I locked the door behind me. Then I stood there, listening to my own breathing, slow and deliberate, until the echo of Daniel's voice faded from my head.
She's too sharp.
The words lodged somewhere between my ribs.
I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed without turning on the lights. The windows reflected a faint version of me, a woman swallowed by a house that did not intend to let her leave unchanged.
So this was it.
Not a marriage. Not even a prison.
A test.
Sleep came in fragments. Every sound dragged me halfway back to consciousness. Footsteps in the hall. A door closing. The hum of something mechanical behind the walls.
When morning finally arrived, it did so without warmth.
A knock sounded at seven sharp.
"Mrs. Ashbridge."
I opened the door to find a woman in a tailored black dress holding a tablet. She did not smile.
"Your schedule," she said, stepping inside without waiting for permission. "Breakfast with the board at eight thirty. Public appearance at ten. Fitting at noon. Interview prep at two."
I blinked.
"Interview?"
"Yes." She glanced at me. "You will be answering questions."
"I was told I wouldn't speak to the press."
"You won't," she replied. "You'll speak to us. We will decide what you say."
I held her gaze.
"And if I refuse?"
She hesitated for half a second.
"Then you will look uncooperative," she said. "Which will be interpreted as guilt."
She left before I could respond.
At breakfast, Daniel joined me for the first time since I arrived.
The table between us was small. Intimate by design.
"You look tired," he said.
"So do you."
"I didn't sleep."
"Neither did I."
A pause.
"You heard us last night," he said, not as a question.
"Yes."
His jaw tightened.
"This house isn't safe," I continued. "Not for honesty."
"No," he agreed. "It isn't."
The word agreed surprised me.
"So what's the plan?" I asked. "Pretend harder?"
"For now," he said. "Yes."
The board meeting was brutal.
Questions disguised as concern. Smiles that did not reach eyes. Subtle reminders of what I owed them.
At one point, a man leaned forward and said, "You understand how fragile trust is."
"I understand," I replied. "I also understand how easily it's manufactured."
Daniel's hand tightened briefly on the table.
Afterward, he pulled me aside.
"You enjoy poking at them," he said.
"I enjoy surviving."
He studied me, something unreadable moving behind his eyes.
"That may be a problem."
The interview preparation room was smaller. Windowless. Designed to control sound and thought.
They coached me on pauses. On expressions. On when to look remorseful and when to look grateful.
"Never defensive," the woman said. "Never angry."
"And never honest," I added.
She did not deny it.
By the time evening fell, exhaustion weighed on me like something physical.
Daniel did not join me for dinner.
Instead, a note waited in my room.
Tonight. Nine. Study.
I arrived at nine precisely.
The study was dim, lit only by a desk lamp and the city beyond the windows. Daniel stood behind the desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up again. Papers lay scattered, some marked with my name.
"You've been investigated," I said.
"Of course."
"And?"
He hesitated.
"Your alibi checks out."
My pulse jumped.
"So you believe me."
"I believe," he said carefully, "that someone went to great lengths to make that video."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
He stepped closer.
"There's something you should know," he said. "The footage wasn't released anonymously."
I went still.
"Who released it?"
"A subsidiary media firm," he replied. "One we own."
The room tilted.
"Someone inside your family," I whispered.
"Yes."
The word settled heavily between us.
"And they'll try again," he added.
I looked at him then. Really looked.
"Are you warning me," I asked, "or threatening me?"
For the first time, he didn't answer immediately.
"Both," he said finally.
The door behind me opened.
I turned.
Evelyn stood there, pale and composed, her gaze fixed on Daniel's proximity to me.
"So," she said softly, "this is how you protect her."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.
And in it, I realized something terrifying. The game had already changed. And I was no longer just a piece on the board.