Chapter 3: The First Night

"Do not mistake this for anything more than it is," Maximilian’s voice echoed in my head as I sat at the edge of the oversized bed, my fingers twisting the edge of my dress. His words from earlier that day, as cold and cutting as the man himself, replayed like a broken record, reminding me of the stark reality of my new life.  

The room was suffocating in its opulence—golden drapes that swept the floor, a chandelier casting fractured light across the walls, and a bed so large it seemed to mock the emptiness I felt. I had always dreamed of luxury, of escaping the suffocating weight of poverty, but I had never imagined it would feel this hollow.  

Maximilian had retreated to his study shortly after we arrived at his penthouse, leaving me alone to acclimate to my gilded cage. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of the city below. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. Not here. Not where the walls seemed to watch, where every surface gleamed with the perfection he demanded.  

I stood and wandered to the window, pressing my hand against the cold glass. The city sprawled beneath me, alive with lights and movement. Somewhere down there, people were laughing, living, loving. And here I was, trapped in a life that wasn’t my own, married to a man who made it painfully clear that I was nothing more than a contract.  

The sound of the door opening behind me made my breath catch. I turned slowly, my heart pounding as Maximilian entered the room. He looked as composed as ever, his dark suit still crisp, his tie perfectly in place.  

“I trust you’re settling in,” he said, his tone devoid of warmth.  

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.  

He moved closer, his presence commanding the room. “There are rules,” he began, his voice firm. “If this arrangement is to work, you will adhere to them.”  

I swallowed hard, bracing myself. “Rules?”  

“Yes. You will attend events with me when required, speak only when spoken to, and maintain the image of a devoted wife. Privacy is paramount—no personal details to the press or anyone else. Do you understand?”  

I nodded again, my hands clenching at my sides.  

“And in this house,” he continued, his gaze piercing, “we maintain boundaries. You stay out of my affairs, and I’ll stay out of yours.”  

His words stung, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. “Understood,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.  

He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the door.  

Before he left, he paused. “Goodnight, Eliza.”  

The door clicked shut behind him, and I exhaled shakily, feeling the weight of his presence linger long after he was gone.  

I sank onto the bed, the tears I had been holding back finally spilling over. But as I cried, something inside me shifted. I had chosen to be here, to protect my family, to survive. And if Maximilian Grey thought he could break me, he was wrong.  

---

The next day passed in a blur of unfamiliar routines and uncomfortable silences. Maximilian was gone before I woke, leaving a note with instructions for the household staff to assist me with anything I needed. Despite their polite smiles, I felt like an outsider, a trespasser in a world that wasn’t mine.  

By evening, I was restless. I had explored the penthouse, admired the art, and pretended not to notice the locked door at the end of the hallway. Curiosity burned in me, but I knew better than to test Maximilian’s patience.  

When he returned, his mood was as cold as ever. We shared a silent dinner at the long dining table, the distance between us both physical and emotional. He asked nothing of me, and I offered nothing in return.  

But as I watched him, I noticed things I hadn’t before—the tension in his shoulders, the way he avoided looking at me for too long. For all his control, there was something guarded about him, something almost vulnerable.  

---

Late that night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the silence pressing down on me. Then I heard it—muffled voices, low and urgent.  

I slipped out of bed, my bare feet silent against the polished floor. The sound was coming from the study. The door was slightly ajar, and I hesitated before inching closer.  

“I don’t care what it takes—keep her safe at all costs,” Maximilian’s voice was sharp, filled with a kind of desperation I hadn’t heard before.  

My heart raced. Was he talking about me? Or someone else?  

I leaned closer, straining to hear more, but the floor creaked beneath me.  

The voices stopped.  

The door swung open abruptly, and Maximilian stood there, his eyes dark and unreadable as they locked onto mine.  

“How long have you been standing there?” he demanded, his tone as cold as ice.