"I must admit, this is a surprise, Madam. Mr. Alexander rarely has overnight guests, let alone makes a decision... this quickly."
The voice, dry and formal, struck Aurelia James like a cold mountain wind. Aura had just stepped through the towering double doors of the Volkov mansion. The door closed behind her with a deep 'thud,' completely cutting her off from the outside world.
In the center of the main hall, the figure stood... like a statue made of rigidity and judgment: Mrs. Jenkins. The middle-aged woman wore a classic housekeeper uniform, her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, and her posture was so perfect it felt menacing. The hall itself felt like a cathedral decorated with extreme luxury; pristine white marble met dark oak carvings, and the crystal chandelier looked like a frozen star.
Mrs. Jenkins was the embodiment of the standards Aura would never meet. Her eyes, sharp and critical, scrutinized Aura's evening dress, which was supposed to be dazzling but, in Jenkins's eyes, looked only like a cheap, inappropriate costume for a house of this magnitude.
Okay, Aura. Here she is. The gatekeeper. She knows nothing about Marco or the $2 million, but she knows I lack proper pedigree. She looks at me and thinks, 'cheap opportunist.' I must not whine or show fear. I must match Alexander's rigidity.
"Good evening, Madam," Mrs. Jenkins greeted, emphasizing the word 'Madam' once again with a tone that implied profound doubt. "I am Mrs. Jenkins, the head housekeeper. My duty is to ensure the standards of the Volkov household are maintained, and, I might add, those standards are exceptionally high."
Aura had to retaliate. She knew that in this cruel environment, if she showed softness, she would be torn apart.
"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Jenkins," Aura countered, her smile thin, cold, and authoritative. "This marriage is Mr. Volkov's most important personal business, and now, that is my status. I will be the new mistress of this house. I demand the same professionalism you would afford Mr. Volkov's most valuable furnishings. I hope that is clear."
Mrs. Jenkins flinched slightly. Her eyebrow rose in a nearly imperceptible motion, an indication that the response was outside the scenario she had imagined. Aura sounded commanding and transactional, not like a new wife should—full of sentiment or fear.
"Of course, Madam," Mrs. Jenkins replied, recovering the stiff posture that was her main weapon. "I manage everything related to the Volkov standards. Have you brought many belongings? We must arrange an inventory list of your personal items so nothing is misplaced."
"Only one small bag. The rest is Mr. Volkov's business," Aura replied, referring to Jake. Alright, Mrs. Jenkins. Let's see how high your standards are.
"Very well," Mrs. Jenkins sighed, looking deeply displeased. "Let me show you to your room."
Mrs. Jenkins led Aura through the mansion's seemingly endless corridors. Every step Aura took brought her deeper into the golden prison Alexander had prepared. Aura noted every detail: custom brass wall sconces, old oil paintings that must have been worth millions, thick carpets that muffled all sound. They passed double doors to rooms Aura could only imagine: a music room with a gleaming Steinway grand piano, and a glimpse of a formal dining room with deep red velvet chairs.
This house is so vast, so silent. I bet the staff here communicate by telepathy. This isn't a home; this is a frightening legacy. I am an intruder who arrived in the middle of the night. Every painting stares at me with judgment. Alexander Volkov doesn't live; he rules here. I must mimic this coldness to survive.
They passed several massive mahogany doors. Aura was sure one of those ornate doors was Alexander's Master Suite. Mrs. Jenkins did not stop. She continued walking toward the back of the mansion, toward the guest wing, which was distinctly separated and far from the Master Suite. The distance felt like a status statement.
Finally, Mrs. Jenkins stopped in front of a much simpler, smaller, and more secluded oak door. She opened it with a glittering silver key.
"This will be your room, Madam," Mrs. Jenkins said. There was a note of hidden satisfaction in her voice. "This is one of the most comfortable guest suites. It is adequately sized and has a good view of the garden in the morning. We haven't had time to prepare the Master Bedroom for you, given your unexpected arrival."
Aura looked inside. The room, though only a "guest suite," felt like a seven-star hotel room. The bed was massive, the ivory silk linen looked incredibly smooth, and the bathroom was lined with shimmering marble. However, it was clearly a guest room. It was a deliberate test.
Mrs. Jenkins must have thought that if Aura was an ambitious gold digger, she would immediately demand the Master Bedroom.
Ah, she's trying to punish me. She wants to see me erupt in fury, demanding my romantic rights. She wants me to be hysterical. I won't. I didn't come here for the Master Suite or for warmth. I'm here for my mother's freedom. This guest room is the perfect shield from Alexander. This is my temporary safe haven. I must act grateful and professional, and shatter her expectations.
Mrs. Jenkins crossed her arms, waiting for an outburst of anger from a marginalized new wife. "I hope this is sufficient, Madam. We can move you into the Master Suite after a few days, should Mr. Alexander instruct it."
Aura smiled. Her smile was calm, almost cold, mirroring Alexander Volkov's own composure. She responded with the attitude of a professional who valued her personal space and was focused on her job: being Mrs. Volkov.
"Sufficient?" Aura repeated. She stepped in and placed her handbag on the cold marble commode, relishing the small 'thud.' "Mrs. Jenkins, this room is perfectly adequate. I value privacy and personal space. I have no unnecessary demands regarding Mr. Volkov's private areas. I appreciate the quiet space."
Aura turned to Mrs. Jenkins, her eyes sharp.
"Please note," Aura said, with unexpected authority. "I am here to fully support Mr. Volkov as his public wife. I will be the new mistress of the house. This room is perfect for maintaining a high degree of professionalism between us."
Aura glanced at her cheap wristwatch, a contrasting reminder she enjoyed.
"Immediately, I need a schedule," Aura continued, her voice adopting the commanding tone of a project manager. "I need to know when I must appear in public, when I must accompany Mr. Alexander, and when I must 'look beautiful' in public. I am here to fulfill my obligations. Treat me with professionalism, Mrs. Jenkins. I demand respect commensurate with my status as Mr. Volkov's wife. I refuse treatment that condescends to Mr. Alexander's private choices."
Mrs. Jenkins was genuinely taken aback. The rigid expression on her face momentarily collapsed, replaced by tangible confusion. This response was the total antithesis of what she had expected.
"W-well, Madam," Mrs. Jenkins stammered slightly, her voice softening somewhat. "I will prepare a daily schedule and send it to your room tomorrow morning. And... good night, Mrs. Volkov."
Aura waited until Mrs. Jenkins closed the door with a quiet 'click.'
Score 1 for Aurelia James. I managed to make the stiffest housekeeper in the city stutter and call me Mrs. Volkov with fearful respect. I was bought, but I will make them pay for every single cent Alexander spent on me.
Aura walked to the luxurious bed and collapsed onto the soft linen. A sense of safety flooded over her. She no longer had to fear Marco. She closed her eyes. She was now Mrs. Alexander Volkov, the most professional wife, determined to extract the minimum respect she demanded from everyone.