CHAPTER ELEVEN

Third person POV.

A week passed, and in that week silence became a third inhabitant of the mansion.

The house—so large, so elegantly decorated, so full of staff—felt like an empty cathedral where sound dared not echo. The clink of dishes at mealtimes, the muffled footsteps of housekeepers, the occasional closing of a door: those were the only reminders that life still pulsed within its walls. 

But between Asher and Audrey, there was nothing. Not a word. Not a glance. Not even the accidental brush of fingertips when they crossed paths.

Audrey felt herself fraying at the edges. 

Her sleep was thin, fragile, torn apart by jolts of panic. Every time she closed her eyes, the dream returned: the faceless woman chasing her, knife glinting, shadows stretching longer than her breath. Even awake, she felt watched. 

The text still sat in the crevices of her mind, a haunting reminder—I warned him. She had let it replay over again in her mind but she hadn’t told Asher, or anyone. Some nights she wondered if she was slipping into paranoia. Other nights she knew—she knew—someone out there knew her secrets, and wanted to hurt her for it. 

And yet she told no one.

She folded into herself, shrinking her world smaller and smaller. She avoided the housekeepers’ chatter. She skipped her usual strolls through the halls. She barely touched her meals, eating only enough to keep the baby growing inside her. 

Her belly had grown heavier, her steps slower, but she carried it like a weight she alone could bear. The more she feared, the more she told herself she had to hide it all.

Asher, on the other hand, drowned himself in work. His office became his prison and his refuge all at once. It wasn’t about the work anymore — it was about keeping his mind from wandering back to the images of charred wood and smoke-choked air. The conspiracy gnawed at him.

He saw his parents’ faces every time he tried to focus on a document. He heard his father’s words—”You will understand soon”—in every of his waking hours.

He went to work earlier than necessary. He stayed later than he should. He buried himself in endless reports, meetings, contracts, anything to stop the images from resurfacing. 

But at night, when he finally returned to the mansion, it was there waiting for him: the silence. His parents’ absence echoed in Audrey’s absence. And he wondered, fleetingly, if maybe she was fighting ghosts too.

They became two lonely souls under one roof, trapped in their own cages.

Until one evening. 

Asher returned home earlier than usual, exhaustion clinging to his shoulders like a second coat. He walked through the front doors, prepared for more silence, when something unexpected pulled his steps toward the garden.

And there she was.

Audrey sat on the stone bench beneath the old oak tree, the one whose leaves whispered secrets when the wind stirred. She wasn’t reading, wasn’t on her phone, wasn’t even doing anything. She was just there, her hands cradling her belly, her gaze tilted up to the twilight sky.

Ethereal.

For a long moment, neither moved. Their eyes locked across the distance, and the silence that had once suffocated them seemed to soften. There was something unspoken in the way her lips curved into the faintest smile. Fragile. Tentative. 

But it was enough to shatter the walls between them. 

“Hey,” Asher said, his voice rough from disuse.

“Hey,” Audrey answered softly, as though even the word was a risk.

A long pause. The air between them thickened with the weight of everything they had not said. 

Then, as if braver than she felt, Audrey quirked her lips into a fuller smile. “You look terrible.”

Asher blinked, then gave a short chuckle, surprised by the sharpness of her humor after so many days of silence. 

“Thanks. You sure know how to make a guy feel welcome at home.”

“Well,” she tilted her head, eyes glinting mischievously, “if you’d stop working yourself half to death, maybe you wouldn’t look like a zombie.”

That startled another laugh out of him, genuine this time. The sound felt strange in his throat, but also… right. 

“And you,” he said, narrowing his eyes playfully, “you wobble more than last week. Like—” He paused, smirking. “—a penguin.”

Audrey gasped, feigning offense, though her cheeks turned pink. “Excuse me? Did you just call me a penguin?”

“Yes.” 

Audrey let out a short laugh — the first genuine one in days. “Wow. Thank you. Just what every pregnant woman wants to hear.”

He nodded solemnly, his lips twitching with amusement. “A very dignified penguin though. Regal. Adorable, but waddling nonetheless.”

Her laughter burst out before she could stop it, bubbling into the cool evening air. It startled her almost as much as it startled him, but once it started, she couldn’t stop. She laughed so hard her belly shook, and she had to clutch it with both hands.

“Oh, no,” she wheezed, “don’t make me laugh too much, or this little one will think I’m crazy.”

“Aren't we all? In our own unique ways.” 

“You’re terrible,” she muttered, shaking her head.

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. “My little penguin.”

She froze for half a second, then broke into another smile, shaking her head. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.” He gave her a mock-stern look. “From now on, I’m calling you that. My little penguin.”

The words made something warm curl in her chest, though she rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I don’t have the energy to throw something at you right now.”

“I’ll take that as a win,” he murmured.

Asher leaned against the tree, his eyes drinking in the sight of her—Audrey with her head thrown back, hair catching the last streaks of the sunset, laughter spilling from lips that had been silent too long. 

Something in his chest loosened. For the first time in days, the storm inside him eased.

“You should laugh more,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

She stilled, the laughter fading into soft breaths. Her eyes flicked to him, uncertain, then warm. “Maybe you should give me more reasons to.”

The quiet settled again, but it wasn’t the suffocating silence of before. This silence felt like a bridge, like a pause where words weren’t necessary.

After a beat, Asher straightened. “Come on. Let me make us dinner.”

Audrey raised an eyebrow. “You? Cooking?”

“Yes,” he said with mock offense. “I am a spectacular cook, and you know that.”

“Not to toot your own horn or anything.” She playfully rolled her eyes as she sarcastically quipped. 

“You know,” he continued, “you are in the presence of a 5 star gourmet chef, and you can't even see that. Tsk tsk.” He mock-scolded. 

“Oh, woe is me.” She giggled as she took his hand as he led the way to the kitchen.

---

In the kitchen, the air was warmer and brighter. Asher moved with surprising ease, pulling ingredients from shelves, tying an apron around his waist. While Audrey leaned against the counter, watching him with growing amusement.

“I didn’t know billionaires could chop onions,” she teased.

He shot her a sidelong glance. “We’re full of surprises.”

Her gaze lingered on his arms as he worked, the toned biceps and the way muscles shifted beneath his shirt, the concentration etched into his brow. 

Every so often, his eyes flicked to hers, checking if she was comfortable, if she was smiling, if she was alright. And every time he looked, her chest tightened.

She told herself not to notice. Not to feel. But she did, she couldn't help it. 

They continued their lighthearted conversation while Asher cooked. Audrey told him about the first time she’d tried baking and ended up producing something that could have doubled as a doorstop. He laughed, telling her he’d once accidentally set a microwave on fire in college.

And when he was done, Asher plated their meal with a flourish, earning another round of teasing from Audrey. She ate with gusto, demanding seconds of the roasted chicken and—after much playful begging—a lemon pie for dessert.

“Fine,” Asher relented with a sigh, pulling out lemons. “But only because you’re my little penguin.”

She threw a napkin at him, laughing until tears pricked her eyes. She didn't understand why, but she liked it better when she laughed around Asher. Apart from the laughter bubbling from her stomach, some other warmth was fanned. And it tingled her insides. 

Dinner stretched long, full of laughter and half-serious banter. The heaviness that had clung to them all week seemed to lift, inch by inch, replaced by something gentler.

When the plates were finally cleared, they drifted back into the garden. The moonlight spread silver across the grass, turning everything softer and quieter. They fell into a quiet rhythm and didn't try to untwine their hands when they slipped into each other. 

“You know,” Audrey said softly, “for a contract husband, you’re not terrible.”

He glanced at her, lips curving. “And for a contract wife, you’re… tolerable.”

She laughed, the sound warm in the cool night air.

Her laughter lingered in his mind — and when he looked at her, the moonlight caught in her eyes, turning them into something almost unreal.

Then Audrey stopped and turned to him, eyes shining in the glow. “Thank you,” she whispered suddenly.

Asher frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For… this. For being here. For caring, even when you don’t have to. I know this is just a contract marriage, but—” she hesitated, her voice trembling “—you’ve been solid. And I… I don’t know what I’d do without that.”

Something in Asher cracked open. He reached out, his fingers brushing her hair behind her ears. “It’s nothing,” he murmured. “And thank you, too… for being an excellent woman. Plus, you make this easier than you think.”

The words were light, teasing, but the way his eyes locked onto hers betrayed the depth underneath.

The silence stretched. Their breaths mingled. Hearts thundered in tandem.

Slowly, as though pulled by some invisible string, they leaned closer. Audrey’s lips parted. Asher’s hand slid to cover the small of her back. Audrey's hand found the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric. 

And then—finally—their lips met.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like testing the edge of a flame. But then it deepened, fueled by a week of silence, a month of unspoken tension, a thousand moments of denial.

Audrey’s heart raced so wildly she thought it might burst. Her body melted into his warmth, her fears drowned by the electricity sparking through her veins.

Asher pulled her closer, his other hand sliding into her hair and pulling her closer, holding her as though letting go was impossible. For the first time in years, he felt whole. Anchored. Alive.

They broke apart just enough to breathe, foreheads resting together, eyes locked with all the words they couldn’t say.

The silence returned, but now it was full—not of despair, not of isolation, but of something tender, fragile, and terrifyingly powerful.

Love.