The sheets were soft, expensive, untouched by history or warmth. For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then the silence reminded me. No morning noise. No voices. No smell of tea or breakfast. Just space —,too much of it.
I sat up slowly, my heart heavy. This house was beautiful, yes, but beauty without love felt cruel. I wrapped the robe around myself and walked to the window. From here, the world looked small, distant, like something I no longer belonged to.
I wondered what my father was doing at that exact moment.Was he relieved? Was he sleeping peacefully, knowing his debt was no longer hanging over his head? I told myself this was the price of peace. His peace. Not mine.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Miss," the housekeeper said, standing outside. "Breakfast is served."
I followed her down the long corridor to a dining room bigger than our entire neighborhood back home. The table was set for two, but only one seat was occupied.
He didn't look up when I entered.
I hesitated before sitting down across from him. The clink of cutlery against porcelain echoed loudly between us. He read something on his tablet, completely unbothered by my presence.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked suddenly, still not looking at me."Yes," I lied."Good."
That was all.I watched him then ,the sharp lines of his face, the calm control in every movement. This was the man the world admired. The man people feared. And I was expected to stand beside him, smiling, pretending this arrangement didn't feel like slow suffocation.
"You don't have to pretend here," he said, finally meeting my eyes. "Save that for the public.I stiffened. "Pretend what?"
"That you wanted this."
The truth burned in my throat, but I swallowed it. "Neither of us wanted it."
A pause.
No," he agreed quietly. "But we both need it."
After breakfast, he stood up and adjusted his cufflinks. "You're free to do as you like inside the house. If you leave, inform security. I don't like surprises."
I wasn't sure if he meant safety or control.
As he walked away, I realized something terrifying — he didn't hate me. Hate required emotion.Indifference was worse.
Left alone again, I wandered through the mansion, my footsteps swallowed by thick carpets. Every room felt staged, like a life waiting for people who would never truly live in it.
When I returned to my room, I found my suitcase already unpacked. My clothes were neatly arranged in a wardrobe bigger than my father's bedroom.Someone had decided I belonged here.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my reflection in the mirror.I was wearing his name now. Living under his roof. Bound by his rules.But my heart?My heart was still fighting.
And I didn't know how long it could survive this place.