Chapter 3

The front door of the luxurious penthouse in one of Manhattan’s most exclusive neighborhoods closed with a soft yet chilling thud.

Aria stood stiffly in the middle of the living room, surrounded by black, gray, and glass. The simple white wedding dress, free of excessive ornamentation, still clung to her body. The rushed wedding held that morning in the hospital chapel, attended only by legal witnesses, Mr. Sterling, and Mrs. Sterling, who was still lying on an ICU gurney, felt like a nightmare that had happened far too quickly.

There had been no reception, no joyful music, and certainly no congratulations from the groom.

Lucas walked in first. He roughly removed his black suit jacket and tossed it onto the leather sofa before loosening his tie, his expression filled with obvious disgust.

“There are two master bedrooms upstairs,” Lucas said without looking at Aria. His voice was flat and distant. “The room on the left is mine. You can use the one on the right. Never enter my room without permission, and don’t expect us to share a bed.”

Aria clenched the hem of her wedding dress. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady and avoid showing any weakness.

“You don’t need to remind me, Lucas,” Aria replied coldly. “I remember our contract perfectly well. We both have our boundaries.”

Lucas let out a cynical snort. He turned and looked Aria up and down with a contemptuous gaze.

“Good. At least you know your place. Because to me, tonight is no different from...”

*Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.*

Lucas’s phone, lying on the glass table, suddenly vibrated violently. The name displayed on the screen immediately transformed his previously cold expression into one of deep concern.

Chloe.

Lucas snatched up the phone and declined the call, then reached into his pants pocket for his car keys. His movements were hurried, completely disregarding the fact that this was the first night of his official marriage.

“Where are you going?” Aria asked instinctively, although she already knew the answer from the panic written across his face.

Lucas paused at the door and glanced at Aria from the corner of his eye, his sharp gaze piercing into her.

“None of your business,” Lucas replied coldly. “Chloe needs me tonight. She can’t get through this alone after what our family has done to her.”

Aria held her breath. A tightness crept into her chest, not from jealousy, but from sheer humiliation. The man who had exchanged sacred vows in front of his critically ill mother just hours ago was now leaving her without hesitation for another woman on their first night of marriage.

“Lucas, your mother is still in the hospital,” Aria said, her voice restrained as she tried to appeal to his common sense. “What if the press finds out you’re going to see Chloe tonight? This whole charade could be exposed, and your mother’s condition could...”

“Enough, Aria!” Lucas snapped, turning around and pointing a finger directly at her face. “Never use my mother’s condition to control my life! You’ve already gotten what you wanted. Your debt and your exhibition will be paid for. So play your part as my trophy wife and stay out of my affairs!”

Without waiting for her response, Lucas turned, opened the penthouse door, and hurried out. The sound of his leather shoes echoed loudly through the corridor before disappearing along with the heavy thud of the door closing behind him.

An oppressive silence once again settled over the luxurious penthouse that now felt like a gilded cage.

Aria stood alone in the middle of the cold room. She squeezed her eyes shut, allowing a single tear to slip down her cheek, not because Lucas’s behavior had hurt her, but because of the bitter realization that the road ahead of her for the next two years would be far more difficult than she had imagined.

Aria slowly walked toward the large mirror in the corner of the room. She stared at her reflection, still dressed in her wedding gown, then removed the small tiara from her head and tossed it onto the table.

“Two years, Aria,” she whispered to her reflection, her gaze sharp and resolute. “You only have to survive for two years.”

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To be continued