Chapter 2 – A Life Bought in Silence

Liara’s hand trembled as she tucked the freshly signed contract into her purse. Asher’s storm-gray eyes met hers in the hospital corridor’s harsh light. “Let’s go”.Asher Kane said coolly, already walking away from the hospital doors like he hadn’t just shattered her life with a single contract.

Liara didn’t move. “Wait,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I need time. To pack. To organize my thoughts, at least—”

He turned, his jaw ticking, the storm in his eyes returning. “You don’t need anything from that shabby apartment. There’s nothing there worth bringing into your new life.”

She blinked, stunned. “Even my clothes?”

Asher arched a brow. “Especially your clothes. That… wardrobe doesn’t suit the role of my wife.”

Liara’s face burned with shame, but before she could form a retort, he’d already stepped into the waiting car. She swallowed hard and followed, feeling the weight of a world she hadn’t agreed to carry.

When they arrived at the penthouse—the infamous Kane Estate—her breath caught.

It was a fortress of glass and steel, towering above the city like it owned the skyline. And now, she would live here? As his wife?

The moment they entered, rows of staff bowed slightly. “Welcome home, sir.”

They eyed her with curiosity—some with confusion—but none dared to speak.

“This is Liara,” Asher said with a tone of finality. “My wife.”

Gasps echoed. A pin could have dropped.

No one expected their cold, untouchable CEO to ever say those words. And certainly not about her.

Asher’s voice cut through the tension. “Prepare dinner.”

She turned to him when the staff dispersed. “You didn’t have to announce it like that.”

“I did,” he said. “Or you’d be dealing with rumors before your first bite.”

Dinner passed in silence. Rich food she couldn’t pronounce filled her plate, but Liara barely touched a thing. It felt surreal, eating across from the man who once broke her and now offered salvation on a gilded leash.

Later, he led her upstairs. The master bedroom.

She froze in the doorway. “Where will I sleep?”

He turned to her slowly, eyes glittering. “This is your room. Unless you prefer the sofa.”

“I’ll take the bed,” she said quickly. “I promise I won’t cross to your side.”

Something flickered in his gaze, but he said nothing. He simply slipped off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, and turned off the light.

As she lay stiffly against the edge, her mind spun with memories and dread. Her old life felt like a bad dream now. And this one… a worse one she couldn’t wake from.

One year, she reminded herself. Just survive one year.

When she woke the next morning, the bed beside her was cold and empty.

“Asher?” she called softly. No answer.

She sat up quickly, disoriented. Had he left? Did he change his mind?

She wrapped the sheets tighter around her and stepped onto the cold floor. Before she could take another step, there was a gentle knock at the door.

“Madam,” a soft voice called. “Breakfast is served.”

Madam. That word again.

She swallowed hard. “Okay. I’ll be down soon”

Still in disbelief, she washed up and dressed in the soft robe left for her, then stepped into the vast dining room.

The dining hall could seat thirty, but only two plates were arranged at the long mahogany table.

The breakfast table looked like something out of a royal banquet—croissants, eggs, exotic fruits, dishes she couldn’t name.

Asher sat at the head of the table, cool and unreadable.

“You’re late,” he said, not looking up.

“You left early,” she replied, sliding into the chair beside him.

“Sit,” he said, motioning beside him.

Liara did, tense under the curious gazes of the staff.

Asher placed his cutlery down and said casually, “This is my wife. Treat her accordingly.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

"we have plans.”

“What kind of plans?”

He finally looked at her. “Since you’re my wife now, you need to look the part.”

He leaned toward her then, his voice low. “After breakfast, we’re going shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“You dress like someone who got lost on her way to a job interview.” His tone was sharp, precise. “Your wardrobe—everything about your appearance—needs a complete overhaul.”

“I don’t need your opinion on my looks.”

“

“You’ll need clothes that suit your new status. And a stylist. Several lessons. You’re a project now.”

She stiffened, insult tightening her chest. “You make it sound like I’m… broken.”

“You are,” he said without hesitation. “But don’t worry. I like broken things. They can be rebuilt.”

”he said, rising from the table. “We leave in fifteen.”

And somehow, those cruel words… felt like the beginning of something neither of them were ready for.