Chapter three: The First Night Alone

Chapter Three: The First Night Alone

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‎The mansion was silent, almost unnervingly so. Shadows from the chandeliers stretched across the marble floors, turning every corner into a potential hiding place for secrets. I hugged my thin robe closer, the fabric doing little to keep out the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

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‎I hadn’t expected him to appear at the wedding, and now, standing alone in my new home, I realized I hadn’t expected the loneliness either. The echoes of my own footsteps made my heart pound, as if reminding me of the emptiness Ethan had left behind.

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‎The guest room I had been assigned was lavish, overwhelming. Silk sheets, thick carpets, and gold-trimmed furniture—luxury I couldn’t enjoy. Luxury that reminded me I was trapped, bound by a contract, a marriage without love. I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers grazing the cold fabric, and let out a shaky breath.

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‎I tried to tell myself I had done the right thing for my family. My father’s health, my brother’s future, my mother’s peace—it all depended on this. But it didn’t make the silence any easier. It didn’t stop the ache in my chest or the whispers of doubt that crept into my mind: What if he never comes? What if this is only the beginning of a life I can’t escape?

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‎A soft knock at the door startled me. My heart leapt. Perhaps it was a mistake, or someone bringing me food. I forced my hands to stop trembling before opening it.

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‎The butler stood there, polite and impassive as ever. “Mrs. Blackwood, dinner is ready,” he said. His voice was gentle, almost comforting, but it reminded me that every step I took in this house was observed, cataloged, measured.

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‎“Thank you,” I whispered, stepping aside to let him pass. Once he was gone, I closed the door and leaned against it, sliding down until I sat on the floor. My knees hugged my chest as I tried to breathe normally. One year. That was all the time I had to survive under Ethan’s rules. To pretend, to obey, to live without letting him know the fear, the anger, or the helplessness that coursed through me.

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‎Dinner was served in silence. I ate mechanically, the food tasteless against the knot of worry and longing that had taken root in my stomach. Every shadow in the room seemed to hide him. Every sound made me startle, imagining that he had appeared silently, as he always did.

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‎By the time I finished, night had fully descended, cloaking the mansion in darkness. I carried my plate back to the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the polished floor, and then made my way to the living room, hoping the space would feel less oppressive. I sank into the velvet couch, drawing my knees to my chest.

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‎Minutes stretched into hours. I kept expecting him—Ethan Blackwood, the man who had orchestrated my life without consent—to appear at any moment. But the house remained still. The quiet was deafening. It was a reminder that he controlled not just me, but the world around me, appearing only when he chose. And that thought filled me with both fear and helpless curiosity.

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‎A sudden movement at the window made me startle. My breath caught in my throat. I froze, listening. But it was only the curtains swaying in the night breeze. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me, studying my every move. I wrapped myself tighter in the robe and whispered into the dark: “I won’t fall apart. Not completely. Not yet.”

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‎Hours passed slowly. Sleep refused to come, replaced instead by memories of the wedding, the contract, and Ethan’s absence. Every detail of his calm, unreadable expression haunted me. He didn’t need to speak to exert control; his presence—or lack of it—was enough.

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‎Eventually, exhaustion won. I collapsed onto the bed, curling into myself as if the sheets could shield me from the storm that was coming. My mind kept replaying his face, the way he had said, “Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Blackwood.” Those words had promised nothing but dominance and challenge. No comfort, no love. And yet, somewhere deep down, a flicker of something I refused to name stirred quietly—a curiosity about the man who held so much power over my life.

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‎I closed my eyes, but sleep was shallow. The dark seemed alive, almost whispering secrets I wasn’t ready to hear. I wondered where Ethan was, what he was doing, whether he was planning the next move in a game I hadn’t even fully understood yet. The thought both frightened me and, strangely, intrigued me. It was a dangerous feeling, one I wasn’t ready to confront.

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‎Morning would come eventually. And when it did, I would step further into this contract, this forced marriage. I didn’t know how I would survive him—Ethan Blackwood—but I knew one thing: for now, I would endure. I would pretend. I would obey. And I would watch, wait, and learn, because the first night alone had taught me something crucial: survival required caution, patience, and restraint. Boldness could kill me. But silence and observation? They might just keep me alive long enough to discover the man behind the contract.

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‎And perhaps… even understand him.

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