The morning arrived without warning, pale light creeping through the sheer curtains as if unsure it was welcome.
Ivy woke before the alarm could ring, her body tense, her mind already racing. For a brief, disoriented second, she forgot where she was—the unfamiliar ceiling, the quiet hum of a house too large for comfort, and the heavy reality of her marriage settled down deep in her heart.
Finally realizing where she was. She lay still, listening.
The mansion was silent in that unsettling way rich houses often were. No clatter of dishes, no raised voices, no life. Just still, thick and oppressive.
Adrian hadn't returned to the bedroom the night before. She knew that much. She'd stayed awake long after midnight, pretending to read, listening for footsteps that never came.
Ivy pushed herself upright and swung her legs off the bed. Her feet touched the cold marble floor, grounding her. She wrapped her robe tighter around herself and stood, moving toward the window. Outside, the city was already awake. Cars moved below like ants, purposeful and free.
She envied them.
The knock came just as she turned away.
"Mrs. Blackwood," a woman's voice called softly through the door. "Breakfast will be served in thirty minutes."
Mrs. Blackwood. The title still felt like a costume she hadn't chosen, one she was forced to wear until it fit—or until it suffocated her to death.
"Thank you," Ivy replied, her voice steady despite the knot in her throat.
Once alone again, she moved through her morning routine mechanically.
Shower. Dress. Breathe. Repeat.
She chose a simple dress. A cream-colored, modest, safe dress. She wasn't ready for bold statements or power plays. At least not yet.
By the time she descended the stairs, her nerves were already at the edge.
The dining room was vast, the long table polished to a mirror-like sheen. Adrian sat at the head, dressed immaculately in a charcoal suit, tablet in hand. He didn't bother to spare her a glance when she entered the dining room.
Ivy hesitated, then took the seat opposite him.
Silverware clinked. The staff moved silently, setting plates between them. The smell of food made her stomach twist—not with hunger, but anxiety.
They ate in silence. Ivy felt the silence was enough to fill her stomach.
The quiet stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Ivy pushed food around her plate, stealing glances at Adrian when she thought he wasn't looking. His face was composed, unreadable. If not for the faint shadows beneath his eyes, she might have believed he'd slept perfectly.
Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore.
"Are we going to keep pretending this…is normal?" she asked quietly.
Adrian's gaze lifted, sharp and assessing. He set the tablet aside with deliberate calm.
"Define normal," he questioned.
"This," Ivy gestured between them, her voice tight. "Ignoring each other like strangers. Like this marriage is just… paperwork."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"It is paperwork," he replied. "That's what we agreed on."
"I didn't agree to be invisible."
Something flickered in his eyes—irritation, perhaps. Or something deeper.
"You agreed to a contract," Adrian said evenly. "One that benefits us both."
"Does it?" Ivy asked. "Because it feels like I'm the only one adjusting. I gave up my life. My freedom. And you—" She stopped herself, swallowing hard. "You barely acknowledge my existence."
The room felt suddenly too small.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "What do you want from me, Ivy?"
The use of her name startled her.
"I want honesty," she said. "I want to know what I walked into. Because right now, I feel like I'm standing on a fault line, waiting for everything to collapse."
Silence followed. Not the empty kind—but the kind filled with words unspoken.
Adrian stood abruptly. "Finish your breakfast," he said. "I have meetings."
And just like that, he walked out without finishing his breakfast.
Ivy stared at the doorway long after he disappeared.
Her chest ached—not from heartbreak, but from the weight of unanswered questions.
---
Later that afternoon, Ivy wandered the west wing of the mansion, restless energy driving her feet. She'd explored most of the house over the past few days, but there were still doors she hadn't opened. Corridors that felt intentionally forgotten.
She found herself in front of one such door now.
It was unmarked, tucked away behind a heavy velvet curtain. Something about it made her pause. A warning bell rang faintly in her mind—but curiosity won.
The door was unlocked.
Inside, the room was dim and cool, lined with shelves stacked high with files. Medical journals. Framed certificates. A faint antiseptic scent lingered in the air.
Her heart began to race.
She moved closer, fingers trailing along the spines of books. Most were medical texts—cardiology, neurology, genetics. Her pulse quickened.
Why would Adrian have a private medical library hidden away?
She didn't want to pry. She really didn't. But the truth tugged at her like an ache she couldn't ignore.
Her gaze landed on a folder lying open on the desk.
Blackwood, Adrian L.
Her breath caught.
She approached slowly, as if the file might vanish if she moved too fast. The papers inside were neatly organized, clipped together. Dates. Test results. Terminology she only half understood.
Diagnosis: congenital condition.
Her hands trembled as she flipped the page.
Treatment options… risk factors… long-term prognosis uncertain.
The words blurred.
This was it. This was the reason…
The medical obligation. The secret everyone danced around but never named.
A sound behind her made her heart stop for a second.
Adrian stood in the doorway, his expression dark and dangerous.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
"I—I didn't mean to—" Ivy stammered, guilt flooding her ."I was just—"
"You were snooping," he snapped.
"I was trying to understand!" she shot back, her fear turning into anger. "You married me for a reason, Adrian. I deserve to know why."
He strode into the room, closing the distance between them in long, angry steps. He snatched the file from her hands and slammed it shut.
"This," he said coldly, "is none of your business."
"I'm your wife."
"You're my legal partner," he corrected sharply. "There's a difference."
The words struck like a tight slap on her face.
Ivy straightened, pain flashing across her face before she could hide it. "So that's it? I'm just a clause in your inheritance plan?"
Adrian's eyes burned into hers. "You knew this wasn't about love."
"No," she said quietly. "But I didn't know it was about survival."
The tension between them was electric, raw.
"You think this is easy for me?" Adrian asked, his voice low. "You think I enjoy being examined like a liability? Being measured by what my body can and can't do?"
Ivy's anger faltered.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
He turned away, running a hand through his hair. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. Fractured.
"This condition," he said, "is the reason my family forced this marriage. If I don't meet certain… requirements, the inheritance passes to someone else."
"Someone who wants it badly," Ivy murmured.
"Yes," he said. "Someone who would ruin everything my parents built."
She stepped closer, cautiously. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Adrian laughed bitterly. "Because people leave when they know the truth."
The confession hung heavy in the air.
"But, I'm still here…"Ivy said softly.
He looked at her again—not with suspicion or irritation, but something raw and unguarded.
"You shouldn't be," he replied.
---
That evening, Ivy sat alone in her room, the weight of the day pressing down on her. She replayed every word, every glance. The anger. The vulnerability. The truth she hadn't meant to uncover but couldn't ignore now.
A knock sounded at the door.
Her heart jumped.
"Come in," she called.
Adrian entered slowly, his earlier sharpness replaced by something unreadable. He stopped just inside the doorway.
"I owe you an apology," he said.
Ivy blinked, surprised.
"I shouldn't have spoken to you that way," he continued. "You didn't deserve it."
"No," she agreed. "But I understand why you did."
He studied her, as if trying to decide how much of himself to reveal.
"There are legal proceedings coming," he said. "My family is… not done interfering. When they realize you're not the fragile pawn they expected, things will escalate."
Ivy lifted her chin. "I'm not afraid of them."
"You should be," Adrian said quietly. "They don't play fair."
"Neither do I," she replied.
A corner of his mouth twitched—a hint of a smile, gone as quickly as it appeared.
"There's something else," he added. "A clause in the contract you didn't see."
Her stomach dropped. "What kind of clause?"
"One that ties the continuation of our marriage to medical evaluations."
The room seemed to tilt.
"Amd what does that mean?" Ivy asked.
Adrian met her gaze, his eyes dark with something close to regret.
"It means," he said slowly, "that our marriage may not last as long as you think."
Ivy's breath caught as the implications crashed over her.
Before she could respond, Adrian turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.
She stood frozen, heart pounding, one terrifying thought echoing through her mind:
What would happen when the truth finally came out—and who would be left standing when it did?