The Weight Of A Name

Layla's POV

The car pulled through gates so massive they could have swallowed a small village whole, and I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching the Cross estate rise up like something out of a gothic novel that had been forced into modern architecture.

It was beautiful in that suffocating, oppressive way that beautiful things sometimes are when they're designed to remind you that you don't belong there.

I had been here before, I think once, years ago, hiding in the shadows of my father's car while he came to beg for mercy from the man who had destroyed him. That was also the day he died, or at least the day the man I knew as my father stopped being the same person.

I blinked the memory away before it could take root.

The car stopped and the door opened before I could reach for the handle myself. One of Landon's men—I really needed to learn their names if I was going to be living here, he stood at attention, gesturing for me to exit.

I stepped out into the cold London evening, my small bag clutched against my chest like a shield, and tilted my head up to take in the full view of what I had just signed up for.

I thought to myself, “You wanted access. Well, here it is. All of it. Every suffocating, gilded inch.”

The front doors opened before I could reach them, and I was greeted by a woman who moved like she had been choreographed by someone who hated wasted motion.

She was tall, elegant in that effortless way that only comes from generational wealth and the kind of grooming that starts in the cradle. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek knot, and her eyes swept over me with the precision of someone appraising livestock.

"You must be Layla," she said, and her voice was warm in a way that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm Evelyn Cross, Landon's stepmother. Welcome to your new home."

My smile was a masterpiece of forced politeness. "Thank you, Mrs Cross. The estate is beautiful."

She inclined her head, accepting the compliment like it was her due. "I do hope you'll be comfortable here. Landon's arrangements can sometimes be... abrupt." Her eyes flicked to my bag, the only luggage I had. "I see we'll need to remedy your wardrobe situation immediately. I'll have someone sent to your room for measurements."

Before I could respond, she turned and began walking, clearly expecting me to follow.

I did, of course. Because that's what you do when you're a guest in the house of the people you've sworn to destroy, you smile, you nod, and you follow.

The interior of the estate was exactly what I expected, all marble and crystal and art that probably cost more than the GDP of a small country. 

Every corner spoke of money that didn't just exist, it insisted on existing.

"It's quite something, isn't it?" Evelyn's voice floated back to me as she led me up the staircase. "I remember the first time I saw it. I felt like I had walked into a museum where everything was for sale but nothing was actually priced because you couldn't afford any of it anyway."

I almost laughed at the accidental honesty of that statement, but I caught myself.

"My room?" I asked instead, keeping my voice level.

"Of course." She stopped at a door on the second floor, pushing it open with a graceful sweep of her hand. "Landon insisted you have the east wing. It's the most private part of the house. I hope you don't mind the distance from the main living areas."

“He wants me isolated”, I thought silently. “Of course he does. Keep me contained, keep me monitored, keep me away from anything important.”

"Not at all," I said aloud. "I value my privacy."

Evelyn's smile sharpened almost imperceptibly. "I imagine you do, given the circumstances of your... arrival."

The implication hung in the air between us.

My stomach tightened, but I kept my expression neutral. "I'm not sure what you mean."

She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume, the scent was floral and expensive and slightly cloying. "I've been married to a Cross for eleven years my dear. I know when a secret is being kept, I also know when to pretend I don't." Her eyes swept over me again, cataloging every detail. "The question is, are you smart enough to do the same?"

Before I could respond, a voice cut through the hallway like a blade.

"Evelyn. I see you've been giving my fiancée or rather my wife a tour."

I turned to find Landon approaching, still in the same suit from earlier, though he had loosened his tie slightly. It was the first sign of imperfection I'd seen on him, and it made him look almost human.

Almost.

"Just ensuring she felt welcome," Evelyn said smoothly, stepping back from me. "I was about to show her to her room."

"I'll take it from here." Landon's voice was clipped and dismissive. He didn't even look at her, his focus entirely on me. "We have matters to discuss."

Evelyn's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in her eyes, like annoyance. "Of course. I will have dinner held until you're ready." She glided past him, pausing just long enough to murmur something too low for me to hear.

Landon's expression didn't change, but I caught the subtle tightening of his jaw.

Then she was gone, and it was just the two of us standing in the hallway of a house that felt more like a prison than any actual prison I had ever imagined.

"You're settling in well," Landon observed dryly. "I see you've already made my stepmother uncomfortable."

"I didn't do anything," I said, genuinely confused. "She was the one"

"She's always the one." He cut me off, his eyes sharp. "That's the thing about Evelyn, she is always the one. You should do well to remember that."

He pushed open the door to the room I had been shown and gestured for me to enter.

I stepped inside and my breath caught.

The room was huge, it was the size of my entire apartment. A four-poster bed dominated the far wall, draped in silk and velvet that probably cost more than my monthly rent. French doors led out to what looked like a private balcony, and the windows stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a view of the estate's sprawling gardens.

It was beautiful, and I hated it.

"Your things will be brought up shortly," Landon said from behind me. "I've already arranged for credit to be available for any necessities you might require."

I turned to face him, my arms crossed protectively over my chest. "I don't want your money."

"Lucky for you, the arrangement isn't about what you want." He stepped into the room, and the space suddenly felt much smaller. "You signed a contract, Layla. That means you play by my rules. You'll be provided for, you'll be protected, but you'll also be watched. Understood?"

My pulse quickened, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. "What happened to the man in the basement?"

The question changed the atmosphere of the room.

Landon's expression remained perfectly neutral. "What man?"

"The one in the cage, the one the whole world thinks is dead." I took a step closer, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Who was he? What did he do to end up there?"

I knew I was pushing, knew that asking questions was the quickest way to get myself buried in a basement just like him. But I needed information, I needed something, anything that would help me understand the monster I'd just married.

"That," Landon said, his voice dropping to something quieter, which felt dangerous, "is exactly the kind of question that gets people killed."

I felt the blood drain from my face, but I held my ground.

He watched me for a moment, something almost like approval flickering behind his cold eyes. 

Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, holding it out to me.

I took it, my hands only slightly trembling.

"Your schedule for the week," he said. "Events, appearances, obligations. You'll be expected to attend all of them, play your part, and do so without complaint."

"And if I refuse?"

His smile was razor-thin. "Then the contract becomes void."

"Which means?"

"Which means I no longer have a reason to keep you alive."

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly went dry.

"Get some rest," he said, already turning toward the door. "You have a long week ahead of you."

He was almost out the door when I called after him, I don't know why, maybe just to prove that I wasn't completely broken yet.

"Landon."

He stopped, his back still facing me.

"Why did you choose me?"

He didn't turn around. 

But he did pause and for a single, heart-stopping moment I thought he might actually answer.

Then he walked away, and the door clicked shut behind him.

I stood in the middle of the room, my fingers curled so tightly around the paper in my hand that it crumpled at the edges.

I looked down at my schedule, dinner, meetings, gala appearances, breakfast with the family.

*Breakfast with the family.*

I was going to have to sit at a table with the people who destroyed my father and pretend like nothing had happened.

I was going to have to play house with the man who had just threatened my life.

I was going to have to smile, and nod, and be everything they expected me to be.

And when the time came, I was going to tear them all down.

I moved to the French doors, pushing them open and stepping out onto the balcony. The cold air hit my face, sharp and bracing, and I leaned against the railing, looking out at the vast expanse of the Cross estate.

My thoughts drifted to Daniel. 

Daniel, who had looked at me with that mixture of confusion and desperation. I had left him behind without explanation and I’m sure he was probably losing his mind trying to figure out what had just happened to me.

I reached for my phone, my thumb hovering over his contact.

I wanted to call him. I wanted to tell him everything but I couldn't. I couldn't risk it.

So I put the phone away and stared at the darkness instead.

Somewhere in the distance, a light flickered on in one of the estate's many windows.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, startling me out of my thoughts.