Alira had expected many things when she stepped into the Vargaz estate—cold stares, suspicion, whispers judging her for being the wrong sister in the wrong wedding dress.
But she had not expected this.
"Is that her?"
"The new Mrs. Vargaz?"
"Poor woman."
"No—brave woman."
The whispers started the moment she left Damon's office and followed the head housekeeper, Madam Iris, down the long hallway toward the guest wing. Though quiet, the murmurs carried, bouncing off the marble floor and the high ceilings like a strange echo.
Alira kept her eyes low, trying not to appear shaken. Her face still burned from Damon's warning. Her chest ached from the pressure—of duty, of fear, of the unknown.
But then—
"Hey," someone whispered.
Alira turned slightly.
Two guards stood stationed near a side entrance, dressed in black tactical uniforms. They were tall, broad, and serious-looking—exactly the sort of people she imagined working for a man like Damon. But their eyes weren't hostile. They looked… oddly impressed.
"That's her," one of them whispered to the other. "The woman who agreed to marry him."
The other made a soft, low whistle. "I didn't think anyone would actually go through with it."
Madam Iris shot them a sharp glare over her shoulder. The two men instantly straightened, faces snapping forward like scolded children. But Alira could still feel their awe lingering in the air like smoke.
She blinked, confused.
Brave?
Her?
No. Surely not.
She had been dragged here by circumstance. Pushed by fear. Cornered by a family desperate to survive. She hadn't chosen bravery—she had chosen the only path that didn't end with her parents destroyed.
But these men—the guards who worked every day alongside Damon—seemed to think differently.
Madam Iris led Alira down another corridor, this one lined with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the front courtyard. Several more guards were stationed outside. They stood like statues in the cold evening air, the lights from the mansion casting long shadows behind them.
As Alira passed, one of them nudged another with his elbow.
"That's the missus?"
"Yeah. The one who took the vow."
"Huh. Didn't expect someone so… delicate."
"Delicate?" the guard scoffed. "She walked right into the lion's den. That's not delicate. That's bold."
Alira's steps faltered.
Madam Iris paused and glanced at her. "Don't mind the guards. They talk too freely."
But not unkindly.
That was what struck Alira. Their tone wasn't mocking or cruel. If anything… there was respect in it. Sympathy, too.
As if she had done something remarkable.
She felt her cheeks warm. "Why do they keep saying that? That I'm… brave?"
Madam Iris hesitated. Her composed expression softened just slightly.
"You married Damon Vargaz," the woman said simply, as if that itself was a legend.
Alira frowned. "He's… intimidating, yes, but—"
"He's more than intimidating." Madam Iris resumed walking. "To his enemies, he is ruthless. To his allies, he is demanding. To his family, he is formidable."
Alira swallowed hard.
"And to his wife?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Madam Iris stopped again.
This time, her pause felt heavier.
"That," she said carefully, "is something you will learn for yourself."
They continued down the hall, but Alira's heart thumped unevenly. The uncertainty pressed against her ribs until she could hardly breathe.
Brave.
She didn't feel brave.
She felt terrified.
---
The guest wing was quieter—warmer, even. Soft rugs lined the hallway, and golden sconces lit the walls with a gentler glow. The tension in Alira's shoulders eased ever so slightly.
Madam Iris opened a door and gestured inside.
"This will be your room, Mrs. Vargaz."
Alira stepped in and froze.
It was beautiful. Spacious, with high ceilings draped in soft curtains and a balcony overlooking a carefully manicured garden. A grand bed sat in the center, covered with ivory sheets and plush pillows. A vanity. A wardrobe larger than her entire room back home. A private bathroom lined in pale stone.
But it still felt like a gilded cage.
Madam Iris folded her hands. "If you need anything, simply call one of the staff. We are here to assist you."
Alira nodded politely. "Thank you."
The woman was about to leave when a knock sounded at the open door. A guard stepped in—one of the men from earlier, the tall one with close-cropped hair and a warm but restrained expression.
He bowed slightly.
"Mrs. Vargaz."
Alira blinked in surprise. "Y-Yes?"
"I'm Mateo," he said. "One of the security officers assigned to the estate. I wanted to personally welcome you." His lips quirked into a respectful, almost admiring smile. "And… to say you have our respect."
"My… your respect?" she echoed.
"Yes, ma'am. It takes courage to stand beside a man like Mr. Vargaz." He lowered his voice. "Most wouldn't."
Alira didn't know what to say.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Mateo hesitated before adding, "If you ever feel overwhelmed, or if you need anything, the guards will assist you. Many of us… admire what you've done."
"I didn't do anything," she whispered. "Not really."
"You showed up," he said. "That's more than enough."
He bowed again and stepped out.
The moment he left, another guard passed by the door.
"Is that her? Mateo, did you see? She doesn't look scared."
"Well," Mateo replied, "maybe she's stronger than she looks."
Alira stood frozen.
Stronger.
Brave.
Admired.
The words didn't fit her. Not yet. But hearing them—feeling the weight of unexpected respect—sparked something inside her. A tiny ember of resolve.
Madam Iris watched her quietly, as if studying this shift.
"Do not let their words intimidate you," she said gently. "The guards are loyal to the Vargaz household. If they speak highly of you, it means they are willing to protect you."
Alira's breath steadied.
"Will I… need protection?" she asked softly.
Madam Iris's expression didn't change.
But her silence was answer enough.
---
That night, as Alira sat on the edge of the massive bed, staring at the pale glow of the moon through the curtains, she couldn't stop replaying the whispers she'd heard.
"The brave woman."
"The one who dared."
"The one who married Damon."
She wasn't brave.
But maybe… maybe she could become someone who was.
For her family.
For herself.
And because surviving in this house—beside a man like Damon—might very well depend on it.
Alira took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and whispered into the quiet room:
"I will endure this."
And far down the corridor, unseen by her, a guard passing by paused, listening.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Brave woman," he murmured. "She really is."