The Wife shall adapt herself to the customs, residence, and household of The Husband, learning her place within the estate and among its people.
Syrena felt as though the very walls of the mansion were watching, listening and weighing her every step against some unspoken standard it expected of her. Her nerves were pulled taut by the time the butler summoned her for lunch in a dinning room for two.
She found herself seated across from Alexander at a round table. He was already eating when she arrived, he didn't even rise when she entered merely gestured to the seat opposite him.
She lowered herself onto the velvet chair, the silver lid over her plate was lifted by a menservant to reveal a delicate spread of roasted beef, golden potatoes, and a bowl of cut figs and pears. The aroma of the food made her stomach growl in response which made her blush when she realized Alexander had stopped reading on his phone and was now observing her with renewed interest.
"Go ahead, eat you must be famished." He said.
"That's an understatement," she replied, but tucked into her food.
"You're rather quiet today," he said, with his eyes still fixed on her.
Syrena could not care less if he observed her while she ate.
"I was told my role was to look presentable, not to chatter," she replied, steady but cautious.
One brow arched. "A role you already play well."
It should have sounded like praise, but his tone was clinical, as though he were appraising an acquisition.
"And what about you?" she asked softly. "Is this how you welcome all your brides—contracts, signatures, and silence?"
For a moment, the air between them tensed, humming with a current she could almost feel against her skin.
"You're bold."
She leaned forward slightly, pulse racing. "Bold enough to ask for what the contract failed to include. The papers say fidelity in public. But I want fidelity in private as well. No more whispered insults. No more women strutting through the halls to remind me what I am not to you."
His fork stilled midway to his mouth. "You demand much for your first day."
"I demand respect. Without it, this arrangement means nothing." She said raising her chin defiantly.
The silence stretched. Then, slowly, Alexander set down his fork. He reached for his phone, dialed, and when the line opened, his voice was flat and merciless.
"Marissa. You're dismissed from all your duties. Effective immediately. A car will take you from the estate within the hour."
He ended the call without waiting for her reply. His gaze returned to Syrena. "Satisfied?"
Her breath caught, but she held his eyes. "For now."
Something flickered across his expression was it amusement, or perhaps the barest edge of respect. He resumed eating as if nothing had happened. Like he had not just asked his lover to move out.
Syrena stared at her untouched plate, appetite gone, unsure whether to be thrilled or disgusted by the lack of concern or care he seemed to show, but a spark of power glowed inside her. For the first time since stepping into this mansion, she had altered his little world.
The soft ticking of a grandfather clock filled the silence between them. Each second seemed louder than the last, like a reminder that everything had just shifted in ways Syrena hadn't anticipated.
"You look unsettled," Alexander remarked, his tone smooth, detached, as if they were discussing the weather.
"You dismissed her without hesitation," Syrena said, looking up at him, searching for signs of remorse. "Does it cost you nothing to cut people out of your life?"
His lips curved into a ghost of a smile. "If they are replaceable, yes. Loyalty is currency in my world, Syrena. If I find no value in it, I don't keep it."
Her chest tightened, not entirely from fear—though there was that—but from a strange, reckless thrill.
She placed her fork down deliberately, refusing to be the quiet ornament he might expect. "What am I to you? Replaceable?"
His gaze lifted slowly, pinning her like a hawk sighting prey. "That," he said after a pause, "remains to be seen."
Her fingers curled against the tablecloth, but she forced herself not to flinch, not to look away. "Then you'll learn quickly that I don't bend easily. Not for you or anyone else."
For the first time, his expression shifted—an almost imperceptible softening. He leaned back in his chair, studying her as though she were some puzzle he had not yet decided whether to solve or break.
The servants glided in to clear the plates, and the spell of the moment fractured. Alexander rose and came to stand behind her chair. His hand brushed lightly along the back of it, not quite touching her shoulder but close enough to make her skin prickle.
"Dinner will be more formal tonight," he murmured, his voice low against her ear. "You will sit at my side, and everyone in that room will know you belong here. Do not waste that by second-guessing yourself."
Her heart thundered, but she turned her head just enough to meet his shadowed gaze.
His mouth quirked, unreadable. Then he walked away, his footsteps fading into the halls, leaving her breathless and burning.
She took in a deep breath then to steady herself, no she thought he will not get rid of me that easily.
The hours past afternoon seemed to crawl slowly as she wandered past the halls trying to memorize the turns and corridors, although most looked the same. Oil portraits of ancestors and important people seemed to mock her efforts at familiarizing herself with the mansion.
At dusk, the stillness of the mansion was fractured by raised voices spilling through the marble corridors and echoing against the walls.
"You cannot be serious, Alex!" Marissa's voice was sharp, shrill and full of fury. "After all I have done for this company and for you, you're just going to toss me away because of her?"
Syrena froze midstride and could not help but place her ear at the door of the room where the conversation was taking place.
Alexander's reply was low, steady. "This discussion is over. Collect your things and leave now."
"You think she'll save you?" Marissa spat, her words slicing the air. "She's a child playing dress-up. When she breaks, don't come crawling back to me"
Syrena quickly moved from the door and took the next turn in another corridor, as the door burst open and footsteps stormed past, heels clicking furiously against the marble floors. For a brief moment, Syrena held her breath, wondering if she would be discovered but released her breath when she heard the main door of the mansion slam shut.
Silence followed soon after.
As night draped the estate in velvet silence once again, Syrena watched the city lights glitter beyond the iron gates from her window, distant and unreachable.
She had just slipped into her dress for the formal dinner when footsteps passed her door. Slow. Deliberate. A shadow shifted outside, pausing.
Her breath caught, body tense. Then, just as slowly, it moved on.
Her stomach twisted. Was it Alexander checking on her or Marissa leaving a ghost behind?
Her wild thoughts were interrupted when her handphone rang.
Syrena snatched it up with trembling hands, almost desperate for a sound that wasn't Alexander's footsteps.
"Tell me you're alive," Elianna's voice burst through the line, bright and familiar. "Because if you're calling from the afterlife, I expect at least some spooky sayings."
A shaky laugh slipped from Syrena's lips. "I'm alive. Though I think this house is trying to convince me otherwise."
"I knew it!" Elianna said dramatically. "Haunted mansions, brooding husbands, wilted roses—it's like you've stepped straight into one of those gothic novels you used to read. Except I doubt Mr. Tall, Dark, and Arrogant is reciting poetry by candlelight."
"Arrogant is an understatement," Syrena murmured, curling her knees beneath her. "He dismissed her today. Just like that. Years of loyalty, gone with a phone call because I asked him to."
"Wait. Back up. Her? As in—'the other woman in the halls, strutting around like she owns the place'—her?"
"Yes."
There was a beat of silence. Then Elianna gasped so loudly Syrena pulled the phone away from her ear. "You got him to fire her on day one? Syrena, you absolute menace. I'm so proud."
Syrena's laugh faltered. "But it was too easy, El. No hesitation. No argument. Like she meant nothing to him. What if that's how he'll treat me when I stop being useful?"
Elianna's tone softened, but the smile in her words never quite faded. "Then you won't stop being useful—you'll stop being replaceable. And you, my dear, are far too stubborn to let yourself be discarded. He doesn't know it yet, but you're the wildfire he just let into his perfectly manicured little world."
Syrena pressed the phone tighter against her ear, drinking in every syllable. "Sometimes I think I made a mistake coming here."
"No, Syrena." Elianna's voice steadied, firm and sure. "You made a choice. That's power. And don't you dare forget—you're not just someone's wife or ornament. You're you. The girl who once wore mismatched shoes to prom because you didn't care what people thought. The girl who stood in the rain protesting the landlord when he raised rents on your entire block. You are not going to vanish inside some mansion, no matter how many shadows it has."
Syrena's eyes stung. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "You always know what to say."
"That's because I'm brilliant. And because you're my best friend. And because, if you let him break you, I'll personally march into that mansion and throw a shoe at his perfect jawline."
A genuine laugh broke free, bubbling through Syrena like air after drowning. "Please don't. He'd probably have you arrested for disturbing the peace."
"Worth it." Elianna's tone softened again. "Hold your ground, Syrena. He doesn't get to decide who you are. Only you do."
By the time the call ended, Syrena's spine was straighter and her chest felt lighter.
But when she set the phone down, the silence returned. On her bedside table, the roses the staff had given her were already wilting, petals curling inward like secrets.