Her skin is cold. She’s been cold since the ceremony, shivering slightly despite the coat draped over her shoulders. Shock, maybe. Or just the reality of what she’s agreed to catching up to her.
I keep hold of her hand as we walk inside, my grip firm but not painful. Possessive without being cruel. She doesn’t try to pull away.
The house is quiet. Staff dismissed hours ago except for security. No one to witness us, no one to interrupt. Just the two of us in this massive space that suddenly feels too small.
“Are you hungry?” I ask as we enter the main hall.
She shakes her head. Doesn’t speak.
“Thirsty?”
Another head shake.
I lead her to the sitting room off the main hall, the one I use when I want privacy without complete isolation.
Elena moves to the window, putting distance between us immediately. She removes her shoes, kicking them off with quiet defiance. The gesture is small but deliberate—reclaiming some tiny piece of autonomy.
I watch her, cataloging every detail. The way the wedding gown moves around her, silk and lace that I chose, that fits her perfectly because I know her body’s measurements by heart now. The way her shoulders are tense, drawn up protectively. The way she won’t look at me, won’t acknowledge my presence, even though we both know she’s acutely aware of it.
“There’s food if you change your mind,” I say, gesturing to the table where I’d ordered her favorites prepared. Comfort food, things she’s eaten in the past when stress made her skip meals.
She glances at it. Looks away. “I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat.”
“I don’t need anything from you.”
The defiance makes something dark curl through my chest. She’s been compliant all evening: walked down the aisle, said the vows, accepted the ring. Now, alone with me, the mask cracks and the real Elena emerges.
I prefer this version. Prefer the fight to the resignation.
“Sit,” I tell her.
“No.”
“Elena—”
“I stood through the ceremony. Smiled for your witnesses. Played the obedient bride in front of people who matter to you.” She finally turns to face me, eyes bright with suppressed emotion. “In private, I don’t have to pretend.”
Fair enough.
I move to the sidebar, pour water instead of vodka. Bring it to her. “Then don’t pretend. But drink this at least.”
She takes it after a moment’s hesitation. Drinks half in quick swallows, then sets the glass down harder than necessary.
“What happens now?” she asks.
“Now we discuss expectations.”
“Yours, you mean. I don’t get expectations.”
“You get clarity. Which is more valuable.” I lean against the desk, giving her space. “This is your home now. Not a guest room, not a cell. Home. You have access to most of the estate. Certain areas remain restricted—my office, the security center, the armory. Everywhere else, you move freely.”
“With guards following.”
“For your protection.”
“For your control.”
