"I shouldn't be here, I didn't belong here. Not with him!" So I thought.
The elevator doors opened, and the quiet hum of the mansion swallowed me.
Everything smelled of leather, polished wood, and cold money. My suitcase felt like a lead weight in my hand.
"Welcome home," Gideon said. His voice was low, neutral, like he'd just stated the weather.
It was nothing inviting at all.
I forced my shoulders back. "Home," I repeated, my voice brittle.
He didn't reply. Just motioned toward the main hall.
I walked behind him, heels clicking against marble that gleamed like it was daring me to slip.
He opened the door to a room so big I felt small, invisible. Windows stretched floor to ceiling, showing the city lights below. Expensive paintings lined the walls.
"Your room," he said finally.
I looked at him, expecting some kind of smile, maybe a "get comfortable." Nothing. Just the cold, steady weight of him, watching me adjust, judging me.
I forced myself not to flinch. Not to tremble. Not to let him see me break.
The room was big, but sparse. White walls, a king-sized bed, sheets folded so neatly it made me anxious. I set my suitcase down.
My fingers shook as I unzipped it. Clothes fell out like evidence of a life I wasn't allowed to keep.
I paused, glancing at the window. Outside, the city pulsed with life. Here, in this room, I felt like I was trapped inside a crystal cage.
Footsteps echoed behind me. He had followed.
"You can unpack," he said. Calm. Controlled.
"I… okay," I stammered, suddenly feeling like a child.
He didn't wait for me to finish. He left. The door clicked shut, and I realized I could hear my own heartbeat.
I sat on the edge of the bed, pressing my hands to my face. Why was I here? My mother, my life, everything I'd known was gone and now I was here, in this cold mansion, signing a contract to live under a man who didn't care.
Someone who didn't even flinch when he said I had to marry him to survive.
I remembered my father's voice. Gentle, patient, full of warmth. "Esther," he would say, "you can't let anyone take away your pride. Not even when the world is falling."
A pang hit my chest. Pride didn't pay bills. Pride didn't save lives. I had learned that the hard way.
I set my hands on the smooth sheets and closed my eyes. I could still feel that he was standing at the threshold, cold, unyielding. Watching. Waiting.
Then, a memory of Joseph surfaced. My father's friend, the one who had been like a brother to him, always there in the background, always kind and protective.
The one who had held me when I cried as a little girl after my father stayed late at the restaurant. He had joked, "Don't let anyone make you small, Esther."
I hadn't thought of him in months. Not since… since everything fell apart.
A knock at the door startled me.
"Dinner is ready," Gideon said, as if he had to remind me I existed in this house.
I nodded, swallowing hard. My throat felt tight, dry. I followed him down the hall.
The dining room was massive, dimly lit, the table polished to a shine that hurt my eyes.
The plates were set perfectly. Everything about this house reminded me I didn't belong.
He sat at one end. I sat at the other. The distance felt like a wall of glass between us.
"Eat," he said.
The food was hot. The smell made my stomach turn. I forced myself to pick at it, my hands trembling slightly. He didn't talk. Just watched. Waiting.
I couldn't see his eyes. I couldn't. Not when every look from him felt like it could cut through me.
I remembered my father again. How he would sit at our small table, smiling, talking about the day's orders at the restaurant. His laughter filled every corner. Safe. Warm. Family. Gone.
"You think too much," he said suddenly. I jumped, my fork clattering against the plate.
"I—" I started, but he didn't give me a chance to explain.
He stood, walked over, and brushed past me to get water. Accidentally, his hand pressed against mine. A spark. It was unexpected. I pulled back, my heart began thundering.
He didn't look at me. Didn't apologize or acknowledge it. Just the ghost of that touch lingered.
I felt dizzy. Weak. I hated him. I hated feeling this way.
After dinner, I wandered into the living room, staring at the city below through the tall windows. The lights felt like mocking stars, reminding me I had nowhere to go. No one.
I heard his footsteps before I saw him.
Gideon appeared in the doorway of the living room, a single sheet of paper in his hand. He walked over and set it on the coffee table in front of me, tapping it once with two fingers as though marking a boundary.
"Your schedule," he said. "And the house rules. You'll follow both."
I stared at the paper. My eyes scanned the lines — mealtimes, curfews, approved areas of the house, a list of social obligations, events I was expected to attend on his arm with a smile on my face.
Something inside me went very, very still.
"Breakfast is at seven," he continued, his tone businesslike, indifferent. "You are not to entertain guests without prior approval. When we attend functions together, you will dress appropriately. I will have my assistant send guidelines for—"
"Stop."
The word came out of me before I could pull it back. Quiet. But firm.
Gideon paused. One brow lifted slightly, the only crack in his composure.
"Excuse me?"
I stood up from the sofa slowly, my hands balling into fists at my sides. The paper blurred in front of me. All of it — the cold house, the marble floors, the empty room, the lonely dinner, the way he looked at me like I was a problem to be managed — it all rose up inside me at once.
"Who do you think you are?" My voice shook, but not from fear. Not this time. "To control me like this? To hand me a schedule like I'm your employee? Am I your wife or am I your slave?"
The room went dead quiet.
Gideon's jaw tightened. He turned to face me fully, and when he spoke, each word came out measured and cold.
"This is a contract. An agreement. You signed it willingly, and you will honour it." His eyes didn't waver. "You live in my house, you carry my name, and you will live by the rules of this arrangement. You do not question my authority, Esther. That was not part of the deal."
"The deal."
I laughed — a short, broken sound that surprised even me. "Is that all I am to you? A deal?"
"That is all this is."
Something snapped.
My hand moved before my mind gave it permission. I raised it — palm open, arm swinging — aimed straight at the side of his face.
It never landed.
His hand caught my wrist mid-air, fingers wrapping around it with a grip that was firm but not cruel. The force of it pulled me forward, stumbling a half-step toward him, closing the distance between us until I could feel the warmth coming off his chest.
I looked up, expecting fury.
What I found was something else entirely.
His eyes searched mine for one suspended, breathless second — and then he kissed me.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't cruel either. It was sudden and consuming and completely disarming, his free hand coming up to cradle the side of my face as though he'd done it a hundred times before. I felt my anger dissolve somewhere in the space between one heartbeat and the next, replaced by something warm and terrifying and impossible to name.
I didn't pull away.
I should have. I didn't.
When he broke the kiss, we were both very still. His hand still held my wrist. Mine had somehow found its way to the fabric of his shirt without me realising it.
Then I watched something shift behind his eyes. A wall going back up, brick by hurried brick.
He released my wrist and stepped back.
"Uh—" He cleared his throat. The composure he wore like armour flickered, just once, visibly. "I… sorry. This didn't mean anything." He straightened his collar, not quite meeting my eyes. "Forget it."
And then he was gone.
His footsteps were brisk down the hallway. A door opened somewhere in the depths of the mansion. Then silence.
I stood exactly where he'd left me.
My wrist still felt the ghost of his grip. My lips still felt — I pressed my fingers to my mouth and immediately felt foolish for doing it. The room was the same room it had been five minutes ago. The city lights still spilled through the tall windows. The paper with his rules still lay on the coffee table.
Everything was the same. Nothing felt the same.
Had that just happened? Was I dreaming? Had Gideon — cold, controlled, emotionless Gideon — just kissed me like that and then walked away as though it were something to simply be filed and forgotten?
I sat down slowly on the sofa. My legs had decided they were done holding me up.
I stared at the ceiling. My heart was beating too fast. My thoughts were running in circles. And underneath all of it, buried beneath the confusion and the anger and something else I refused to examine too closely, was one undeniable, unsettling fact:
I had not wanted him to stop.
My phone buzzed.
I froze. The name on the screen made my stomach twist.
Joseph.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
I unlocke
d it.
"So… you finally got married to him."
The words burned on the screen.
I dropped the phone on the sofa, trembling. My heart slammed against my ribs.
How did he know?