The morning sun pierced through the heavy clouds as Ariana stood before the towering Lancaster Penthouse. The modern glass skyscraper loomed like a silent giant against the city skyline, its surface reflecting the pale light.
Her small suitcase felt heavier than it should, though it held only the bare essentials of her life. Everything else had been left behind including her freedom.
As the glass doors slid open, a tall woman greeted her with a professional smile.
"Miss Blake, welcome," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Elise, Mr. Lancaster's personal assistant. Please, follow me."
Ariana nodded politely, trying to hide the nervous flutter in her chest. She followed Elise through an elegant marble-floored lobby, past private elevators that whispered wealth at every turn.
The elevator ride was silent, save for the soft hum of machinery. Ariana caught her reflection in the polished steel pale face, anxious eyes, and a woman stepping into an unknown world.
The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse.
Her breath caught.
The apartment was vast high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a panoramic view of the glittering city below. Every surface gleamed under the natural light. Modern art adorned the walls, and sleek designer furniture was carefully placed to exude both luxury and cold perfection.
This wasn't a home. It was a statement.
Damien stood by the windows, hands clasped behind his back, staring out over his empire.
Without turning, he spoke.
"You're on time. Good."
Ariana straightened herself. "I thought punctuality would be... expected."
He finally turned to face her, his expression unreadable as always.
"It is," he said simply.
Elise gestured toward a hallway. "Your bedroom has been prepared, Miss Blake. Please allow the staff to assist you with anything you may need."
Ariana offered a faint smile.
"Thank you."
As Elise left, Ariana turned her attention back to Damien.
"So... how does this work?" she asked softly, her voice almost lost in the vastness of the room.
Damien stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor.
"You will attend public functions by my side when required. I will inform you of upcoming events with sufficient notice. Outside of those obligations, you may do as you wish within reason."
Ariana raised an eyebrow.
"Within reason?"
His gaze narrowed slightly.
"Do not attract attention. Discretion is vital."
She bit her lip, suppressing the urge to argue.
"This marriage is for appearance, Miss Blake. You are here to fulfill a role, not disrupt my life."
Ariana's chest tightened, but she forced herself to remain composed.
"I understand."
He studied her for a moment longer before speaking again.
"There are a few ground rules."
She tensed as he listed them with cold precision:
1. No unapproved visitors.
2. No interviews or media contact.
3. Always maintain the image of a harmonious couple in public.
"You will be briefed before every event," he finished. "Do you have any questions?"
Ariana swallowed her pride.
"No."
"Good."
Damien glanced at his watch.
"I have a meeting. The staff will show you around. We'll dine together at seven. Don't be late."
Without another word, he walked past her, his presence leaving a chill in the air.
Hours later, Ariana stood alone on the penthouse balcony, the evening breeze brushing against her skin. The city lights sparkled like stars beneath her.
Everything felt surreal. Just days ago, she was an ordinary woman fighting to save her father. Now she was trapped inside a gilded cage with a man who treated marriage like a business deal.
"Twelve months," she whispered to herself.
"I can endure twelve months."
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled her from her thoughts.
Damien appeared, now dressed in an elegant black suit, his expression still unreadable.
"Dinner is ready," he announced.
Ariana followed him into the grand dining room, where a table set for two gleamed under a crystal chandelier.
The meal was quiet, save for the soft clinking of silverware. The tension between them was palpable, heavy, like a storm waiting to break.
Finally, Damien spoke, his voice cutting through the silence.
"You'll need a wardrobe fitting tomorrow. My assistant will coordinate with you."
Ariana set her fork down gently.
"Is that really necessary?"
He looked at her with cool indifference.
"You are my wife, Miss Blake. Appearances matter."
She exhaled slowly.
"Of course."
The rest of the meal passed in near silence, neither of them willing to expose more than what was necessary.
Later that night, as Ariana stood by her bedroom window, watching the city below, a strange mixture of emotions swirled inside her.
Fear.
Determination.
And something else she couldn't yet name.
"Twelve months," she whispered again.
"That's all I need to survive."
Behind closed doors, Damien stood in his private study, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. His jaw clenched as he stared into the dark liquid.
"Twelve months," he echoed under his breath.
But his reasons were far more complicated than she could ever imagine.