chapter6

Welcome Home, Mrs. Blackwood

The gates of Blackwood Mansion opened as our car approached.

I stared through the window, unable to hide my surprise.

The property was enormous.

Tall iron gates surrounded the estate, while carefully trimmed trees lined the long driveway. Soft lights illuminated the stone pathway leading toward the mansion.

It didn't look like a home.

It looked like a fortress.

Lucian sat beside me, calm and silent.

I glanced at him.

"Do you live here alone?"

"Most of the time."

"Most of the time?"

"The staff comes and goes. I don't enjoy crowds."

I looked back at the mansion.

"Then why bring me here?"

His eyes moved toward me.

"Because you're my wife now."

The answer was simple.

But something about hearing it made my chest tighten.

The car stopped in front of the entrance.

A group of employees stood waiting near the door.

The moment I stepped out, they lowered their heads respectfully.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Blackwood."

I froze.

Home.

The word felt unfamiliar.

I had spent three years in Julian's house, but I had never truly felt as if I belonged there.

Now, after only a few hours of marriage, strangers were calling this place my home.

Lucian stepped beside me.

His hand rested lightly against my back.

"Come inside."

I followed him through the entrance.

The interior was elegant but strangely quiet. Dark wood, high ceilings, large windows, and expensive furniture filled the space. Everything looked carefully arranged, as if no one was allowed to disturb it.

A woman in her fifties approached us.

"Mr. Blackwood, the guest room has been prepared."

Lucian's expression turned cold.

"Not the guest room."

The woman immediately looked at me.

"Of course, sir. The master bedroom."

I stopped walking.

"The master bedroom?"

Lucian turned toward me.

"Is there a problem?"

"We signed a contract. We didn't discuss sharing a bedroom."

"We don't have to share it."

I frowned.

"Then why did you tell her to prepare it?"

"Because it's your room."

He continued walking as if the matter had already been settled.

I followed him upstairs.

The master bedroom was larger than my entire apartment before I married Julian.

A wall of windows overlooked the gardens. A large bed stood in the center, covered with white sheets. Two separate dressing areas occupied opposite sides of the room.

I turned toward him.

"You're sleeping here?"

"If you want me to."

I blinked.

He pointed toward a door on the other side of the room.

"There's another bedroom connected to this one. I'll use it."

I looked at him in surprise.

"You planned that already?"

"I anticipated your concerns."

"Do you always plan everything?"

"Almost everything."

I walked toward the window.

The gardens below were dark and peaceful.

For the first time in days, no one was shouting at me.

No one was blaming me.

No one was telling me that I wasn't enough.

I should have felt relieved.

Instead, I felt strangely lost.

Lucian stood behind me.

"You can change anything you don't like."

I turned.

"Anything?"

"Within reason."

"What if I want to leave?"

His expression didn't change.

"Then you can leave."

I studied his face.

"Even though we're married?"

"Marriage doesn't give me ownership of you."

The words caught me off guard.

Julian had always acted as if being his wife meant I owed him everything.

Lucian spoke as if my freedom was obvious.

I looked away.

"You're different from what I expected."

"That's because you don't know me."

The answer was quiet.

Almost too quiet.

I turned back toward him.

"Have we met before?"

For a moment, his entire body became still.

It was subtle.

A slight pause.

A change in his eyes.

Then he said,

"No."

The answer came too quickly.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Something about his voice told me he was hiding something.

Before I could question him further, my gaze fell on a small wooden box placed on the bookshelf.

It looked old.

Unlike everything else in the room.

I walked toward it.

"What's this?"

Lucian's voice changed immediately.

"Don't touch that."

I stopped.

His tone wasn't loud.

But it was firm enough to make me turn around.

He crossed the room and took the box from the shelf.

For the first time since I had met him, I saw something close to fear in his eyes.

Not fear of me.

Fear of what I might discover.

"What is inside?" I asked.

"Something private."

"You said I could change anything."

"Not that."

I folded my arms.

"You're full of secrets, Lucian."

He looked at the box in his hand.

"Everyone has secrets."

"Not everyone marries a stranger and refuses to explain why he knows their ring size."

His gaze lifted to mine.

"You should get some rest."

"That's not an answer."

"No."

He walked toward the connecting door.

"But it's the only answer you're getting tonight."

He disappeared into the other room.

I remained standing in the middle of the bedroom, watching the closed door.

Then I looked at the bookshelf.

The box was gone.

But one small photograph had slipped from behind it and fallen onto the floor.

I bent down and picked it up.

My breath caught.

The picture was old.

The colors had faded, and the edges were damaged.

It showed a little girl standing beside a black car.

Her face was partially turned away from the camera.

But I knew that dress.

I knew those shoes.

I had seen them in the only photograph my mother had kept from my childhood.

I turned the picture over.

There was a handwritten date on the back.

And beneath it, four words:

The night she disappeared.

My fingers began to tremble.

The connecting door opened behind me.

Lucian stood there.

His eyes fell on the photograph in my hand.

The color drained from his face.

"Evelyn..."

I turned toward him.

"Why do you have a picture of me as a child?"

He said nothing.

I took one step closer.

"Lucian, how do you know me?"