A week later, her life fit into three suitcases and one stubborn box that refused to close.
The moving truck looked ridiculous parked in front of Darius's glass-and-steel tower — like a stray mutt at the gates of a palace.
"Miss Lane?" The doorman's voice was polite but uncertain, as if he wasn't sure whether to salute her or frisk her.
"It's Mrs. King now," she said before she could stop herself. The words felt strange in her mouth, like trying on someone else's shoes.
Upstairs, the penthouse gleamed the same as the first day she saw it — all sharp lines and perfect surfaces. But now, it wasn't just intimidating. It was hers. At least on paper.
"Your things will go in the east wing," Darius said as soon as she stepped in.
"The east wing?" She frowned. "How many wings does this place have?"
"Three. And you'll stay in yours unless we're entertaining or… required to appear together."
Her mouth tightened. "So this is less 'marriage' and more 'cohabitation with strategic photo ops.'"
He didn't deny it. "It's cleaner that way."
She followed him down a long hallway that could have been in a museum. At the end was a bedroom bigger than her old apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view that could make you forget gravity.
"It's fine," she said, even though it was more than fine.
"I'll have staff bring your things up," Darius said, already turning to leave.
Something in her snapped. "Do you always make people feel like they're trespassing in their own lives?"
He paused, glanced over his shoulder. "Only when they act like they don't belong."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her in silence.
---
By afternoon, the room was a half-unpacked battlefield of clothes, books, and the stubborn box. She was kneeling on the floor, wrestling it open, when a voice made her jump.
"You really keep this many paperbacks?"
She looked up to see a young man leaning in the doorway — tall, messy-haired, with the kind of careless grin that said rules were for other people.
"And you are?" she asked.
"Theo King. Darius's half-brother. You must be the new Mrs. King."
The way he said it was almost mocking, but not unkind.
"Aria," she corrected.
He strolled in like he owned the place — which, technically, he might. "Don't worry. You'll get used to the cold."
"The cold?"
He grinned wider. "Living with my brother. Everything's calculated. Even the way he breathes."
"Sounds charming," she said dryly.
"Just… don't let him see you flinch," Theo said, already backing toward the door. "He's a lion, remember? He only respects other predators."
---
That night, Aria stood at the window, looking out over the glittering city. Somewhere down the hall, she could hear Darius's voice — low, controlled, speaking to someone she couldn't quite place.
She wasn't sure if she'd moved into a marriage or a cage.
Either way, the lock had clicked shut.