8. The contract’s Weight

Lana's POV

Silence swept through the mansion. A choking kind of silence. It was barely the one that could be filled with loud music or distracting yourself by humming a song. It was the kind that stuck, clinging to your skin in a cold and suffocating way. It was like walking through the fog that saw you as unwanted.

He still wasn't saying anything to me.

It's been what? About 5 agonizing days since I dropped by the bar to see Sophia, and he still refused to even look at me outside the bare minimum.

I wasn't even supposed to feel bothered about it, but it was hard not to when the house felt like some captive's camp all of a sudden.

He surprisingly didn't have me banned from going anywhere, but I wasn't foolish enough to cross that line more than once.

It felt like the whole thing was a punishment of some sort. Why did I feel like I was being watched by everyone?

The butler gave me completely weird looks. Like he was paying attention so I didn't take off or something. I didn't even get to fetch coffee without being creeped out by his stares. And then the housekeepers too weren't exactly discreet about the fact that Max had them keeping tabs on me.

It was becoming exhausting. I had nobody. Not even one of them dared to make eye contact with me. When was the last time someone smiled at me? Hell, when was the last time anyone asked how I was faring?

The last time anyone asked how tired I felt. Or if I felt like I made a terrible mistake coming here.... signing that goddamn paper.

But then on second thoughts...I didn't blame anyone. Especially not them. They were simply carrying out the wishes of the man who put food on their table. They also probably dreaded getting too close to the lady who the alpha despised.

So I just resigned to what I did best — keeping to myself. I'd sat close to the velvet window that directly overlooked the city with my sketchbook on my lap. My pencil was held with precision as it glided through the paper. I attempted to lose myself in the lines, textures and silhouettes. In the gowns that would probably never be worn. The fabrics that only existed inside my head.

It was raining outside, the raindrops tapped against the glass softly and the rhythm seemed to be the only form of companionship I had left.

I got frustrated. The images in my head and the ones on paper were different. I needed a break. Pushing aside my sketchbook, I looked around me.

Expensive chandeliers. Artworks that probably cost the price of 10 vast estates. Perfect marble floors.

If one asked me a month ago whether it was possible to live in a place like this and still feel invisible.....unwanted...

I'd probably say no in a heartbeat. But getting to live this reality for myself...

And you know what hurt the most?

Mother was improving. She was doing a lot better. And I was supposed to be happy. Hell, I should've been ecstatic. Overjoyed.

According to the doctors, her lungs were finally responding to treatments properly, and she was now in high spirits.

I'd been taking time to visit her every evening, and each time she'd hold my hand and yap about how happy I looked. About how life finally decided to wipe my tears and reward me.

And each time, I wish I could tear off my mask and crash into her arms. Tell her that life faked what I thought was an exit. That it was a prison guard with claws.

That life smiled at me with wolf's teeth. That every breath of hers was paid for in pieces of my little freedom.

I craved telling her. And many times, I can swear that I almost did. But just before the words came out, she'd laugh and cup my cheeks lovingly. The words learned to just die over and over in my throat.

I decided to just let her keep believing the fairytale picture that she'd painted in her mind.

The door clicked open, and the sound had me snapping my head in the direction.

The sound of large double doors unlocking followed, and then footsteps. Familiar footsteps.

He finally reached the hall. He was finally home....late.

I refrained from saying anything or even moving from my seat.

He stepped into the light and I noticed he was completely drenched, his hair dripping down his forehead. His jacket clung to him like it was second skin and still.....even like this, he looked terrifyingly composed.

More like a king who'd just walked in from a serious war.

His eyes flew in my direction, as he pinned his gaze on the wall directly behind me. He was still avoiding eye contact.

And then, he walked right past me. No acknowledgment of any sort.

"You're wet. You should've......"I was saying so quietly, the sound of the rain almost swallowing my voice, when he paused just a few steps away from me.

I swallowed on seeing the shift in his shoulders. He seemed hesitant. Like he was contemplating whether or not I deserved his attention.

I wasn't hurt..... Okay, well, I tried not to be. But he seemed to decide because he replied to me without turning to look at me.

"I never asked for your concern."

Something inside of me snapped, so I closed my sketchbook with a slam and stood, barefooted.

I could feel frustration claw at my throat.

"Why exactly do you despise me?"I was forced to ask. "It's like I'm not even wanted here. Why then did you marry me, to make my life more hellish than it already is?"

Maybe my words got to him, maybe they didn't. The moral lesson is, he turned around and his eyes finally met mine.

For a second, it felt like they weren't silver but more of steel.

"What are you saying? I don't despise you," he countered in a clipped voice. "I hate disobedience, Lana. You know this."

"I don't understand, "I frowned, scoffing exasperatedly. "It was just one dinner...."

"You think the people keeping eyes on you give flying fucks on whether or not it was just dinner?" he asked, his voice dropping lower with each word. "You think the guards I put on you are for decorations? You think this...." he gestured at the space between us, "is some kind of normal marriage? It's called a contract marriage for a reason, Lana. One with dangerous consequences if one of us isn't sensible enough to obey orders."

I understood. And I hated it. Hell, I hated how he made me feel. "Are you going to stop avoiding me now?"

I hoped he'd say Yes. That he'd at least look at me like a person and not an enemy of his.

"Goodnight, Lana," he said and left me standing there.

I had no idea why, but the moment he walked away, I felt him take the reminder of the small hope I'd got.