The Photograph

The penthouse was quiet when we came back from the party.

Too quiet.

“I would be back,” he placed a kiss on my forehead. 

Dorian disappeared into his office without a word, leaving me to peel off the black dress and toss it over a chair. The echo of whispers from the ballroom still clung to my skin. The Vale bride. Poor girl.

I wandered through the halls, trying to memorize the layout. The place was huge—cold glass and dark wood, built to impress but not to comfort.

That’s when I found the other office.

 The door wasn’t locked.

It wasn’t like Dorian’s main office, all polished surfaces and legal contracts. This one felt… personal. A single desk, stacks of old books, a globe with yellowed maps.

On the desk, under the dim light, was a picture frame.

 I picked it up.

It was me.

 Fifteen years old, standing outside my school gates, wearing my uniform, my hair in a messy braid. I remembered that day—at least, I thought I did. But I didn’t remember anyone taking my picture.

The edges of the photo were worn, like someone had handled it too many times.

My fingers tightened on the frame.

 Why would he have this?

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

I froze.

 Dorian was leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, watching me with that unreadable expression.

I held up the photo. “When was this taken?”

He stepped into the room, slowly, like a predator giving prey time to realize it’s cornered. “Years ago.”

“Why?”

His lips curved slightly—not in humor, but in certainty. “Because I knew I’d want to remember you.”

My stomach tightened. “I was fifteen.”

“I know exactly how old you were,” he said quietly. Then, after a pause: “I told myself I’d wait until you were old enough to choose me… but you took too long.”

He took the photo from my hand and set it back on the desk with care, as if it was something fragile.

 Then he walked out, leaving me in a room that suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier.

“So… you’ve been keeping an eye on me for a long time?”

 “Yes.”

 “Why?”

He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and knowing.

 “What?” I frowned. “What’s so funny?”

 “Today, when I was about to kiss you, you bolted like you’d seen a ghost… and now you’re asking me why I’ve been watching you. The real question is—if I tell you, will you actually be able to handle the answer?”

“Try me.”

 He tilted his head, studying me. “I can’t decide if you’re brave… or just utterly clueless.”

“Can I kiss my wife?” he asked suddenly.

I stepped back. “Look… give me some time. I need to actually get to know you.”

 He sighed, like patience wasn’t his strong suit. “Know me how?”

 “Like… you. What you do. What you like. And why, out of all the women throwing themselves at you, you chose someone who doesn’t even know you personally.”

His lips curved. “Fine. Five days. We go on five dates. Each day, you name one reason, and when it’s over—you’re mine. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said after a pause. “But… what about my brother?”

 “We’ll see him when you and I are done with this.”

I bit my lip. “…Okay.”

The Next Morning 

The sunlight was rude.

 It spilled through the curtains like it owned the room, warming my face before I was ready to wake. My body ached—not from anything he’d done, but from the weight of yesterday still pressing on my chest.

I sat up slowly, the silk sheets sliding down to my lap, and that’s when I noticed the tray on the bedside table. Coffee. Fresh croissant. A single white lily in a glass vase.

“You’re awake,” his voice came from the doorway.

I looked up. Dorian leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, wearing that half-smile that made me want to both punch him and… something else entirely.

“You made breakfast?” I asked, my voice sharper than I meant.

 He shrugged. “A husband takes care of his wife.”

 I rolled my eyes. “You’re not my—”

 “Yes, I am.” His interruption was soft, but it cut straight through me.

I swung my legs off the bed, ignoring the way his gaze followed the movement. “We have four days left.”

 “Until you’re mine,” he corrected.

I reached for the coffee, needing the distraction. “Until I decide if I even want to be yours.”

 His smile deepened, slow and certain. “You will. And today, wife, we start with date number one.”

I froze mid-sip. “What makes you think I’m free today?”

 He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “Because you’re not the kind of woman wh

o can resist a mystery… and I’m not done unravelling you.”