The door opened without warning.
Elara stood up so fast the chair scraped loudly against the marble floor.
He filled the doorway like he owned the air.
Adrian Blackwood did not rush. He did not hesitate. He stepped inside as if the room had always belonged to him, as if she was the intrusion. His suit was dark, sharp, perfectly fitted, the kind of precision that made people straighten their backs without knowing why. His presence carried weight. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just heavy.
His eyes found her immediately.
They were colder than she expected.
"So," he said, voice low and flat. "You're here."
That was it. No greeting. No acknowledgment of the marriage. No hint of curiosity.
Elara swallowed and lowered her gaze instinctively. "Yes."
He shut the door behind him. The sound echoed.
He walked closer, slow and deliberate, until they stood only a few feet apart. Too close. She could smell clean soap and something sharper beneath it. Control, maybe. Or restraint.
He looked her over from head to toe, openly, without shame. Like an item being inspected before purchase.
"You look smaller than I imagined," he said.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt. "I'm sorry if I don't meet your expectations."
His brow lifted slightly. "You misunderstand. Expectations imply interest."
That landed harder than a shout.
Silence stretched between them, tight and uncomfortable.
"You know why you're here," Adrian continued. "This arrangement exists for one reason. Convenience."
Elara nodded. "I understand."
"Do you?" He tilted his head. "Because understanding would have kept you from expecting anything else."
She forced herself to meet his eyes. They were sharp. Intelligent. Completely unreadable.
"I don't expect affection," she said quietly. "Or kindness."
"Good."
The word cut clean.
He turned away and moved toward the desk near the window, picking up a thin folder. He flipped it open with practiced ease.
"These are the household rules," he said. "They are not suggestions."
He slid the folder across the desk toward her.
Elara stepped forward and opened it. Pages of instructions. Schedules. Restrictions.
No visitors without approval.
No involvement in company affairs.
Public appearances only when required.
Silence regarding private matters.
Her throat tightened.
"This is a marriage in name only," Adrian said. "You will perform the role when needed. Nothing more."
She nodded again, slower this time.
"And in return," he added, "your aunt remains financially secure. Her treatment continues. The debt stays erased."
Her chest ached. "Thank you."
He laughed once. Short. Humorless.
"Don't thank me. You weren't chosen out of mercy."
She flinched before she could stop herself.
Adrian noticed. His eyes narrowed, not with concern, but calculation.
"You're here because you were expendable," he said calmly. "Someone without backing. Without protection. That makes you… useful."
The word lodged deep.
Elara clasped her hands together to hide the shaking. "I won't cause problems."
"I'm counting on that."
He stepped closer again. Too close now. Her back brushed the edge of the desk.
"You should also understand," he said, voice dropping, "that this position is not permanent."
Her heart skipped. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said, leaning in slightly, "if you fail to meet expectations, I will replace you. Quietly."
Her breath hitched.
"There are many women who would trade places with you," he continued. "Women who would smile for the cameras. Who would understand discretion."
His gaze flicked briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes.
"You are not irreplaceable."
Something twisted inside her chest. She had known this. Had prepared for it. Yet hearing it spoken aloud stripped something raw.
"I know," she said, barely audible.
He straightened, satisfied.
"Good. Then we won't have misunderstandings."
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
"One more thing."
She looked up.
"Tonight," he said, "you will attend the luncheon. Stand beside me. Say nothing unless spoken to. Do not embarrass me."
"I won't," she said quickly.
His eyes lingered on her face for a moment longer, unreadable.
"See that you don't."
He left.
The door closed softly behind him, but the room felt louder than before.
The luncheon was a blur of faces and polite cruelty.
Elara stood beside Adrian as instructed, her posture straight, her expression calm. Inside, she felt hollow. People looked at her with thin smiles and sharper eyes. She caught fragments of whispers.
"That's her?"
"Barely noticeable."
"Temporary, I heard."
Adrian did not touch her. Not once. He spoke to investors, relatives, board members, his attention sliding past her as if she were part of the furniture.
At one point, a woman approached, tall and elegant, her smile bright and false.
"Adrian," she said warmly, touching his arm. "You didn't tell me you married."
He did not remove her hand. "It wasn't worth mentioning."
The woman's gaze flicked to Elara, measuring. "I see."
Elara kept her eyes forward.
"You should excuse us," Adrian said coolly, finally stepping away. He turned to Elara. "Come."
She followed without question.
They moved through a side corridor and into a smaller sitting room. The door shut behind them.
"You were quiet," he said. "Acceptable."
Relief flickered briefly before he continued.
"But don't mistake silence for invisibility. I notice everything."
Her spine stiffened. "I was careful."
"Yes." His gaze darkened slightly. "You were."
The air between them felt charged now. Different.
He stepped closer again. She backed up instinctively until the wall met her spine.
"You should be aware," he said softly, "that I don't tolerate surprises."
Her breath came shallow. "I don't plan to give you any."
"See that you don't," he repeated, voice lower now.
For a moment, his hand lifted, hovering near her waist. Not touching. Not quite.
Her body reacted before her mind did. Her pulse jumped. Heat flushed her skin.
His eyes dropped. He noticed.
The corner of his mouth curved, just barely.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Then his hand fell away.
"You may go."
She did not move right away.
"Yes," she said finally, and left before her legs gave out.
That night, Elara sat alone in the bedroom again, staring at her phone.
A message appeared.
You did well today. Don't grow comfortable.
She stared at the words until they blurred.
Across the hall, a door closed.
She knew it was his room.
And for the first time since signing that contract, a terrifying thought took root.
Adrian Blackwood did not just want control.
He enjoyed the imbalance.
And she was standing at the edge of something far more dangerous than a loveless marriage.
She lay back on the bed, heart racing, knowing one truth with painful clarity.
This house was not going to let her leave unchanged.
And Adrian Blackwood was not a man who released what he claimed.