Alira had never known silence could feel so heavy.
The car that carried her away from the chapel—away from the last remnants of the life she knew—glided along the darkened road with the smoothness of a predator stalking its prey. The leather seats were cold against her back, the scent of new upholstery strangely suffocating. Across from her sat Damon Vargaz—her husband now—silent, unreadable, carved from the very shadows he seemed to command.
He hadn't spoken a single word since they left the ceremony.
Not one.
He sat with one arm resting casually against the door, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm—impatient, irritated, or simply thinking. She couldn't tell. His gaze remained fixed outside the window, as if the passing world was more worthy of his attention than the woman forced to marry him.
Alira swallowed, her fingers twisting the hem of her dress—her sister's dress—still crumpled from the chaos of the day. Her nerves were frayed threads, threatening to snap with every passing second of silence.
She glanced at him once.
Just once.
And immediately wished she hadn't.
His eyes flicked to her, sharp and cool as a blade. A warning. Or maybe just a reminder of the imbalance between them.
Her breath hitched. She looked away quickly.
Damon said nothing.
She wondered if this was what the rest of her life would feel like—walking on glass, waiting for every small sound to shatter something she didn't understand.
The car slowed.
Alira straightened, clutching her hands in her lap.
Then she saw it through the window.
The Vargaz estate.
No—fortress would be a better word.
Tall iron gates towered above the road, flanked by stone pillars draped in climbing vines. Security cameras blinked red from the corners. Two guards in dark uniforms stepped forward, scanning the car with practiced efficiency before the gates creaked open in a slow, mechanical sigh.
As the car rolled through, Alira's chest tightened.
Not a home.
Not a mansion.
A cage lined with luxury.
Beyond the gates stretched a long driveway bordered by manicured hedges and lampposts that glowed like molten gold. The house—if it could be called that—loomed at the end, a grand structure of old stone and modern glass. Windows rose three stories high, reflecting the moonlight like shards of ice. Balconies wrapped around the upper floors, elegant yet somehow forbidding.
It was beautiful.
Terrifying.
An empire shaped into architecture.
The car stopped in front of wide marble steps.
The front doors opened.
Several staff members lined up instantly, forming a silent row to greet their arriving lord and the woman beside him. Their expressions were poised, polite, carefully blank. Alira wondered how many of them knew she was not the intended bride.
She wondered how many cared.
Damon stepped out first.
He didn't wait for her. Didn't offer a hand. Didn't even glance back.
Still, she followed. Because what else could she do?
The air outside was cool, brushing her skin with the faint scent of cedar. She lifted the heavy skirt of her dress and stepped onto the stone ground, hoping her trembling wasn't visible.
A woman approached—mid-forties, authoritative posture, sharp-eyed.
"Welcome home, Mr. Vargaz," she said with a slight bow. Her gaze then flickered to Alira. "And… Mrs. Vargaz."
The words struck Alira like a physical blow.
Mrs. Vargaz.
Her.
Not her sister.
She forced herself to nod.
Damon didn't respond. He simply walked past them, heading for the doors with long, confident strides. The staff parted for him instantly, a silent wave pulled by gravity.
The woman—perhaps the head housekeeper—gestured politely.
"Please, follow me."
Alira followed. Her footsteps echoed through the entrance hall as she stepped inside.
She had never seen anything like it.
A towering chandelier dripped from the ceiling like a cascade of glass tears. White marble floors gleamed beneath her, polished until her reflection stared back up at her. A double staircase curved upward like twin arms embracing the space, leading to the upper floors. Art pieces hung along the walls—portraits of stern-faced ancestors and abstract pieces that screamed wealth and power.
Cold.
Expensive.
Magnificent.
Unwelcoming.
The woman led her a few steps in before stopping.
"Mr. Vargaz has asked that you be shown to your quarters," she said gently.
Alira blinked. "My… quarters?"
"Yes, Mrs. Vargaz." The woman's voice softened only slightly. "You will have your own room. The master bedroom is occupied by Mr. Vargaz."
Of course. A marriage of obligation, not affection.
Alira nodded stiffly. "I understand."
The woman gestured toward the staircase, but before they could ascend, Damon's voice drifted from the shadows of the hallway to the right.
"She doesn't go anywhere until I speak with her."
The staff stiffened instantly.
Alira froze.
Damon stepped into view, his expression still unreadable. His gaze swept over her like a silent interrogation.
"Follow me," he said.
She obeyed, her heart thudding painfully as she walked after him down a dimly lit hallway.
They reached a small private room—an office, perhaps. The door shut behind them with a decisive click.
Alira stood near the entrance, unsure if she was allowed to move. Damon positioned himself in front of a sleek desk, leaning back against it, arms crossed, watching her with unsettling intensity.
"For the record," he began, his voice low, "I don't care why you took your sister's place."
She stiffened.
He continued calmly, almost bored, "What matters is that you're here now. Which means you will conduct yourself as a Vargaz."
Alira's throat tightened. "I—I will try."
"No," he corrected, voice turning sharper. "Not try. You will."
Her breath faltered.
"You will not embarrass this family," he said. "You will not create scenes. You will not run." His eyes narrowed. "And you will not lie to me."
Alira swallowed hard. "I wasn't planning to—"
"Good," he cut her off.
The iciness in his tone made her shiver.
Damon took a step toward her.
Her back straightened instinctively.
He studied her for a long moment, eyes flicking to her trembling hands.
"Fear is natural," he said. "But weakness is not acceptable in this house."
Alira bit the inside of her cheek to stop the tears threatening to rise.
"Do you understand?" he asked.
She hesitated for only a fraction of a second.
"Yes," she whispered.
He nodded once.
"Then welcome to the Vargaz estate," he said coldly. "Where loyalty is everything."
And with that, he turned away, dismissing her.