First Night, No Love

Moonlight spilled through the vast windows of the Cross estate, silvering the edges of polished marble floors and gilded frames. Elena stood at the threshold of what Damian called her room, her heart pounding against her ribs as though trying to escape.

The space was larger than her family’s entire apartment—a king-sized bed draped in silk, chandeliers glittering like constellations, velvet curtains heavy enough to drown out the storm outside. It was breathtaking, but it didn’t feel like hers. Every corner whispered of ownership, of control, of a world she hadn’t chosen.

Behind her, Damian’s footsteps were measured and unhurried. He stopped close enough that she felt his presence before she heard his voice. “You’ll find everything you need here. Clothes, jewelry, staff at your disposal. If you require anything… ask. Discretion will be given.”

Elena turned, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “You mean obedience will be expected.”

His expression didn’t shift, though the faintest glint of amusement flashed in his eyes. “You learn quickly.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy, suffocating. Her throat went dry. This was it—the night when appearances became reality. Contract or not, she was his wife now. And what if he expected more?

Her pulse thundered at the thought. She braced herself for his touch, for some cold command. But Damian only stepped past her, inspecting the room as if it were a quarterly report. His indifference stung in a way she hadn’t prepared for.

“You’ll stay here,” he said, his tone casual, almost bored. “I’ll be in the master suite down the hall.”

Her lips parted in shock. “So we’re not—” She cut herself off, heat rushing to her cheeks.

Damian glanced at her, reading the words she couldn’t finish. “This isn’t a romance, Elena. There will be no wedding night. You’re here to fulfill an arrangement, not to indulge in illusions.”

Relief hit her first—sharp, unexpected. But it was quickly followed by a wave of humiliation. He didn’t want her. Not even physically. To him, she was an accessory, a prop in a larger performance.

“I see,” she murmured, folding her arms tighter, as though holding herself together.

Damian stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the rug. “Do you?” His voice lowered, deepening into something that made her stomach knot. “This arrangement spares your family. It gives you protection, wealth, a name. But it doesn’t give you me.”

His gaze held hers, unblinking, until she felt pinned beneath it. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving her alone in the cavernous silence.

Elena collapsed onto the edge of the bed, the sheets cool beneath her palms. She thought she’d be relieved he hadn’t demanded intimacy. Instead, she felt hollow. Rejected. Bound to a stranger who couldn’t even pretend to want her.

Her eyes burned, but she forced the tears back. She had promised herself she wouldn’t break. Not here. Not in his house.

Hours later, she lay staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Every creak of the mansion, every distant sound of footsteps kept her awake. Her mind raced with what-ifs and maybes. What if she’d refused the contract? What if there had been another way?

A soft knock startled her. She sat up quickly, pulling the blanket around her. “Who is it?”

The door creaked open, and Adrian Cole slipped inside. His suit jacket was gone, his tie loosened, making him look more human than she’d ever seen him. His sharp features were softened by something unreadable in his expression.

“Elena,” he said quietly. “I came to check if you were… comfortable.”

Her heart thudded. She didn’t trust him—not fully. Adrian was loyal to Damian, and Damian’s world was a nest of secrets. But something in his tone didn’t match the cold precision she expected.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

Adrian’s gaze flicked to the untouched wine on her nightstand, the way her fists clenched the blanket. “You don’t look fine.”

“Why are you here?” she asked bluntly.

He hesitated, as though weighing his words. “Because not everything is what it seems. Damian… isn’t what he seems.”

Elena’s breath caught. “What do you mean?”

Adrian stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Just… be careful. Watch him. Watch everyone. You’ve entered a world where nothing is straightforward. And where loyalty—” His jaw tightened. “—is never guaranteed.”

Before she could respond, he straightened, his mask snapping back into place. “Goodnight, Mrs. Cross.” He slipped out as quietly as he’d come, leaving her more unsettled than before.

She sat frozen, replaying his words over and over. Damian isn’t what he seems.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, too bright, too harsh. Elena dressed slowly, choosing one of the designer dresses that had appeared in her wardrobe overnight. Silk hugged her figure in ways she wasn’t used to, the kind of elegance that made her feel like an imposter.

When she stepped into the dining hall, the long mahogany table stretched endlessly, covered in silver platters. Damian sat at the head, reading a newspaper with surgical precision.

“You’re late,” he said without looking up.

Elena bristled. “It’s breakfast, not a board meeting.”

“Every detail matters,” he replied smoothly, folding the paper. “Punctuality is respect. And in this house, respect isn’t optional.”

She sank into a chair, glaring at him from across the expanse of polished wood. Servants appeared, pouring coffee, placing plates before her. The food looked exquisite, but her appetite had vanished.

Damian’s eyes flicked to her untouched plate. “You’ll need strength if you plan on surviving here.”

“Surviving?” she echoed bitterly. “I thought this was supposed to be a marriage.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Call it what you like.”

Her patience snapped. “Why me, Damian? Out of all the women who would have lined up for this life, why force me into it?”

His expression hardened, but for a brief moment, she saw it again—that flicker of something human. Regret, perhaps. Pain. Then it was gone.

“Because you don’t want me,” he said flatly. “And that makes you useful.”

Her breath caught. “Useful?”

Damian leaned forward, his gaze slicing into hers. “Love makes people reckless. Weak. I don’t need weakness in my life, Elena. I need stability. You were desperate, willing to make a deal. That makes you reliable. Predictable. Safe.”

Her chest tightened with fury and humiliation. She pushed back her chair, standing tall even as her legs trembled. “I may have signed your contract, Damian, but don’t you dare mistake me for safe.”

For a moment, silence reigned. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled—cold, sharp, dangerous.

“Prove it,” he murmured.

That night, Elena lay awake again, Damian’s words echoing in her skull. Prove it.

Her family’s safety depended on this contract. Her dignity depended on her strength. And yet, deep down, a seed of something else had taken root—something she didn’t want to name.

In the shadows outside her door, Adrian lingered once more, his phone pressed to his ear.

“Yes,” he whispered. “She’s already challenging him. Exactly as you predicted.”

A pause. Then a low, chilling reply crackled faintly from the other end:

“Good. Let the game begin.”