The gates opened slowly, as if even the mansion itself was reluctant to let me in.
I sat stiffly in the back seat, my fingers knotted together on my lap, watching the long driveway stretch ahead of them. The house was larger than anything I had imagined — cold stone walls, tall windows that reflected nothing of warmth, only power. Wealth. Control.
This was not a home.
It was a statement.
When the car stopped, the driver stepped out and opened my door, but i hesitated. For a brief moment, i wished i could turn back — run back to the small house i had grown up in, to the cracked walls and familiar smells, to the place where love existed even when money didn't.
But my father's face flashed in my mind.
His shaking hands.
His breaking voice.
The way pride had abandoned him when he begged.
I stepped out.
Inside, the mansion was silent. Too silent. My heels echoed against the marble floor as a woman I assumed was the housekeeper led me through endless hallways. Expensive paintings lined the walls , faces of people long gone, all staring down at me as if judging my place there.
"You'll be staying in the east wing," the woman said politely, without warmth. "Mr blue prefers privacy."
Of course he did.
My room was larger than my entire childhood home. A king-sized bed sat untouched, dressed in white sheets that felt unwrinkled, unlived. Everything smelled new. Perfect. Empty.
I placed my suitcase beside the bed and stood there, unsure of what to do next. No welcome. No greeting. No acknowledgment that I had just given up my life to be there.
I was not a wife yet ,only a signed agreement breathing quietly under expensive roofs.
Later that evening, i finally saw him.
He stood near the tall windows of the living room, phone pressed to his ear, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He didn't turn when i entered. Didn't pause his conversation. I waited, feeling invisible in a house i technically belonged to.
When he finally ended the call, he turned slowly, his eyes flicking over me like I was another item that had been delivered.
"You've moved in," he said. Not a question. A confirmation.
"Yes," I replied softly.
Silence followed. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
"There are rules," he continued, his tone detached. "We'll keep things simple. You have your space, I have mine. Public appearances only when necessary."
I swallowed. "And… us?"
"There is no 'us'," he said flatly.
The words hit harder than I expected.
"Remember why you're here," he added. "This marriage benefits both sides. Nothing more."I nodded, even though something inside me cracked.
As he walked past me, his shoulder brushing mine without care, i realized the truth i had been avoiding since my father begged me to agree.
I hadn't married a man.
I had moved into a contract.
And contracts did not care about hearts.