The Hale mansion looked like something out of a dream—
chandeliers dripping gold, violins whispering in the background, laughter echoing across marbled halls.
For everyone else, it was an evening of joy.
For Ayla, it felt like standing on glass—one wrong step, and she'd shatter.
A month had passed since Damien first came to her home.
Her parents adored him now.
He'd sent expensive gifts, helped her father with business paperwork, even arranged medical treatment for her mother's old injury.
"He's such a good man," her mother kept saying. "You're lucky, Ayla."
Lucky.
That word sat heavy on her tongue whenever she tried to smile.
When the guests raised their glasses to toast the engagement, Damien reached for her hand.
His grip was firm. Too firm.
Ayla's smile faltered for a second. His thumb stroked the back of her hand, slow and deliberate. To everyone watching, it looked affectionate—protective, even.
Only she could feel the warning beneath the warmth.
---
After the ceremony, as the crowd thinned, Damien leaned closer to her ear.
"You did well tonight," he murmured, his tone honey-sweet. "But next time, look at me when people talk. Don't keep your eyes on the floor—it makes you look timid."
"I… I was nervous," Ayla whispered.
His hand slid to her chin, tilting it up just slightly. His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Don't be. You'll learn."
Ayla nodded quickly.
He laughed softly, tapping her nose like it was a playful gesture. To anyone passing by, they looked like the perfect couple.
No one saw how her shoulders stiffened under his touch.
Later that night, Ayla stood before her mirror again, her reflection hazy beneath the soft lights.
The engagement ring sparkled on her finger—a symbol of love, they said.
To her, it felt like a chain.
Her phone buzzed. Another message.
Damien: Don't stay up too late. I don't like it when you look tired.
Her heart sank. He was still watching. Somehow, he always was.
---
A knock came at her door. Her mother peeked in, beaming.
"Sweetheart, are you okay? You look pale."
"I'm fine," Ayla lied. "Just tired."
Her mother nodded. "You'll see, once you're married, everything will fall into place. Damien's a good man."
Ayla forced a smile.
Because saying otherwise would sound like madness.
---
Outside, parked under the quiet streetlight, Damien sat in his car, eyes fixed on her window.
When the lights went out, his lips curved into a satisfied smile.
"Good girl," he whispered.