CHAPTER 9 — ENEMY’S MANSION

Arielle had never ridden in a car like this before.

The leather smelled expensive, the kind that didn’t come from stores people like her ever saw. The seats molded around her body like they were built for someone important.

Someone who wasn’t her.

Outside the tinted window, New York rushed past in a blur of lights and steel. It was evening now, cold, sharp, the kind of cold that crawled under your skin if you didn’t move fast enough.

She clutched the small duffel bag on her lap, everything she owned compressed into worn fabric. Emma’s photo was tucked in the pocket. Her inhaler. Her late mother’s bracelet. Her only nice sweater.

The driver, a tall, silent man who looked like he came pre installed with the car, hadn’t spoken a single word since picking her up.

Just “Miss Lawson,” a polite nod, and then silence.

Arielle kept replaying Damian’s last words in her head

Move in tonight.

You become my wife.

Her stomach twisted like someone was squeezing it from the inside.

She wasn’t his wife.

She was… something else.

A necessity, A shield, A tool, whatever he thinks this is.

Whatever word Damian Blackwood would use, she doubted it was flattering.

The car turned into a private road lined with tall iron gates. The security cameras followed them like eyes. Armed guards stood at the entrance.

A swipe of the driver’s ID and the massive gate opened.

Arielle’s heart thudded.

This wasn’t a penthouse.

This was,

“Oh my God…” she whispered under her breath.

The Blackwood mansion came into view like something carved from a billionaire’s fever dream. A modern fortress of black glass and stone, several stories high, lit by cold white lights that made the house glow against the night sky. The driveway alone was larger than her entire apartment building.

A fountain in the shape of a black marble phoenix sat in the center, water cascading in ripples of silver.

This wasn’t a home.

It was power, crystallized in architecture.

The car stopped at the entrance. Two tall doors opened outward, and the staff, lined perfectly in two rows, stood waiting.

Arielle froze.

She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected…any of this.

The driver stepped out and opened her door. “Miss Lawson.”

Arielle stepped onto the stone steps, her legs unsteady.

A woman in a sleek charcoal uniform stepped forward. Her bun was tight, her expression tighter.

“Good evening, Miss Lawson,” she said, voice cool. “I’m Mrs. Hawthorne. House manager.”

The way she said “house manager” made it sound like she managed an empire, not a mansion.

Arielle forced a small smile. “Hi. Um, I mean, hello.”

Mrs. Hawthorne looked at her like she’d just sneezed in church.

The staff behind her, maids, security personnel, a chef, a butler, bowed their heads in stiff acknowledgment.

Not warmth.

Not respect.

Just obligation.

Arielle’s chest tightened.

They already disliked her.

They saw her as a threat.

Or worse, an intruder.

Mrs. Hawthorne gestured inside. “Please follow me. Mr. Blackwood is in his study.”

Arielle stepped over the threshold and instantly felt swallowed.

The interior was colder than the outside air. Marble floors in obsidian black. Wide hallways lit with sharp white lights. Glass panels. No photos, no softness, no warmth.

Just emptiness disguised as luxury.

“Mr. Blackwood has instructed that all staff extend full cooperation to you,” Mrs. Hawthorne said without looking back. “As his fiancée,”

Arielle almost stumbled. “Fiancée?”

She hadn’t realized the lie extended beyond paperwork.

Mrs. Hawthorne continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “You will be given security access and escorted protocols.”

“Escorted?” Arielle echoed.

“For your protection,” she replied without emotion.

Arielle’s throat tightened.

Protection or surveillance?

She wasn’t sure anymore.

Mrs. Hawthorne stopped at large double doors. “Mr. Blackwood will join you shortly in the dining room. Meanwhile, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

Quarters.

Another cold word.

Another reminder she didn’t belong here.

Arielle followed the woman through a series of hallways until they reached the staircase. The mansion was silent except for the faint echo of their footsteps.

“It’s so quiet,” Arielle whispered without meaning to.

Mrs. Hawthorne glanced at her. “Mr. Blackwood prefers silence.”

Of course he did.

They reached the second floor, and Mrs. Hawthorne led her to a long, dim hallway lined with sleek doors. Every one looked identical.

Sterile. Impersonal.

“Your room,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, opening a door near the end.

Arielle peeked inside.

It was…beautiful.

Huge bed. Floor length windows. A modern chandelier. Silk sheets.

But cold.

So cold.

Like a showroom for someone else’s life.

“Thank you,” Arielle whispered.

Mrs. Hawthorne nodded. “If you require anything, notify one of the staff stationed on this floor.”

Arielle hesitated. “Are…are they okay with me being here?”

Mrs. Hawthorne paused.

A long, uncomfortable pause.

Then she spoke carefully. “The staff is loyal to Mr. Blackwood, They trust work for him. Whoever he brings into his life, temporarily or otherwise, they adjust.”

Temporarily.

The word stabbed deeper than she expected.

Arielle lowered her eyes. “Right.”

Mrs. Hawthorne cleared her throat. “There is just one thing.”

Arielle looked up.

Mrs. Hawthorne’s expression had shifted, less cold, more…concerned? No, Not concern, Warning.

“Mr. Blackwood values order,” she said quietly. “Chaos displeases him, Emotional chaos especially.”

Arielle’s chest tightened. “I didn’t come here to cause chaos.”

Mrs. Hawthorne studied her a moment longer, then nodded stiffly. “Dinner will be served soon.”

She turned to leave.

Arielle let out a shaky breath.

This was real.

She was here.

She was really moving into Damian Blackwood’s home.

Her life, her old life, was gone.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, rubbing her temples.

Emma.

The surgery.

The deposit.

The contract.

No leaving without permission.

Public affection.

Shared space.

No emotions.

How was she supposed to do this?

A soft knock snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She stood and opened the door.

A maid stood there, young, maybe twenty-one. Nervous.

“Um…Miss Lawson? I was told to prepare your room but…”

She swallowed.

Arielle frowned. “But what?”

The maid shifted awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

“There was…a misunderstanding.”

Arielle’s heartbeat stuttered. “What kind of misunderstanding?”

The maid lifted her eyes, guilt swimming in them.

“Only one bedroom was prepared.”

Arielle blinked. “What?”

The maid wrung her hands. “There’s only one master suite prepared. Mr. Blackwood told the staff to ready ‘their’ room. We assumed he meant…a shared room.”

Arielle’s blood ran cold. “Shared…?”

The maid nodded slowly. “Yes, miss.”

Arielle stared at her, stunned.

Her pulse thudded painfully.

This couldn’t be happening.

Damian expected them to—

Share a room?

Share a bed?

“What, no. That, that has to be a mistake,” Arielle whispered, stepping back. “He said separate bedrooms. He said nothing about, ”

Her words died in her throat.

Footsteps.

Slow. Steady. Controlled.

And unmistakable.

Damian.

She turned as he appeared at the end of the hall, hands in his pockets, suit jacket open, expression unreadable.

He stopped in front of her.

His eyes drifted from her face…to the open door…to the maid.

Then back to Arielle.

His voice was smooth. Cold.

“Something wrong?”

Arielle swallowed hard. “They, they said there’s only one room prepared.”

Damian’s gaze didn’t flicker.

“Correct.”

Her breath caught.

“So…so you expect us to share a room?”

He stepped closer, shadows carving the angles of his face.

He leaned in slightly, just enough to make her pulse jump.

“There is a difference,” he murmured, “between sharing a room…”

His eyes lowered to her lips for half a second, barely there.

“...and sharing a bed.”

Arielle’s knees nearly buckled.

He straightened, eyes sharp and unreadable.

“And you,” he added quietly, “will learn the difference.”

Her chest tightened.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

His reply was simple.

Unapologetic.

“I didn’t think you needed the warning.”