THE PRICE OF SILENCE

Elara’s POV

The drive to Marko Kuznetsov's house resembled a funeral procession. As I watched the familiar cities vanish into the unknown, lonely terrain, the weight on my chest got heavier and oppressive every mile that went. The vast estate that awaited us was far from the luxury of my family's mansion; it was solitary, surrounded by overgrown woods and darkened by the approaching gloom of the planet I was now being compelled onto.

My daughter Mila was especially quiet in the backseat; her small face was plastered against the window and fixed on the foreign scene. Though there was no way I could protect her from all of this. I wished I could. There was no turning back, no matter how much I detested the life my family had denounced me to.

I shivered coldly down my spine as the automobile drew up before the enormous, gloomy estate. The mansion seemed like a fortification, its black and menacing windows above us and iron gates towering above us. It chilled me to my very core since I could already feel Marko there even without seeing him.

"Remember, Elara," Viktoria's frigid voice sliced through stillness. You *will* play your part even if you might not have had a say in this. The family gains nothing from this marriage. Nothing more, nothing less is it. She looked at me, as if to say I couldn feel anything or object anything was forbidden. "Marko's health might be failing, but that has no bearing on anything. He is still the head of this household; you will offer him the dignity he is due.

I remained silent. In what manner might I say? When everyone else was dictating my life, when my own existence had been reduced to a pawn on a chessboard, what was left to say?

Viktoria carried on, her comments like a stinging blow to my face. Also remember Mila. As long as you follow guidelines, you will be good. But should you cause disturbance, I would not hesitate to ensure you regret it.

Her words tightened my heart, but I held my voice. There remained nothing to say.

As we stopped, the car door slammed closed, and Viktoria, my daughter, trailed behind me was shown inside. Tatyana, the housekeeper, received us at the door. Her face was gentle but tired. She grinned at Mila, her kind attitude a sharp contrast to the chilly, repressive aura of the house.

"Welcome, Elara," Tatyana whispered gently, her voice tinged with pity as she turned to face Mila. "You have to be worn out from the lengthy trip. Come, I will show your rooms.

"Thank you," I said, sounding hoarse. For Mila's benefit, I had to be calm. Not in front of strangers, not when I could still put on the mask of control, she deserved not to watch me come apart.

Tatyana guided us down a long, poorly lit hallway with heavy draperies covering all signs of sunlight. The home felt stifling, as though every step I took was watched and every breath counted. Though this was my life now, I felt out of place here like an intruder. My captivity.

Tatyana remarked, pointing us toward a large room at the far end of the hall. The furnishings were extravagant yet oddly frigid; the area was tastefully furnished. It felt like a golden cage, not a room where I could relax.

I sensed two eyes staring at me as soon as we entered. I glanced toward the entrance without thinking and there he was. Marko Kaznetsov.

He controlled the room with the same unflinching presence I had heard so much about while seated in the wheelchair. the same man whose ruthlessness, might, and relentless control helped him to create an empire. But now he was different in one other way. Marko's once-dominant persona had become a shell of his past self. The years of violence that had now caught up with him had sagged his once-strong posture and sunken his once-dark eyes. His face was pale from illness.

Marko fixed his eye on me, and my spine shivered. He did not grin or extend any kind of greeting to me. His presence was simply a chilly, calculated glare; nothing inviting.

"Elara," his voice was low, gravelly, yet it had the same keen edge I had recalled years ago. "You're right here."

I nodded, trying to ignore the anxiety rising within me. Uncertain knowing how else to reply, I said gently, "I'm here."

Sensing the hostility in the room, Tatyana nodded politely and went, leaving me alone with the guy I was meant to wed. The quiet between us choked and weighted with unsaid words and unresolved business.

Marko then spoke, his gaze darting momentarily to Mila before backtracking to me. With a clipped, official tone, he said, "I assume your mother has told you what's expected of you."

I nodded, not sure I could talk.

"You'll do well here," Marko said, his darker eyes fixed on me. But avoid mistaking my generosity for weakness. Elara, I refuse to put up with disobedience. nor from you, nor from anybody.

"I understand," I responded, my voice almost above a whisper. Especially not now, when I had no idea what was ahead, I needed not to aggravate him last-minute.

My heart thumping in my chest, I became acutely aware of how completely imprisoned I was standing there. Right now there was no escape. My future was this man—that which commanded respect and fear.

Tatyana came back clutching a stack of papers. She was holding the papers in front of me like a lifeline, but I hadn't seen her back into the room. She whispered gently, "Please, Elara: these are only the documents you need to sign. They'll finish everything. The marriage is official once you have signed.

For a minute I fixed my gaze on the documents, the weight of everything they stood for falling over me like a weighted blanket. These documents were not merely legal records. Their relationship was that of chains. My future was destined to them, to Marko, and to this world I had never chosen.

I drew a long breath, fingers shaking as I grabbed for the pen.

A voice barely audible but clearly Marko said, "You'll regret it." Nevertheless, it won't matter.

I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the paper, the pen millimeters from the sheet. My heart missed a beat as his words set in.

The door flew open once more before I could respond, Viktoria walking into the room with icy eyes taking over me. Her tone was disdainful, "Is everything in order?" she inquired.

I missed the response. I was unable to Not while the weight of this marriage was smothering me and the walls surrounding me were closing in.

As I picked up the pen and started to sign, the door knocked suddenly.

Marko's eyes darted toward the sound. He yelled, "Who is it?"

The door opened before anyone could respond to show a dark man in the gateway. Their faces half-hidden in the low light, a man I had never seen before.

He then started talking.

Here I am to chat with Elara.