The long silence in the limousine was only broken by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional turn signal. Amara sat rigid, her hands clutched tightly in her lap as she stared out the window at the dazzling lights of the city. They should have been comforting, but nothing felt comforting anymore.
Adrian sat across from her, legs crossed, a tablet in his hands as if she didn't exist.
It was their first evening officially living under the same roof.
Earlier, she had arrived at the Blake estate—a towering structure of glass, stone, and silence. The staff had greeted her with tight smiles and rehearsed politeness, ushering her to a luxurious room with walls so high they made her feel small. Too small.
Now, they were headed to a formal dinner. Apparently, the Blakes held one every Friday night. Family tradition. She hadn't expected to be part of it so soon.
"You'll be expected to speak when spoken to," Adrian finally said, not looking up. "But otherwise, remain quiet. Don't ask questions. Don't try to impress anyone."
His words stung, even though they shouldn't have. She wasn't here to impress anyone. She was here because she had no choice.
"Are all your rules this charming?" she muttered, not looking at him.
He paused, lowering the tablet slightly. "Charm is for people who need to be liked."
"And you don't?"
He finally met her eyes. "No."
The rest of the ride continued in silence.
---
The Blake dining room looked like something out of a royal estate—long, glossy table, high-backed chairs, polished silverware, and a chandelier that sparkled like it held stars. Amara had never felt more out of place.
Around the table sat people who clearly knew their roles in the world: Adrian's uncle, who looked like a retired general; his aunt, who wore pearls with a stiff posture; and two cousins with amused smirks, already sizing her up like she was some new exhibit.
Adrian stood beside her and said, "This is Amara, my fiancée."
The room went quiet. One of the cousins gave a low whistle.
"Didn't know you were into charity cases," he said under his breath.
Amara stiffened.
Adrian didn't even flinch. "You didn't know a lot of things, Jason. Still don't."
A small smirk tugged at her lips before she could stop it. Maybe Adrian wasn't going to let them walk over her entirely.
Dinner was served quickly. Roast duck, glazed carrots, perfectly shaped dinner rolls—Amara didn't recognize half the things on her plate. She picked at the food slowly, her appetite drowned by nerves.
"So, Amara," the aunt said, her smile as tight as her bun. "What does your family do?"
Amara swallowed hard. "My father owned a business. It… failed."
The silence that followed felt like a slap. The aunt nodded, her smile now pitying. "How unfortunate."
"She's not here to discuss her background," Adrian said suddenly, cutting in. "She's here because I chose her. That should be enough."
Amara blinked. She had expected him to be cold, yes—but not to defend her like that.
Later, as the evening wound down, Adrian walked her out. The moment they were out of earshot, Amara turned to him.
"Why did you do that? At dinner?"
"Do what?"
"Defend me."
He kept walking. "It wasn't for you. It was to shut them up."
But Amara wasn't convinced. She saw the tension in his jaw, the flicker of something like anger when they mocked her. Maybe there was more to this man than ice and stone.
---
That night, Amara lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of the room she now called "hers." It was beautiful, yes, but it wasn't home. Not yet. Maybe never.
There was a knock at the door.
She sat up quickly. "Come in."
Adrian stepped inside, holding a tablet. "Your schedule for tomorrow. You'll be expected to attend a charity gala as my fiancée."
"Another event?" she groaned.
"Yes. Smile. Walk. Don't embarrass me."
She rolled her eyes. "Is that all I'm supposed to do in this marriage? Look pretty and shut up?"
Adrian studied her carefully. "You can add on
e more thing to your list."
"What?"
"Survive."
Then he turned and walked out.
---