Avery slipped into the backseat of the luxurious Rolls-Royce, her gown rustling softly against the leather seats. Silas slid in beside her, his cologne—fresh, clean, yet not overpowering—filling the quiet space. He didn't say a word, merely sat with his hands folded in his lap, stealing an occasional glance at her from the corner of his eye.
She, however, kept her gaze glued to the window.
The city lights blurred past, neon signs melting into golden streetlamps as they drove farther away from the hustle of the hotel and into quieter, more secluded streets.
Avery clenched her jaw and leaned her cheek against the cool glass. She didn't want to to talk to Silas right now.
Silas didn't push.He remained composed, his posture relaxed yet unreadable.
Avery inhaled deeply and forced her thoughts away, counting the streetlights they passed.
1… 2… 3…
Then the car turned through an ornate iron gate, she looked around...
The driveway was long and curved, lined with hedges trimmed into soft, flowing patterns. Fairy lights were strung along the low garden walls, their warm golden glow casting a dreamy atmosphere over the path. The air shifted subtly—fresher, tinged with the scent of blooming flowers even before she could see them clearly.
And then the mansion came into view.
A grand, yet welcoming estate sat at the end of the drive, softly illuminated beneath the night sky. Cream-colored stone walls rose with elegant curves, adorned with vine-draped columns and wide windows framed with white shutters. The façade wasn't cold or imposing like she'd expected—it was graceful, warm. Romantic.
Two symmetrical wings branched from the main building, and soft yellow lights from inside gave the entire place a lived-in glow. The architecture reminded her more of a countryside manor than the ultra-modern steel-and-glass towers she always associated with Silas.
In the center of the circular driveway stood a large marble fountain, its base surrounded by clusters of beautiful roses. Water trickled gently down the sculpted edges, the sound calming in an oddly intimate way.
Avery blinked, startled.
This… wasn't at all what she expected from Silas Blackwood. Where were the sharp edges, the minimalist tones, the detached sterility of a billionaire's fortress? Instead, it looked almost like—
Her dream.
The dream house she'd once drawn in a notebook when she was sixteen. Flower gardens, soft lights, wooden balconies, and a touch of romance in every corner. It was so eerily similar that it sent a chill down her spine.
No. No, she told herself. People change styles over time. Maybe Silas had outgrown his cold, modern aesthetic. That's all.
It had to be that.
She shook the thought away.
The car rolled to a stop beneath a white pergola draped in fairy lights and red roses. Silas stepped out swiftly, then circled around to her side and opened her door with a quiet, courteous gesture.
Avery froze for half a second before stepping out, her heels clicking softly against the polished stone driveway. His chivalry irked her more than it should have. She didn't like how the small act of him opening the door made her feel.
She didn't want to feel anything for him.
Still, the sight before her made her breath catch.
A group of staff members—dressed in coordinated beige and white uniforms—stood in a neat line beside the entrance. Each held a soft smile, offering gentle bows and polite welcomes.
Avery quickly straightened her back. She may be spiraling inside, but she wasn't about to lose her poise in front of strangers.
She took a slow, measured step forward.
And that's when she noticed the roses.
Red and white. Everywhere.
Woven into the arch above the main entrance, trailing along the columns, scattered in delicate petals along the steps like a path meant for a bride.
Her throat tightened.
She had once imagined—when she still believed in love, in fairytale endings—that her wedding night would look something like this. That she would come home to a place filled with flowers, with warmth, and someone who had thought of every detail just to make her smile.
And now, here she was. Married. Home.
But the smile wouldn't come.
Because it wasn't love that brought her here. It was obligation, secrets, and a thousand questions still unanswered. Yet the setting—every rose, every flickering light, every gentle breeze—felt like it was mocking her. Or worse, tempting her to believe in something fragile again.
Silas stood quietly beside her, watching her face with that same unreadable softness.
She turned toward Silas, eyes narrowed and glinting with unspoken questions. He didn't need to hear her ask to know exactly what she was thinking. A lazy, knowing smile tugged at his lips.
"What are you looking at me like that for?" he said, voice smooth as silk. "I'm a businessman, Avy. I do my homework before a deal."
Her brows lifted in surprise, but he continued before she could respond.
"I remember you blabbering to that ugly best friend of yours once," he added casually, "talking about how you wanted your wedding day and house to be decorated. Roses, warm tones, cozy interiors. You practically handed me the blueprint."
Avery snapped her head around, scowling. "She isn't ugly! Don't talk about her like that."
Silas let out a soft chuckle, hands tucked into his pockets. "Yeah, yeah. I forgot how possessive you are over that little rat—"
Her glare sharpened like a blade.
"—uhm, I mean... over Elara," he corrected, flashing a sheepish grin.
Avery looked away, lowering her gaze to the floor tiles beneath her heels. She didn't want to admit how much relief bloomed in her chest after hearing the decorations were nothing more than part of the "deal." Yet… a tiny, traitorous part of her heart felt strangely hollow.
"Do you want me to carry you across the threshold, my dear wife?" Silas suddenly asked, his tone mockingly romantic. "Into our new home?"
Avery shot him a murderous look.
"In your dreams," she snapped, then stormed toward the front door without waiting for a response.
Silas laughed under his breath and followed behind her like a loyal puppy. The staff, who had watched the whole interaction from the sidelines, now exchanged looks of disbelief. Was this really their boss? Or had some imposter taken his place?
Once inside, Avery halted mid-step, her breath catching for the second time that night.
The interior of the mansion was breathtaking—exactly as she would have designed it herself.
The grand foyer had soft ivory walls with pastel floral moldings trailing along the ceiling edges. A vintage crystal chandelier hung delicately above, casting a warm, golden light over the polished oak floors. A sweeping staircase with rosewood banisters curved gently to the second floor. The furniture—creamy whites, blush pinks, muted gold accents—had a feminine elegance that made the entire house feel like a lived-in fairytale.
Framed paintings of blooming gardens and soft landscapes hung on the walls, and little corners were adorned with potted lavender, tea roses, and cozy reading nooks by the windows. It was intimate, inviting. So unlike the cold, sleek lines of typical bachelor pads.
"My assistant's girlfriend helped with the interior design," Silas explained from behind her, his voice casual. "Apparently she has good taste. Said it needed a woman's touch."
Avery let out a noncommittal hum, still marveling at the decor. She didn't want to admit how much she liked it.
"Where's my room?" she asked finally, breaking the silence.
Silas blinked at her, clearly thrown off. "Your room?"
"Yes. My. Room," she repeated pointedly, emphasizing each word.
"Well, our room is upstairs, second door on the right," he said, as if that were obvious.
Avery's lips thinned into a firm line. "No, Silas. Let me make this clear—I want a separate room. We may be playing a role, but I don't sleep with business partners."
Silas smirked. "Oh, come on. Are you afraid you'll fall in love with me if we share a bed?"
She rolled her eyes so hard it could have cracked glass. "I'm not sixteen anymore, Silas. Your dumb tricks don't work on me."
Without another glance at him, she turned toward one of the female helpers standing nearby.
"Please help me find a suitable guest room," Avery said, her tone polite but firm.
The young maid nodded quickly and led her away, leaving Silas watching her retreat with a smirk on his face.
"You'll come to me yourself, Avy," he murmured to himself as he turned toward his own room smirking.
---
Avery stepped into the guest room, and the moment her eyes swept over the space, she felt oddly at ease.
It was painted in soft, calming pastels—powder blue with white trim. A large window faced the garden, sheer curtains fluttering slightly with the night breeze. The queen-sized bed was tucked into the center with a hand-stitched floral duvet, and a little vanity stood in the corner beside a tall, antique bookshelf.
It was quiet, cozy, and beautifully feminine. There was a plush armchair by the window with a lace-knit throw, and fresh roses in a glass vase on the nightstand.
It was, in short, perfect.
Avery let out a small sigh. "Living here might not be that bad," she mumbled to herself, tracing her fingers along the carved edge of the vanity.
Then, remembering the long evening and the dust of the day, she turned to the maid. "I want to take a shower. Could you help me get my things from Silas's room?"
The maid's eyes widened in panic, as if Avery had just asked her to steal from a dragon.
"M-Ma'am, I'm sorry," she stammered. "Only one approved caretaker is allowed to enter Mr. Blackwood's room. I-I'm not permitted."
Avery groaned internally. "Then send that person to get my things."
The maid fidgeted nervously. "H-he's on leave today."
Avery pressed her fingers to her temples and cursed Silas mentally for the tenth time tonight.
"Fine. I'll do it myself."
She left the room and began walking down the hallway toward their room—the one she'd refused to stay in. With every step, her irritation grew. But so did her curiosity. She glanced around, noticing again how much of this place echoed her taste. Who was this assistant's girlfriend? A design student? An artist? Whoever she was, Avery needed to meet her.
The interior was so in sync with her own preferences, it felt unsettling.
Finally, she reached the door to Silas's room—the one holding all her luggage. Her hand hesitated on the handle.
He had better not be inside.
She took a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and pushed the door open.
What she saw made her freeze.
And then her eyes nearly exploded from their sockets.
"Oh my god—" she gasped, backing up like she'd walked into a crime scene.
"I—! I should wash my eyes with phenyl!" She shouted.