I woke up to unfamiliar silence.
Not the peaceful kind. The heavy kind.
For a few seconds, I didn't move. My body felt light, but my chest felt unbearably heavy. The bed beneath me was too soft, swallowing me whole. The sheets smelled fresh and expensive — nothing like the thin cotton mattress I used to share with my father in our small apartment.
Then reality came crashing back.
The hospital.
The marriage papers.
The mansion.
The man with cold, unforgiving eyes.
Mr. Kane.
My breath hitched as I slowly pushed myself up. Sunlight slipped through the long cream curtains, pouring gently into the room like it belonged here. Everything looked calm. Beautiful.
But I wasn't.
This wasn't my home.
It was a cage covered in gold.
I swung my legs off the bed carefully, like any sudden movement might break whatever fragile control I had left. My bare feet sank into the thick carpet.
Even the floor felt richer than my entire existence.
I walked toward the mirror beside the wardrobe and forced myself to look.
The girl staring back at me didn't look like Ariana.
Her eyes were swollen from crying. Her lips were pale. There were dark circles under her eyes like she hadn't slept in days.
Maybe I hadn't.
I touched my face lightly.
"Is this who I am now?" I whispered.
A wife.
But not the kind brides dream of becoming.
Not loved.
Not cherished.
Just a replacement.
A living payment for my father's mistakes.
A knock suddenly echoed through the room.
I flinched so hard my heart jumped into my throat.
"C-come in," I said softly.
The door opened gently, and a middle-aged woman stepped inside. She wore a neat black-and-white uniform, her hair tied back neatly. Her face was calm, almost kind.
"Good morning, madam," she said politely.
The word hit me like a stone.
Madam.
I wasn't used to anyone addressing me like that.
"I—I'm not used to that," I admitted nervously.
She gave me a small smile. "You will get used to it. I am Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper. Breakfast is ready."
Breakfast.
The word sounded strange. How could people eat normally when the world had ended?
I hesitated before asking, "Mr. Kane… is he there?"
"Yes," she replied. "He already had his meal."
Of course he did.
His world hadn't stopped.
His life hadn't shattered overnight.
Mine had.
I followed Mrs. Allen downstairs, my steps slow and uncertain. The staircase curved elegantly, the chandelier above shining like a thousand tiny stars.
The dining hall was massive.
Too massive.
A long table stretched across the center, decorated perfectly.
But only one seat had food arranged neatly in front of it.
Mine.
He wasn't there.
I didn't know whether to feel relieved or strangely disappointed.
I sat down quietly. The plate in front of me looked like something from a luxury hotel — eggs, toast, fruits arranged perfectly.
My stomach twisted.
I wasn't hungry.
But I forced myself to pick up the fork.
I needed strength.
If I was going to survive here, I couldn't be weak.
As I slowly ate, voices echoed faintly from the other side of the hall.
My hand froze mid-air.
I knew that voice instantly.
Mr. Kane.
He was on the phone.
"I don't care," he said coldly. "The marriage is done. The debt is settled."
My fingers tightened around the spoon.
Each word felt like it was directed at my chest.
"So don't bring up his name again," he continued sharply. "That man destroyed my family."
My throat burned.
I wanted to stand up.
I wanted to shout that my father wasn't a villain.
That he loved me.
That he sacrificed everything for me.
But I remained seated.
Silent.
Because this wasn't my house.
And I had no power here.
After breakfast, Mrs. Allen gave me a tour of the mansion. There were doors we passed without stopping.
"Mr. Kane does not allow anyone in there," she said carefully.
There were wings of the house that felt forbidden.
Rooms that felt like they carried secrets.
Every rule. Every warning. Every careful instruction reminded me of one simple truth:
I did not belong here.
Later that afternoon, unable to breathe inside those walls anymore, I wandered into the garden behind the mansion.
The air outside felt different.
Free.
The garden was beautiful — roses blooming in neat rows, soft green grass, a small fountain in the center. The wind brushed gently against my skin.
For the first time since yesterday…
I could breathe properly.
I sat on a wooden bench and closed my eyes.
"Papa," I whispered softly. "I'm trying to be strong."
The words trembled out of me.
I didn't even know if heaven existed.
But I hoped he could hear me.
Footsteps approached.
My eyes snapped open.
Mr. Kane stood a few steps away, his tall figure casting a shadow across the grass. His expression was unreadable as always.
My body stiffened automatically.
"I didn't know this place was restricted," I said quickly, standing halfway.
"It's not," he replied calmly.
The silence between us felt thick.
Heavy.
He looked at me for a long moment, like he was trying to understand something he couldn't quite figure out.
Then he spoke.
"You should understand something."
His voice was low, controlled.
"This marriage doesn't change what your father did."
My fingers curled into my palm.
The pain was still fresh.
"I know," I answered quietly.
He stepped a little closer, his gaze studying my face.
For a second, I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.
Did he see my father?
Or did he see someone different?
His jaw tightened slightly.
"But you're not him."
My head snapped up.
Our eyes locked.
It was the first time he had ever separated me from my father.
The first time he didn't look at me like I was guilty.
Something shifted inside my chest.
Before I could say anything, his phone rang sharply, breaking the moment.
He answered immediately, his expression turning cold again.
"Yes," he said, already walking away. "I'll handle it."
And just like that, the moment disappeared.
I remained standing in the garden long after he left.
My heart was beating faster than it should have.
His words replayed in my mind.
You're not him.
For the first time since signing those papers…
Something unfamiliar stirred inside me.
Hope.
Very small.
Very fragile.
Dangerous.
But alive.
I wrapped my arms around myself again, staring at the empty space where he had stood.
Still, I knew better than to trust that feeling.
Because in this house…
Nothing was simple.
And even hope…
Could be dangerous.