Chapter 3
Elara's POV
The moment I stepped into the mansion, an unfamiliar heaviness settled inside my chest, as if the air itself had changed the second I crossed the threshold. The place was breathtaking in the way only something cold and untouchable could be. Everything was polished, grand, and silent, yet there was no warmth in it, no sign that it was ever meant to comfort anyone. It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a place where people existed, not lived.
This was Sebastian's world.
And I had just been placed into it without a choice.
As we walked further inside, the staff stood in a perfect line, greeting us with quiet respect. Their expressions were carefully controlled, almost empty, and it only made me more aware of how out of place I was. Every step I took felt louder than it should have, echoing through the marble floors, making it impossible to ignore the fact that I didn't belong here.
"Welcome."
The voice was soft, smooth, and yet it carried something beneath it that made me look up immediately.
Vivienne Devereux.
His stepmother.
She approached us with a composed smile, every movement graceful, every detail about her perfectly put together. But what caught my attention wasn't her elegance—it was the way she looked at Sebastian. Her gaze lingered on him for longer than it should have, her eyes slowly tracing over him in a way that felt deeply unsettling. It wasn't maternal. It wasn't even close to it. There was something else in that look, something that made discomfort crawl under my skin.
For a moment, I told myself I was imagining things, that my mind was just overwhelmed from everything that had happened today. But the feeling didn't leave.
It stayed.
Then she turned to me, her expression softening just enough to appear welcoming.
"You must be exhausted," she said gently, reaching for my hand. Her touch was light, almost kind, but her eyes were anything but. They studied me carefully, as if trying to measure my worth in a single glance.
"There's something you should know," she continued, her voice lowering slightly, as though what she was about to say required privacy.
My heartbeat picked up without my permission.
"Tomorrow morning, I and some of the relatives will come to this mansion… to your room," she said calmly, as if she were talking about something ordinary. "It is a tradition in our family."
My fingers stiffened in her hold.
"We will check the sheets," she added without hesitation, her tone steady and unapologetic. "To confirm that you were untouched."
For a second, I couldn't even breathe. The words felt heavy, suffocating, and far too real.
She noticed my reaction, of course she did, but instead of stopping, she continued as if this was something I should already accept.
"I have also heard that Sebastian can be quite rough," she said, her eyes briefly flickering toward him before returning to me. "It may hurt, but you will have to bear it. A wife should understand her responsibilities."
My stomach twisted painfully, a cold fear settling deeper with every word she spoke.
"Don't worry," she added, smiling again as if she had just comforted me. "We will come in the morning and leave by noon. It will be over quickly."
Nothing about this felt quick.
Nothing about this felt easy.
And yet, I couldn't say a word.
.....
The room I was taken to felt just as suffocating as everything else in this mansion. It was large, beautifully designed, and completely silent, but the emptiness inside it made my thoughts louder than ever. My eyes immediately fell on the bed.
White sheets.
Perfect.
Waiting.
I sat down slowly, my hands resting in my lap as I tried to steady my breathing, but it didn't work. My mind kept replaying her words, over and over again, each time making my chest feel tighter.
What if I couldn't do this? What if I froze? What if he really was—
The door opened.
My body went still instantly.
Sebastian walked in, his presence filling the room in a way that made it impossible to think clearly. He looked exactly the same as before—calm, unreadable, unaffected—but everything inside me felt chaotic.
He took a step closer.
And panic took over before I could stop it.
"Please don't rape me."
The words slipped out, raw and unfiltered.
Silence followed.
For a moment, he simply looked at me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a faint smirk appeared on his lips.
"I'm not going to force myself on any woman," he said calmly, his voice steady and controlled.
I blinked, completely caught off guard.
"You're overthinking," he continued, watching me carefully. "For a first time, don't worry. I would have been gentle."
Would have.
The words stayed with me, confusing me more than anything else.
"And we will only do it when you are completely ready," he added, as if stating something obvious.
I didn't know what to say. This wasn't what I had prepared myself for. This wasn't what I had been warned about.
"Then… what about tonight?" I asked quietly, my voice barely steady.
Instead of answering, he walked past me toward the drawer and opened it. He took out a blade, and before I could react, he cut his own hand.
"Wait—!"
The sound left me in a gasp, but he didn't even react. Blood appeared instantly, dark and real, but his expression didn't change, as if pain meant nothing to him.
He walked to the bed and let a few drops fall onto the white sheets.
The red spread slowly, staining the fabric.
I couldn't look away.
"There," he said simply.
I stood frozen, unable to process what I had just seen.
"You can sleep," he added, already turning toward the door. "I'll be in the study."
He was about to leave.
And for some reason, I couldn't let him walk away like that.
"Wait."
He stopped.
"I'll treat your hand," I said quickly, stepping forward despite the nervousness inside me.
He glanced at it briefly. "It's nothing. I don't need it."
"But it's bleeding," I said, my voice softer but firm.
"It will stop."
His tone made it clear he didn't care.
"You helped me," I said, gathering a little courage. "I want to help you in return."
"I said no."
Something in me refused to step back this time.
"I insist."
My voice came out stronger than I expected, cutting through the silence between us.
For a moment, he just looked at me, his gaze sharp and unreadable. Then, after a brief pause, he gave in.
"Fine."
I let out a quiet breath and quickly took the first aid kit. My hands were slightly shaky as I held his hand, but I focused on the wound, trying to ignore everything else.
Up close, the cut didn't look small at all.
"You really didn't have to do this," I muttered softly as I cleaned the blood.
He didn't respond.
But I could feel his eyes on me.
Watching.
Studying.
It made me nervous.
"It would be better if you stop looking at me like that," I said, trying to sound calm. "It feels like you might kill me."
Still nothing.
So I kept talking, more to ease my own thoughts than anything else.
"I studied nursing in college," I added. "So I know what I'm doing."
My voice felt steadier as I continued working, applying the medicine carefully before wrapping the bandage around his hand.
When I finished, I slowly let go.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The silence between us felt different now.