03: Separate Rooms

( Mia POV)

The reception felt like drowning in expensive perfume and fake smiles.

Crystal chandeliers threw light across a ballroom that could swallow my old neighborhood whole. White roses piled on every table, their sweetness mixing with champagne and the sharp tang of wealth. Guests clustered in designer clothes, diamonds catching light like tiny weapons.

Robert's hand stayed firm on my lower back, guiding me through congratulations that sounded more like stock reports.

"Beautiful ceremony."

"Quite the match."

"JR Investment expanding into new... territories."

They shook his hand. Kissed my cheek. Calculated our worth.

I grabbed champagne from a passing waiter. The glass was cold against my palm.

"You haven't eaten." Robert's voice was low near my ear.

"I don't care."

The champagne burned down my throat. I wanted it to.

An older man in navy approached, his smile wide and empty. "Robert! Finally settling down. Your father must be thrilled."

Robert's whole body went rigid. "James has nothing to do with this."

"Of course, of course." The man's eyes slid to me. "Still, family is family. Speaking of which..." He nodded toward the bar.

Victoria stood there, red dress like a wound against white marble. She raised her glass in our direction. A mock toast. Then she leaned close to a woman beside her, whispering. They both looked at me and laughed.

Robert's grip on my waist tightened until it hurt.

"We're leaving."

"What?"

He was already moving, pulling me toward a side exit. I stumbled in my heels. He caught me, steadied me but kept walking without giving me a second glance.

---

The car was silent except for his phone buzzing. He stared at the screen, his jaw tight, thumb scrolling through messages like he was searching for something that wasn't there.

I watched the city slide past. Coffee shops still open. Couples walking hand in hand. People who chose each other.

"I'm sorry." His voice cracked the silence. "About Victoria. She's not very welcoming, and I..."

"Why did you force me into this?"

He looked up, surprised.

"I could've just paid the debt. Why marriage?"

His mouth opened then closed. He looked back at his phone like it might save him.

I grabbed his sleeve. The fabric was expensive, soft. "Answer me."

"Your father's situation was..."

"Complicated? Convenient?" I pulled my hand back. "I will never be a real wife to you. You understand that?"

The words came out sharper than I meant. Crueler.

He removed my hand gently. Too gently. When he looked at me, his eyes held something I couldn't name. Sadness, maybe. Or regret.

"Get some rest, Mia."

The car stopped. He got out without looking back.

I wanted him to fight. To yell. To give me a reason to hate him properly.

Instead, he left me with nothing.

---

An elderly woman waited in the foyer, two maids behind her like shadows.

"My name is Mrs. Cara. I'm the head housekeeper." Her smile was warm, real. "I'll help you settle in."

The maids collected my bags and disappeared up stairs that curved like a spine.

Mrs. Cara led me to the top floor. "This is Sir Robert's private apartment. Four bedrooms, separate living spaces. Every Friday, the family dines together downstairs." She paused at a hallway. "Sir Robert's room is left. Yours is right."

My room. Not ours.

Relief hit so hard my knees almost buckled.

"The mansion is large," Mrs. Cara continued, her voice dropping slightly. "Easy to get lost. Don't go wandering at night. And the basement..." She met my eyes. "Stay away from the basement."

"Why?"

"Sir Robert's orders." Her smile returned, but something in her face had shifted. "Sleep well, Mrs. Lud."

She left before I could ask more.

---

My room was obscene.

A bed big enough for four people dominated the space, covered in silk that probably cost more than my education. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city—a million lights pretending to be stars. Walk-in closet. Marble bathroom. Everything white and gold and cold.

Someone had laid out a nightgown on the bed. Soft cotton. I changed, stood under the shower until the water ran cold and my skin turned pink.

When I finally collapsed onto the mattress, it swallowed me whole.

I spread my arms wide. Couldn't touch both edges.

This bed was made for two.

But I was alone. Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.

My whole body went rigid.

it stopped outside my door.

*No.*

The contract flashed through my mind. *No consummation—at husband's discretion.* His discretion. His choice.

The doorknob turned.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I squeezed my eyes shut, pulse thundering in my ears.

What would I do if he walked in? If he sat on the edge of this enormous bed and said, *We're married now*? If his hand found my shoulder, turned me over?

Would I fight?

Could I?

The door opened.

I held my breath. Counted my heartbeats. One. Two. Three.

Silence stretched like a rubber band about to snap.

Then the door closed. Softly.

His footsteps moved away. Down the hall. Another door opened and shut.

I exhaled, shaking under the silk sheets.

He'd come to my door. Opened it. Then left.

Why?

The question burrowed into my chest and stayed there, burning.

I stared at the ceiling, at the shadows moving across expensive paint, and wondered what kind of man buys a wife then doesn't touch her.

What kind of man looks at you like you matter, then walks away?

What kind of game was Robert Lud playing?

And how long before I lost?

Sleep came slowly, pulling me under in pieces.

But even in dreams, I heard that doorknob turning.

Again.

And again.

And again.