Morning light had never been kind to Leah. Even now, as the sun crept over the horizon and spilled across the sweeping driveway, she felt its sharpness like judgment. The black sedan gleamed beside the steps, polished, intimidating, like the mansion itself was daring her to step inside.
Stand tall. Don't let them see you flinch. You belong here now—or at least, you're supposed to.
Her fingers clenched around the strap of her travel bag, the weight digging into her shoulder. Not heavy, not really—but heavy in symbol. Every item in that bag was a fragment of her past: worn clothes, papers, small belongings she'd carried from one place to another, from one disappointment to the next. Everything she had in the world. She realized, with a bitter sting, that all of it could vanish with a single careless moment here.
Don't drop it. Don't give them reason to call you worthless.
Her gaze drifted upward to the mansion. Its towers and stonework gleamed in the morning sun. Perfect, untouchable, imposing. She could feel the distance between her and it like a chasm.
This is a palace built for people who have never known hunger, fear, or shame. And now I'm supposed to live here, as a wife, as if I'm on the same level. I don't belong here. I never will.
The thought stung, but she suppressed it. Pride had always been her only shield. She straightened her back, adjusted her bag, and walked forward. Every step echoed against the marble, too loud, too present. Walk quieter, she instructed herself. Don't announce yourself as an intruder.
The doors opened, revealing Elias. He was taller than she expected, despite the cane, and his posture carried authority and patience. His eyes were sharp, measuring, assessing her like he could see all the small, trembling fears hiding beneath her calm exterior. She felt naked under his gaze.
He doesn't know me. He doesn't know what I've been through. He just… judges.
"Welcome, Leah. Please, come in," Elias said, voice smooth and controlled. Not unkind, but precise.
Her throat tightened. She forced a small nod and stepped inside, the cool air carrying faint scents of polish and something floral, expensive, foreign. It reminded her of wealth she had never touched, luxury she had never known. She tried not to wince at the contrast with her own life.
Inside, Dante approached, another figure of polished perfection. The sunlight gleamed off his suit, his posture, his face. He smiled politely and reached for her bag.
"Allow me, Miss Gryphon," he said.
Her grip tightened reflexively. Don't let go. Don't let them take it and blame you if it disappears. But she released it anyway, forcing a smile. "Thank you. It weighs a ton," she said, hoping it sounded casual.
I hope they don't notice how much I've survived just to get here. I hope they don't see how fragile I am.
As Dante carried her bag, Leah followed Elias through the corridor. She noticed every detail—the sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the immaculate green of the gardens, the unexpected, brutalist concrete bunker in the center. It didn't belong, and yet it dominated her line of sight.
"What's that building?" she asked, curiosity tinged with unease.
Elias's eyes darkened. "Do you know the extent of Izana's curse?"
Curse. The word felt heavy, ancient, dangerous. She had heard of curses before, whispered stories in old families, in the tales her mother had told her in quieter, fearful moments. But I never thought I'd meet someone cursed like this, and now… I'm supposed to marry him?
She shook her head. "Only that it affects his health."
"It is… more than that," Elias said, voice tight. "It takes things from him that no man should lose."
The words sank into her chest like stones. She felt her pulse quicken, a cold thread of fear threading through her stomach.
I'm supposed to marry him. To someone who is cursed. To someone who is fragile and in pain. What if I can't handle it? What if I break him more?
Her thoughts flicked to her own past. She had survived cruelty and punishment for so long; she knew how to endure. But this is different. This is someone else's life. Someone else's suffering. I can't treat it like I did my own.
Upstairs, Elias stopped before a heavy door, cane tapping sharply. "That door," he said firmly, "you must never go in there."
She nodded immediately. Never go in. Rules are survival. Rules keep you alive.
He gestured across the hall. "That is Izana's room. Yours is opposite."
Her stomach tightened. Across from him. So close, yet I can't touch him, can't see him… until I'm allowed.
"Are you ready to meet him?" Elias asked.
Ready? How can I be ready? she thought. I've never met him. I don't know him. I'm supposed to marry someone I've never seen? And he's… cursed.
"I am," she said aloud.
Elias knocked. No answer. He knocked again, harder. Leah froze. She could hear her own heartbeat echoing in her ears.
The door cracked open. Darkness. Total darkness.
Oh God…
She wanted to step back. Her instincts screamed to run, to flee. But she stayed, rooted to the spot, the weight of her training, her survival instincts, her pride, all holding her in place.
"I can't see anything," she whispered.
Then the voice—cold, sharp, distant. "Leave me alone."
Her heart caught. So he's scared. Not cruel. Scared. Not a monster. Just… afraid.
Elias barked at him. "Come out and meet your wife."
"No."
Light. Blinding, sudden, searing light. Izana shrieked, recoiled. He fumbled for a blindfold, tying it over his eyes like a lifeline. Sweat clung to his pale skin. Leah felt a rush of protective instinct she had never anticipated.
I'm supposed to be his wife, and he doesn't trust me, doesn't want me here, and yet… I understand him. I get him more than anyone ever has.
"Get the hell out," he said weakly.
The lights went off. Leah exhaled slowly. She felt relief, though it was mingled with guilt. She had done nothing, yet felt she had failed.
Elias explained the blindfold. The curse. Her stomach tightened. So that's why he reacts to light. So that's why he's like that. I have to be careful, gentle. No sudden movements. No rushing. I have to… learn him. Learn him, or I'll fail.
Later, alone in her room, Leah leaned against the door. Thoughts came in a torrent. The mansion, so perfect, so clean, so oppressive. Izana, curled in fear, yet fragile, yet human. And herself—a girl who had survived nothing, a girl who had learned to read fear and obedience like a language, suddenly standing in the middle of all of it, expected to bridge the gap.
I'm supposed to marry him. And I'm scared. And I can help him. And I hope I don't ruin everything. I have to survive this too—somehow.
She closed her eyes, thinking about his first voice, his first cry in the light. It had pierced her, unrelenting. And she realized, with quiet determination, that fear didn't have to dictate her actions. She had survived worse. She could survive this.
I will be careful. I will be patient. I will make him trust me. And maybe… just maybe… I'll survive this place too.