The morning sunlight crept into the room like a silent witness, brushing against the silk sheets and casting long shadows across the unfamiliar ceiling. I blinked, the plush mattress beneath me too soft, too clean—too foreign.
For a second, I thought maybe I'd dreamed it all. The wedding. The cold hands that slipped a diamond on my finger. The vows I was too numb to say out loud. The man whose kiss had tasted like danger wrapped in wealth.
But then I turned, and saw it.
A single white rose on the nightstand.
And beneath it, a note.
Rule #1: Stay out of the west wing.
My breath hitched. The handwriting was sharp, aggressive. The kind of writing that didn't ask—it commanded. I picked up the note, its edges crisp and clean like the man who'd written it.
Ares Knight.
My husband.
The name alone carried weight in the city. Billionaire. CEO. Kingmaker. And now… mine.
At least on paper.
I crumpled the note and tossed it aside, forcing myself out of bed. My legs ached from hours of standing in heels the night before. My body was sore, but not from love. From tension. From fear.
There had been no wedding night. Just silence. Ares had left me alone in this mansion with strangers, shadows, and locked doors.
The hallway outside the room was silent, dressed in portraits that felt like eyes. Each step echoed too loudly as I made my way past door after door, all closed. I paused at a grand staircase, one side leading up… the other down into darkness.
I felt eyes again. Watching. Waiting.
"Elara."
I froze.
His voice was low, smooth like silk dragged across ice. I turned slowly, and there he stood. Dressed in black, his collar open just enough to reveal the tattoo at his throat. A thorny rose coiled around a blade.
"I told you to rest," he said.
"I did." My voice was hoarse. "I just… wanted to explore."
His eyes narrowed. "Exploring, in this house, can be dangerous."
"Why?" I challenged, crossing my arms even as my heart raced. "Afraid I'll find out what's behind the west wing?"
Something shifted in his expression. Not surprise—he expected me to push back. He wanted it.
"Rule #1 isn't optional," he said, stepping closer. "Some doors stay closed for your own protection."
"I didn't ask for your protection," I said.
He smiled, and it wasn't warm. "Too late for that, wife."
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. My skin prickled. The touch was soft, but the power behind it was not.
"You wanted answers," he said. "You'll get them. In time."
"I want them now."
His eyes darkened. "Then earn them."
I stepped back, pulse wild. "Is that how this marriage works? Rewards for obedience?"
"No," he said. "It's how survival works."
Before I could ask more, a phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his jaw clenched.
"I have to go," he said. "Your personal assistant will meet you in the east garden. Be dressed in thirty."
"For what?"
"First impressions," he said, already walking away. "You're the new Mrs. Knight now. And the city is watching."
Thirty Minutes Later
The dress was white and flowing. The heels were tall. The necklace at my throat was cold and expensive.
I stood at the edge of the garden like a mannequin in a designer display. Two guards stood by the fountain, pretending not to listen.
My new personal assistant, Mara, handed me a planner. "You'll be introduced to Ares' board members next week. Charity gala on Friday. And there's a spa appointment tomorrow morning. Mr. Knight insists on appearances."
I flipped through the planner with a blank expression. "And what do I do when I'm not being shown off?"
"Rest. Be beautiful. Don't ask questions."
I stared at her. She didn't blink.
"And if I break the rules?"
Her gaze dropped to the ring on my finger. "Don't."
That Night
I lay in bed, sleep miles away. The rose was still on the nightstand. Untouched. Wilting.
The west wing called to me like a ghost. I could almost hear footsteps behind the doors.
And then, just as I drifted off…
Bang!
A loud crash echoed through the mansion. I shot up, heart pounding.
Another sound. Like glass shattering.
I ran to the door, pulled it open—and saw nothing. The hallway was empty. But the air… it felt wrong.
I crept toward the grand staircase, the silence heavier than before.
Then I heard it.
Whispers.
From behind the west wing doors.
I pressed my ear to the wood.
"Elara can't know—"
A man's voice. Not Ares.
"She's asking questions already."
Another voice, deeper. Familiar.
The door creaked beneath my hand. I should've stepped away. But I couldn't.
"Elara's sister made the same mistake," the second voice said. "Curiosity."
I gasped.
The voices went silent.
The door suddenly flew open—
And standing there, was Ares.
His eyes burned with fury. "What did I say about the west wing?"
My blood ran cold. "I heard them talking about my sister."
He stepped forward, cornering me against the wall. "There are truths that will destroy you. You still want them?"
"Yes," I whispered.
His hand cupped my chin. His breath was fire.
"Then remember this," he said. "Not everything you lost was an accident. And not everyone who loved you… wanted you alive."