Darian helped her inside with practiced grace before taking the seat directly beside her. The small space felt charged with his presence.
"Where are we really going?" Katria asked, her voice trembling.
"Home," he said again, as if that single word were a map, a history, and a promise all at once.
"Where is home?" she pressed.
Darian turned his masked face toward her. "Do not ask so many questions, darling. I am taking you away from this place. I am taking you out of all this sorrow and struggle, and I am going to end it all. Consider me your knight in shining armor."
Katria wanted to argue, to demand a real explanation, but a sudden, heavy exhaustion washed over her. Her eyes felt like lead, and the world began to blur. She sat in silence as the carriage lurched forward, secretly stealing glances at him. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady. She felt a desperate urge to reach out and pull the mask from his face, to see the man she had just agreed to marry on a whim. Was he truly a savior, or something else? Before she could decide, sleep claimed her.
She jolted awake sometime later to a gentle tap on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see Darian looking at her with a faint, indiscernible expression behind his mask. "We are home, my lady," he said softly.
He helped her descend from the carriage, and she looked up at the structure before her. "Um, Mr. Vanderwood—"
"Do not call me that. It is Darian," he interrupted.
Katria swallowed hard. "Darian... why did you marry me? Why did you really take me away?"
"I told you not to ask so many questions," he replied, his tone firm but not unkind. "I wanted to save you from that place. Do you want to go back?"
She shook her head violently. "No."
"Then good. You will be my wife, and I will be your knight... until everything ends." He spoke those last words with a strange, lingering weight, as if they carried a hidden danger.
He led her inside, and Katria froze in the foyer. The scale of the estate was staggering; it was ten times larger than the Winchester mansion. Every surface seemed to drip with pure gold and diamonds, and grand portraits lined the walls. Maids dressed in uniforms that looked more expensive than Katria's own gown lined the hall, bowing in perfect unison as she passed.
"Everyone, meet your new young lady," Darian announced, his voice echoing through the vast marble hall.
The words chilled her. New young lady? Katria turned to him, her mind racing. Had there been others before her? Just how many girls had Darian Vanderwood "rescued," and where were they now?
Darian led her toward a grand set of double doors. "This is your room," he said, gesturing to a suite that looked more like a palace than a bedroom. "But tonight, you will not be staying here. You will be spending the night in my quarters."
Katria's stomach did a nervous somersault. A bitter realization washed over her. So this is the price, she thought. He had rescued her from the mud and the insults, but now he expected her to pay him back with her body. He must see her as a desperate girl who would do anything to keep her new life. She felt she had no choice but to comply.
"Where is your room, Darian?" she asked, her voice small.
"Follow me."
They climbed what felt like a million steps, ascending to the highest point of the estate. Finally, they stopped before a set of dark, heavy doors. The air here felt different—colder, and thick with a scent like rain and old parchment. When they entered, Katria saw a room that was surprisingly cluttered compared to the rest of the house.
Without a word, Darian began to shed his heavy outer robe. As the fabric fell, Katria caught glimpses of his bare skin—scarred and marked with intricate, dark tattoos that seemed to tell a story of violence and old power. She quickly averted her eyes, her heart hammering against her ribs. The day had started with a mop in her hand and was ending with her performing wifely duties for a stranger.
Determined not to wait for him to demand it, Katria reached for the laces of her own tattered dress. Her fingers trembled as she prepared to step out of the fabric.
"What are you doing?" Darian's voice sliced through the silence.
Katria looked up, her face flushed with heat. "I am taking off my dress. I am about to perform my duties as your wife, aren't I?"
A slow, dark grin spread across his lips—or at least, the part of his face not hidden by the mask. He walked toward her, his movements predatory and smooth. Katria backed away until her spine hit the cold stone wall. He leaned in, his massive frame completely shadowing her, trapping her against the masonry. He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his icy eyes boring into her soul.
"Calm down," he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. "Do not be in such a hurry. I doubt we will be doing that tonight."
Katria exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The tension in her shoulders vanished, replaced by a confusing mix of relief and curiosity.
"Do you want to take my mask off?" he asked suddenly.
Katria stiffened. The question hung in the air, heavy and dangerous. "Do you want to see the type of man you have married, Katria?"
She swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes. I want to."
"Then take it off."
Her hand rose, shivering violently. She reached for the edge of the silk and silver, but her movements were agonizingly slow, her lungs burning with anticipation. Just as her fingertips brushed the cold surface, Darian's hand shot up and caught her wrist. She gasped, frozen in place.
Then, slowly, his hand moved with hers. Together, they gripped the edge of the mask and pulled it away. As the silk fell, Katria's breath simply stopped. Her heart halted in her chest, and the world around her seemed to fade into nothingness as she stared at the face of the man who had claimed her.
And he was…..