CHAPTER 2

CELESTINE POV

The morning sun cut through the sheer curtains of the massive bedroom, hitting my eyes. I blinked against the harsh light, a dull ache throbbing behind my temples. For a second, I forgot where I was. Then my gaze landed on the heavy, silver-embossed pen resting on the nightstand next to a signed copy of the marriage contract.

Reality rushed back, heavy and suffocating.

I sat up, throwing off the silk sheets. I refused to spend my first day in this house hiding like a defeated prisoner. If Cyrus Valdemor expected me to cower in my room and weep over my ruined life, he was going to be severely disappointed. I was an Aragon. My father might have lost his dignity to greed, but I still had mine.

After a quick shower, I dressed in a simple, sharp white blouse and a tailored black skirt. I brushed out my hair, took a deep breath to steady my racing heart, and opened the bedroom door.

The mansion was completely silent, smelling faintly of citrus polish and expensive coffee. I followed the scent down the sweeping marble staircase and into a sunlit dining room.

Cyrus was already there.

He sat at the head of a long mahogany table, completely focused on his tablet. He had already changed into a crisp gray suit jacket, his dark hair perfectly styled. A cup of black coffee sat beside him, untouched. He looked so calm, so entirely in control of his universe, that a sudden spike of annoyance flared in my chest.

I walked in, my heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.

Cyrus didn’t look up immediately. He tapped his screen, scrolled down, and finally lifted his gaze as I pulled out a chair opposite him. His dark eyes flicked over my outfit, a faint, unreadable expression crossing his sharp features before his face returned to its usual mask of indifference.

"You're awake," he stated, his voice flat.

"Good morning to you too, husband," I replied, intentionally injecting a sweet edge of sarcasm into the title.

A maid appeared out of nowhere, quietly placing a plate of eggs, toast, and a glass of fresh orange juice in front of me before disappearing back into the kitchen.

"I didn't expect you to come down," Cyrus said, setting his tablet aside. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his knee. "Most women in your position would have stayed in bed."

"Then you clearly don't know me, Cyrus. I don't hide," I said, picking up my fork. I took a small bite of the eggs, forcing myself to look relaxed under his heavy stare. "And since we're going to be roommates for the next two years, we might as well get used to seeing each other."

"Roommates," he repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a cold, humorless smirk. "That's an optimistic term."

"It's a practical one. Just like your contract." I set my fork down, leaning forward slightly. "Speaking of which, I have a few questions about your rules."

Cyrus narrowed his eyes, his posture tensing. "The contract is non-negotiable, Celestine. You already signed it."

"I know I signed it. I'm not asking to change it," I interrupted smoothly, keeping my voice level. "I just want to clarify the boundaries. Your document says I need to maintain a flawless public image. Does that mean I'm allowed to leave this house on my own, or do I need to request a hall pass from my keeper every time I want to buy groceries?"

Cyrus stared at me, a low, dangerous silence stretching between us. I could tell he wasn't used to people talking back to him, let alone a woman whose future he held in his hands.

"You can leave whenever you want," he said slowly, his voice dropping an octave. "A driver will be assigned to you. But you do not go anywhere without security. My enemies don't care that our marriage is a sham. To the rest of the world, you are my wife. That makes you a target."

"A target," I muttered, shaking my head. "Charming."

"It's the reality of the name you just took," Cyrus said, his tone sharpening. "And another thing. While you live here, you will not contact your father. Not through phone calls, not through letters. Any communication with the Aragon family goes through my legal team."

My chest tightened at that. "He's my father, Cyrus. He's sick."

"He's a criminal who stole from my family's legacy," Cyrus shot back, his dark eyes flashing with a sudden, icy rage that caught me off guard. He stood up, slamming his palms flat against the table. The coffee cup rattled against its saucer. "You are here to pay his debt, Celestine. Don't push your luck."

The sudden outburst made my heart hammer against my ribs, but I refused to back down. The unfairness of it all, the sheer arrogance of this man acting like a judge and executioner, broke through my restraint.

I stood up too, leaning over the table, bringing my face just inches from his.

"I am paying his debt!" I threw back, my voice trembling with suppressed anger. "I gave up my life, my freedom, and my name for you! Don't act like you're the only one who lost something here. You got exactly what you wanted, so don't you dare dictate who I can love or care about."

Up close, I could see the golden flecks in his dark irises. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling beneath his tailored suit. The air between us grew thick, charged with an intense, suffocating friction. My gaze involuntarily dropped to his lips for a fraction of a second, before snapping back to his eyes. He noticed. His jaw clenched so hard a small muscle ticked in his cheek.

Neither of us moved. The anger was there, hot and raw, but beneath it, a strange, unbidden current of tension zipped through the space separating us. It was a terrifying, pull-and-push energy that made my skin tingle.

Cyrus leaned in slightly closer, his gaze dropping to my mouth before locking back onto my eyes with a fierce intensity.

"You think you're so brave, Celestine," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. "But you're playing a very dangerous game."

Before I could answer, the sharp chiming of a phone broke the heavy silence.

Cyrus broke eye contact first, pulling back instantly as if he had just been burned. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his face instantly smoothing back into a cold, professional mask. He glanced at the screen, then looked up at me, his eyes entirely detached once more.

"My assistant is outside," Cyrus said, his voice completely calm, as if the last two minutes hadn't happened. "We have a High-Society Gala tonight. Be ready by seven. A designer is bringing your dress this afternoon."

He turned on his heel and walked out of the dining room without waiting for a reply, leaving me standing alone at the table, my hands shaking and my heart racing out of control.