10

The next morning arrived quietly, slipping into the room through the soft glow of sunlight that filtered past the heavy curtains. It painted everything in a warm, golden hue calm, almost deceiving in its serenity.

Elara stirred slowly on the bed.

For a moment, she lay still on the bed, staring at the ceiling as if trying to remember where she was, how she got here, and why her chest felt so tight despite the peaceful morning. Then it all came rushing back—the marriage, the unfamiliar mansion, the man who now held a title in her life she wasn’t ready to fully accept.

Her husband. Alexander Harrington.

She exhaled slowly, pushing herself upright.

“No,” she muttered under her breath, brushing her hair back. “I really wish I didn't marry that man.”

Because it's not love. It was an arrangement, a temporary one that's destined to end. One year. That was all. One year, and everything would dissolve like it never existed.

That thought steadied her.

With a quiet resolve, Elara slipped out of bed and began to tidy up her room herself. She didn’t call for a maid, didn’t ring for assistance.

She needed to remind herself that she was still in control of her own life, that she hadn’t suddenly become someone who depended on luxury and convenience just because she married a wealthy man all of a sudden.

Elara is a simple person, she doesn't like luxury.

She folded the sheets neatly, arranged the pillows, wiped down the dressing table where faint traces of last night’s chaos still lingered. Every small action grounded her, each movement deliberate, and almost therapeutic.

When she was done, she stepped into her closet.

Her eyes scanned the rows of expensive clothing, designer pieces, elegant gowns, things she would have once admired from afar. Now they were hers. Easily accessible. Effortlessly hers.

But somehow they didn’t feel like hers.

Her fingers brushed through the fabrics before finally settling on a dress, a tight, knee-length yellow gown with long sleeves. It was simple, yet elegant.

Elara sighed, dropped the clothes on a table and walked out.

She entered the bathroom, took her bath quickly. Then went back to her closet, changed into it slowly, smoothing the fabric over her body, adjusting it until it fit just right. Then she moved to the mirror.

Her reflection stared back at her.

Her hair was parted neatly into two, cascading softly on both sides of her face. The yellow dress hugged her figure in a way that made her look both confident and delicate. There was a glow about her, something natural, something unforced.

She smiled.

A small one at first. Then it grew.

“Not bad,” she whispered to herself.

"Married to a rich, powerful man." The thought lingered.

But she wasn’t going to let that define her.

“I’m not depending on him,” she added quietly, her voice firmer now.

Because in one year, this would all be over.

One year, and she would walk away with her dignity intact and her independence untouched.

She reached for her perfume, spraying a light mist over her neck and wrists. The scent wrapped around her like a soft embrace.

She placed the bottle back on the dressing table, took one last look at herself, and turned to leave the closet.

The moment she stepped out she froze to see Alex sitting casually on the sofa like he had always belonged in that space, like he had been there for hours simply waiting.

He was dressed already, sharp, composed, devastatingly handsome in a black and white suit that fit him perfectly. His posture was relaxed, one arm resting against the back of the sofa.

Her lips parted slightly.

Her eyes lingered on his face longer than she intended.

He looked unfairly good.

And for a brief, traitorous second, a thought crossed her mind.

I hope I look good too.

Alex lifted his gaze toward her. His eyes moved over her—slowly, deliberately, as if taking in every detail. From her hair, to her face, to the way the dress hugged her figure.

He was staring at her like he had never seen a beautiful woman before.

Elara’s breath hitched.

The intensity of his gaze made her suddenly aware of herself in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

She cleared her throat quickly, breaking the moment.

Then she walked toward the sofa, trying to maintain composure, though her heartbeat had already picked up.

Her heels were placed neatly beside it.

Before she could reach for them Alex moved in one swift motion, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down beside him.

She bounced slightly against the soft cushion, startled.

“What… are… you… doing?” she asked, her voice laced with nervousness as her lashes fluttered.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he bent down, reaching for her stiletto heels.

Elara blinked, confusion flashing across her face.

She watched him as he gently lifted her leg, his touch firm yet controlled, and slid the heel onto her foot with ease.

Her breath caught.

The gesture was so unexpected, so intimate in a way she didn’t know how to process it.

He moved to the other foot, repeating the action with the same quiet precision.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she said, rolling her eyes quickly to hide the slight warmth creeping into her cheeks.

“I didn’t want to waste my time,” he replied smoothly, his tone almost indifferent. “You are too slow for my liking.”

Her brows furrowed instantly.

“Excuse me?” she snapped, pulling her foot back. “You’re insane! Have you lived with me before?”

A smirk tugged at his lips.

“You are sensitive,” he said, leaning back slightly. “And sensitive people often move like tortoises.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I am not, shut the fuck up!”

She stood up abruptly, irritation flaring in her chest.

But before she could take a step away he grabbed her again.

She gasped as she lost balance and fell straight onto his lap.

Her breath hitched sharply.

Their faces were inches apart.

Her heart began to pound violently against her chest.

“And maybe,” he murmured, his voice dropping slightly, “they’re always beautiful...because you’re beautiful.”

Her throat went dry.

Her cheeks flushed instantly.

She swallowed, unable to look away.

His hand moved slowly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, her breath uneven.

Why was she reacting like this?

Why was her body betraying her like this?

When she opened her eyes again, his gaze was still locked on hers.

Deep. Intense. Unreadable.

His hand shifted to her cheek, his fingers resting there as if he had every right to. Well he does, he's married to her after all.

“Last night,” he began, his tone calm but weighted, “my grandmother called.”

Elara snapped back to reality.

“Let me go,” she whispered quickly, placing her hands on his chest and pushing lightly.

This time, he didn’t resist.

She slid off his lap and moved to sit beside him instead, creating a small but necessary distance.

Alex didn’t comment.

He simply reached for the remote on the table and pressed a button.

A soft mechanical sound echoed as the door clicked shut automatically.

Elara turned to him, confused.

“Why did you do that?”

“To shut the door,” he replied calmly. “I don’t want any disturbance.”

She exhaled slowly, looking away.

Her gaze drifted upward to the chandelier, its crystals catching the light and scattering it beautifully across the room.

Anything to avoid looking at him.

Anything to steady herself.

But eventually she looked back.

And when she did, he was already watching her.

“Elara Wilson,” he said, his voice steady, “who are you?”

She blinked.

The question caught her off guard.

For a moment, she didn’t know how to answer.

But then... “I’m your wife,” she said simply.

Alex smiled.

“What’s funny?” she scoffed, crossing her legs defensively.

“You are,” he replied.

Her irritation returned instantly.

She rolled her eyes.

“Anyway,” he continued, his tone shifting slightly, becoming more serious, “I came to talk about us.”

Her posture stiffened.

“My family believes we got married for love,” he added. “But the truth is the opposite.”

Elara’s expression hardened slightly.

“So,” she said, tilting her head, “I have to pretend like I’m in love with you?”

“You won’t be doing it for free.”

Her brows lifted. “How much will you...”

“I will give you a hundred million dollars,” he interrupted smoothly.

Her breath caught.

“A hundred million…?” she repeated internally, her heart skipping.

“...and,” he continued, unfazed, “I’ll give you anything you want. Material, status, comfort. You won’t lack anything.”

She stared at him.

Trying, desperately, to keep her face neutral.

But inside?

Her thoughts were racing.

A hundred million dollars.

Just for pretending?

Just for playing a role she was already halfway forced into?

It sounded unreal.Too easy. Too good.

“Sign this.”

His voice cut through her thoughts.

He picked up a document from the table and handed it to her.

Elara took it slowly, her fingers brushing against his for a brief second.

Her eyes scanned the pages.

Terms. Conditions. Expectations.

Everything laid out clearly.

A contract.

She looked up at him again.

“What if I don’t sign it?” she asked, her tone cautious, probing.

Alex leaned back, his gaze darkening in a way that made something cold settle in her stomach.

“I guess,” he said slowly, his voice dropping dangerously, “I’ll have to force you to love me.”