Chapter 8: The Ex and the Sister

Rayna's POV

The first week in Denzel's mansion passed in a blur of rules and routines. Bee gave me the promised tour, marking off every room I was forbidden to enter with an apologetic smile. I learned that Denzel left for his office at exactly 6:30 AM and returned—if he returned at all—well after midnight. Most nights, I ate dinner alone in the cavernous dining room, feeling like a ghost in my own life.

By the eighth day, I'd almost convinced myself I could survive this arrangement. Keep my head down, follow the rules, count down the days.

Then Susana arrived.

I was in the sitting room, attempting to read a book I couldn't focus on, when I heard the commotion in the foyer. Bee's flustered voice. A woman's sharp, commanding tone. And then a child crying.

I set down my book and walked toward the noise, knowing I probably shouldn't but unable to stop myself.

The woman standing in the entryway took my breath away. She was stunning—tall and elegant, with jet-black hair styled in perfect waves, wearing a cream-colored suit that probably cost more than my wedding dress. Her makeup was flawless, her posture regal. She looked like she belonged in this house far more than I ever would.

And in her arms, she held a little boy who couldn't have been more than three years old.

"Where is Denzel?" the woman demanded, her accent vaguely European. Her eyes landed on me, and her perfectly painted lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "And who are you?"

"I'm..." I cleared my throat, straightening my shoulders. "I'm Rayna Adams. Denzel's wife."

The words still felt foreign on my tongue.

Something dangerous flashed in the woman's eyes. "Ah. The contract bride. How... quaint."

My face flushed. "Excuse me?"

"I'm Susana Mia Lennox," she said, shifting the boy on her hip. He'd stopped crying and was staring at me with wide, hazel-green eyes that looked disturbingly familiar. "And this is Connor. Denzel's son."

The room tilted. I grabbed the back of a nearby chair for support. "His... son?"

"Yes." Susana's smile widened, catlike. "Didn't he tell you? How unfortunate. Connor is three years old. Denzel and I had a brief... relationship four years ago. Passionate but complicated, as these things often are with men like him. When I discovered I was pregnant, Denzel provided financial support but insisted on distance. For business reasons, you understand."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Denzel had a child? A son he'd never mentioned?

"But circumstances have changed," Susana continued, walking into the sitting room like she owned it. "Connor's nanny quit last week, and I have a business opportunity in Milan that I simply cannot miss. So Denzel has agreed that Connor will stay here for the next several months. Isn't that right, darling?"

I turned to find Denzel standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He was in his work suit, looking like he'd just arrived home. His eyes met mine for a brief second before shifting to Susana.

"We discussed this yesterday," he said evenly. "Connor is welcome here."

"You discussed this?" I heard myself say. "When were you planning to tell me?"

"It's not your concern," Denzel replied coldly. "This house is large enough for all of us."

The dismissal in his tone cut deeper than any knife. I wasn't his wife—not really. I was just the help. The prop he'd hired to play a role.

"Not my concern?" I repeated, my voice shaking. "A three-year-old child is moving into this house, and you didn't think to mention it to the person you're supposedly married to?"

"It's a contract marriage, Amelia," Susana interjected sweetly. "Surely you don't expect actual communication or consideration? That's not how these arrangements work."

I wanted to slap her. Or maybe slap Denzel. Or possibly both of them.

Instead, I turned on my heel and walked away, my vision blurring with furious tears. Behind me, I could hear Susana's musical laugh and Denzel's low voice saying something I couldn't make out.

I made it to my wing before the tears started falling in earnest. This was impossible. Absolutely impossible. How was I supposed to live in this house with Denzel's ex-lover and their child? How was I supposed to pretend everything was fine when my husband—my fake husband—couldn't even give me the courtesy of a heads-up?

A knock on my door made me wipe my eyes hastily. "Go away, Denzel."

"It's not Denzel." The voice was young, feminine, and amused. "It's Naomi. Can I come in?"

I'd met Denzel's younger sister briefly at the wedding, but we hadn't had a chance to actually talk. I opened the door to find a petite woman with wild curly hair, wearing ripped jeans and a band t-shirt that definitely didn't fit the mansion's aesthetic.

"Baby," she said, using what I'd learned was her nickname. "Mind if I come in? You look like you could use a friend."

I stepped aside, and she bounded in, immediately flopping onto my bed like she owned the place.

"So," she said, grinning up at me. "You've met the Ice Queen. Fun, right?"

Despite everything, I almost smiled. "Is that what you call her?"

"Among other things. Susana is..." Naomi paused, choosing her words carefully. "Complicated. And that kid? That whole situation? There's more to it than what she's telling you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Susana is a liar and a manipulator, and that child might not even be Denzel's." Naomi sat up, her expression turning serious. "But my brother is too guilty about his own past to question it. So he just accepts whatever she says and pays whatever she asks."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I like you," Naomi said simply. "And because Denzel needs someone in his corner who isn't trying to use him. Which, unfortunately, describes about ninety-nine percent of the people in his life."

"I'm not in his corner," I said quietly. "This is a business arrangement. He's made that very clear."

"Has he?" Naomi tilted her head. "Because from where I'm sitting, my brother is working very hard to keep his distance from you. Which means you scare him. And the only things that scare Denzel are things he actually cares about."

I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe that Denzel felt something, anything, beyond cold indifference. But his words from the gallery echoed in my mind: Strangers.

"I should probably go apologize to Susana," I said, changing the subject. "I was rude."

"You were honest," Naomi corrected. "There's a difference. But if you do go back down there, be careful. Susana sees you as competition, even in a fake marriage. And she doesn't play fair."

She left with a promise to take me shopping later that week, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.

That evening, I forced myself to join everyone for dinner. Susana had changed into a stunning black dress and was holding court at one end of the table, regaling Denzel with stories from her travels. Connor sat in a high chair between them, eating carefully and watching everything with those too-familiar eyes.

I took my seat at the other end of the table, feeling like an intruder in my own home.

"So, Rayna," Susana said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "What is it you do? Denzel mentioned your family needed financial assistance. How... unfortunate."

Every eye at the table turned to me. I set down my fork, meeting her gaze steadily.

"I'm figuring that out," I said. "This is all rather new to me."

"Of course." Susana's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Well, if you need any advice on how to navigate Denzel's world, do let me know. I have years of experience, after all."

The implication was clear: she'd been here first. She'd had his child. She knew him in ways I never would.

I wanted to run. To hide in my wing and never come out. But then I caught Naomi's eye across the table. She gave me a small nod of encouragement.

"That's very kind of you, Susana," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "But I think I'll manage just fine."

Denzel's eyes flickered to me for just a moment. I couldn't read his expression, but something in his posture had shifted. Was it approval? Surprise?

The rest of dinner passed in uncomfortable small talk. When it finally ended, I excused myself as quickly as possible, desperate for the sanctuary of my room.

But as I reached the top of the stairs, I heard Denzel's voice behind me.

"Amelia."

I turned slowly. He stood at the base of the stairs, one hand in his pocket, looking as composed as ever. But there was something in his eyes I hadn't seen before. Something almost like... regret?

"I should have told you about Connor," he said. "That wasn't fair to you."

It wasn't an apology, exactly. But from a man like Denzel, it might be the closest thing I'd ever get.

"No," I agreed. "It wasn't."

We stood there for a long moment, the distance between us feeling like miles.

"Goodnight, Denzel," I finally said.

"Goodnight, Amelia."

I walked away, and this time, I didn't cry. Instead, I sat at the window in my room and stared out at the gardens, thinking about Naomi's words.

The only things that scare Denzel are things he actually cares about.

Did he care? Or was I just another obligation? Another item on his list of things to manage and control?

I didn't know. But as I watched the lights of the city twinkle in the distance, I made myself a promise: I wouldn't let Susana or anyone else make me feel small. I wouldn't let this house, this contract, this impossible situation break me.

I had 722 days left. And I was going to survive every single one of them.

Even if it killed me.