opened my door.
I hesitated.
Lucien extended his hand toward me.
"Smile," he murmured softly. "From this moment on… you're mine in public."
"I'm not yours in private either," I replied.
His eyes darkened.
"We'll see."
His hand wrapped around mine before I could pull away.
Warm. Firm. Unyielding.
Cameras flashed somewhere in the distance.
Reporters?
My heart dropped.
"You didn't tell me—"
"You don't need to know everything," he interrupted smoothly.
The front doors opened.
Inside, the mansion was worse.
Cold white marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Endless hallways.
Beautiful.
Empty.
"Your room is upstairs," he said.
My room.
Not ours.
That should have comforted me.
It didn't.
Halfway up the staircase, I stopped.
"Why me?" I asked quietly.
There were hundreds of women who would kill to marry Lucien Moretti.
Why choose a girl whose father was drowning in debt?
He stopped too.
For a moment… he didn't look cold.
He looked curious.
"You're not afraid of me," he said.
"I am."
"No," he corrected calmly. "You're angry."
Our eyes locked.
"And I enjoy breaking strong things."
A chill slid down my spine.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
"If you try to run," he whispered near my ear, "I will find you."
My breath hitched.
"And when I do…"
His fingers brushed against my jaw slowly.
"You won't like what happens next."
I swallowed, but I refused to step back.
"Is that a threat?" I asked.
"It's a promise."
He straightened, the cold mask sliding back into place as if that brief moment of intensity had never happened.
"Get some rest," he added. "Tomorrow, the world will know you're mine."
Mine.
The word echoed again, heavier this time.
A woman in a neat black uniform appeared at the end of the hallway.
"Miss Rossi, I'll show you to your room."
Lucien didn't wait for my response. He turned and walked away, his footsteps slow, confident.
Like he had all the time in the world.
And I had none.
The bedroom was larger than my entire apartment back home.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. Silk curtains. A king-sized bed. A chandelier hanging like frozen diamonds above me.
Luxury.
But no warmth.
"This will be your personal space," the maid said politely. "Mr. Moretti's room is across the hall."
Across the hall.
So close.
When the door finally closed behind her, silence wrapped around me.
I walked toward the window and looked down.
The gates were visible even from here.
Guards.
Cameras.
There was no escaping this place easily.
A soft knock came at the door.
I froze.
It opened without waiting for permission.
Lucien.
Of course.
He stepped inside like he belonged here.
Like he belonged everywhere.
"I didn't invite you," I said.
His eyes slowly scanned the room before settling on me.
"You don't have to."
My pulse quickened as he approached.
"Relax," he murmured. "I'm not here to claim marital rights."
Heat rushed to my face despite myself.
"Then why are you here?"
He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a thin black folder.
"You should read the full contract," he said calmly.
"I already signed it."
"You signed the summary."
My stomach tightened.
"What do you mean?"
He handed it to me.
I opened it quickly, my eyes scanning the pages.
Then I saw it.
Clause 17.
My fingers went cold.
"This says I have to attend all public events with you. Live here permanently. Follow your security rules. No independent travel without approval—"
"And?" he asked quietly.
"And if I violate any of it…"
My voice faltered.
"You forfeit your inheritance and your father's company becomes fully mine."
Silence.
Slowly, I looked up at him.
"You trapped me."
His expression didn't change.
"I secured my investment."
Anger burned through the fear.
"I'm not an investment."
He stepped closer again.
"No," he said softly.
"You're my wife."
My heart slammed hard against my ribs.
"And from tomorrow," he continued, his voice dropping lower, "you'll learn exactly what that means."
He turned toward the door.
Then paused.
"Oh, and Alina…"
I hated the way my name sounded in his mouth.
"If you're thinking about running—"
His gaze locked onto mine.
"Try it."
The door closed behind him.
And for the first time since signing that contract…
I realized something terrifying.
I wasn't just married to the devil.
I was living in his kingdom.
A sudden sound shattered the silence.
A scream.
Not mine.
A woman's voice echoed faintly somewhere in the mansion.
My body went rigid.
It wasn't imagination.
It was real.
Another sound followed—something breaking. Then footsteps. Fast. Urgent.
My heart started racing.
This wasn't just a marriage.
This house was hiding something.
Slowly, I moved toward the door of my room.
My hand hovered over the handle.
And then—
The hallway lights went out.
Darkness swallowed everything.
And somewhere in the mansion…
Someone was crying.