The mansion didn't feel like a home.
It felt like a prison made of glass, stone, and silence.
Elara sat in the back seat of Dominic Blackwood's car, staring out the tinted window as the iron gates closed behind them. The sound was final.
Clang.
She swallowed.
So this is it.
This is where I live now.
She kept her hands folded in her lap, fingers twisting together like she could squeeze the anxiety out of her veins.
The ride was quiet.
Too quiet.
Dominic sat beside her, his presence heavy without touching her. He smelled faintly of leather and clean rain, like someone who belonged to luxury and danger.
He spoke without looking at her.
"You'll be given your own room."
She nodded quickly.
"I won't touch you without your consent."
Her head snapped toward him.
He finally turned — and for the first time, she saw something honest in his eyes.
Not desire.
Not cruelty.
Control.
"That was never part of the deal," he added calmly.
Her heart slowed just a little.
The car stopped.
Doors opened.
And the house swallowed her whole.
The interior glowed with gold and shadows. Tall ceilings. Crystal chandeliers. Floors so polished they reflected the fear in her eyes back at her.
Servants bowed their heads.
No one spoke.
They already knew who she was.
The girl who had been bought.
Dominic walked slightly ahead of her, his hands in his pockets.
A king in his cage.
He stopped at a wide staircase.
This house smelled like power. Like secrets.
"Your room," he said, gesturing up the stairs. "Third door on the left."
She hesitated.
"Am I… allowed to leave it?"
His eyes flickered.
"You're my wife, not my prisoner," he replied.
But his tone said something different.
Not if I can help it.
She nodded and walked up slowly.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
Inside the bedroom, everything was soft and cold. White sheets. Dark curtains. A room too beautiful for a girl who felt so small.
She closed the door.
And sank to the floor.
Her dress tightened around her lungs.
She hugged her knees and bit down on a sob.
This wasn't supposed to be her life.
She wasn't supposed to be owned.
She wasn't supposed to feel like she'd been wrapped in silk chains.
A soft knock came at the door.
Her heart jumped.
"Yes?" she whispered.
The door opened slightly.
Dominic stood there.
Not the billionaire.
Not the devil.
Just a man standing quietly in a doorway.
"You didn't eat," he said.
"That matters."
She stood slowly.
"I'm… not hungry."
He walked in.
Not close.
Not far.
At a distance that felt… respectful.
"You don't survive fear by starving yourself," he said quietly.
Silence fell between them.
Then softer:
"You're safe here… in the ways that matter."
She looked at him.
Really looked.
"You're not what I expected."
A corner of his mouth lifted — not a smile, not a lie.
"And you're not weak," he said.
Then he turned and walked out.
The door shut.
But the silence he left behind felt warmer.
And for the first time that night…
Elara slept.