Chapter 10 - Sunday Sanctuary

Mara POV

….To anyone watching, we must look like newlyweds who can't wait to get inside.

"You're getting better at lying," he whispers, his lips nearly brushing my ear. "I'm almost impressed."

Then he pulls back, opens his door, and extends his hand to help me out.

I take it because I have to. Because this is the performance that never ends.

*****

The moment the car dropped me at my parents' apartment in Riverside District, I could finally breathe.

No marble floors. No designer clothes. No performance required.

Just the faded blue door of apartment 3C, my mother's cheerful wreath still hanging despite everything that's happened. I knock even though I have a key. This isn't my home anymore.

Mom opens the door, her face lighting up. "Mara! Come in, sweetheart."

She hugs me tight, and I inhale the familiar scent of her lavender lotion. For three seconds, I'm not Mrs. Lucien Cross. I'm just Mara Quinn, coming home.

The apartment is small—two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen barely big enough to turn around in. But it's warm. Lived in. Real.

Dad sits in his wheelchair by the window, staring out at the street below. He doesn't turn when I enter.

"Hi, Dad." I crossed to him, kissing his weathered cheek.

His jaw tightens. "Mara."

That's all I get. My name, heavy with everything he won't say.

"I'll make tea," Mom announces brightly, already bustling toward the kitchen. "Diana's in your old room. She's been waiting for you."

I find my sister sitting cross-legged on my childhood bed, surrounded by textbooks. She looks up when I enter, and her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

"Hey." She closes her anatomy book. "How's life in the castle?"

"It's a manor, not a castle." I sank onto the bed beside her, suddenly exhausted. "And it's fine."

"Liar." Diana studies my face. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I've been busy. Lots of events. You know how it is."

"No, I don't know how it is." Her voice sharpens. "I don't know what it's like to marry a stranger for money. Why don't you tell me?"

Mom appears in the doorway with tea, her smile strained. "Girls, let's have a nice visit. No fighting."

"We're not fighting, Mom." Diana takes a mug, never breaking eye contact with me. "We're just being honest. Something Mara seems to have forgotten how to do."

Mom retreats quickly, and I'm left alone with my sister's accusations.

"What do you want me to say, Di?" I wrap my hands around the warm mug. "That it's hard? That I hate it? You already know that."

"I want you to tell me the truth." She sets down her tea. "All of it."

So I do.

I tell her about the separate bedrooms and the cold silences. About Patricia's schedules and Mrs. Chen's gentle warnings about Lucien's preferences. About the weekly date nights that feel like theater performances. About negotiating for basic human rights through a lawyer because my husband can't be bothered to speak to me directly.

I tell her about the coffee cup I threw at the wall. About the note left on my pillow giving orders. About standing in a restaurant while Lucien's hand branded my thigh and whispered threats disguised as compliments.

Diana listens without interrupting, her face growing paler with each detail.

"Jesus, Mara." Her voice cracks. "That's not a marriage. That's…"

"A contract." I finish my tea, the warmth doing nothing to chase away the cold inside me. "Which is exactly what I signed up for."

"No." Diana shakes her head fiercely. "You signed up to help us. Not to be treated like property."

"There's not much difference when you think about it." I set down the mug. "He owns my time, my presence, my performance. The only thing he doesn't own is my thoughts, and some days I'm not even sure about that."

"Does he..." Diana hesitates, her eyes searching mine. "Does he hurt you?"

"Not physically." The answer comes quickly. "He's never raised a hand to me. Never forced—" I stop, unable to finish the sentence. "He's just cold. Controlling. Like I'm a business asset that needs managing."

Diana's hands ball into fists. "I hate him."

"Join the club." I try to smile, but it wobbles. "We meet every Tuesday."

"This isn't funny, Mara." Tears stream down Diana's face now. "You're dying in there. I can see it."

"I'm surviving." I reach for her hand. "Which is more than we were doing before."

"At what cost?" She squeezes my fingers desperately. "Look at you. You're wearing designer clothes and diamond rings, but you look hollow. Empty. Like you're disappearing."

The truth of her words hits like a punch to the chest.

"I'm fine," I lie. "Really. It's just an adjustment period."

"Mara…"

"How's your therapy going?" I change the subject abruptly. "Mom said you have a new cardiologist?"

Diana lets me redirect, though her expression says we're not done with this conversation. She talks about her heart condition, the new medication protocol, the upcoming tests that will determine if she needs surgery.

All funded by Lucien's money. All purchased with my freedom.

When Diana heads to the bathroom, I return to the living room. Dad is still staring out the window. Mom is pretending to read a magazine, but I see her hands shaking.

"Dad?" I kneel beside his wheelchair. "Talk to me. Please."

He finally looks at me, and the pain in his eyes nearly destroys me.

"I should be the one taking care of you." His voice is rough, broken. "Not some billionaire who bought you like livestock."

"You didn't have a choice…"

"Neither did you." He grips the armrest of his wheelchair so hard his knuckles turn white. "And that's on me. My accident. My debts. My failure as a father."

"Don't." Tears burn my eyes. "Don't do that. You didn't fail anyone."

"I failed you." He reaches out with a trembling hand, touching my cheek. "My brave girl. You shouldn't have to sacrifice yourself for my mistakes."

"It's not a sacrifice if it saves the people I love." I cover his hand with mine. "And it's only two years. I can survive two years."

"At what cost to your soul?" His question echoes Diana's. "What will be left of you when this is over?"

I don't have an answer for that.

Mom serves lunch—nothing fancy, just sandwiches and soup, but it tastes better than any five-star meal at The Lotus Garden. We eat around the small kitchen table, and for an hour, I pretend I'm still Mara Quinn. Still their daughter. Still whole.

Then Diana corners me in my old bedroom again as I'm preparing to leave.

"I need to tell you something." She closes the door, leaning against it. "And I need you to really hear me."

"Di…"

"Get out, Mara." The words rush out desperately. "Leave him. Break the contract. We'll find another way."

"There is no other way." I zip up my coat—designer, of course, because even my family visits require appropriate attire. "You need surgery. Dad needs treatment. Mom needs…"

"I don't need anything more than I need you to be okay." Diana crosses to me, grabbing my shoulders. Her fingers dig in with surprising strength. "Please, before it destroys you."

"Two years," I repeat, like a mantra. "Just two years."

"You won't last two years." Her voice breaks completely. "You're already breaking, and it's only been a week."

"I'm stronger than you think."

"I know exactly how strong you are." Diana's tears fall freely now. "That's how I know this will kill you. Not physically. But everything that makes you you—your fire, your fight, your joy—he's going to extinguish all of it."

"Then I'll light new fires." I pull her into a hug, holding tight. "I promise you, I'll survive this."

"Surviving isn't living." She clings to me. "And you deserve to live, Mara. Not just exist in some gilded cage playing dress-up for a man who treats you like furniture."

The driver texts that he's waiting downstairs. Time's up.

I pull away from Diana, wiping her tears with my thumbs. "I have to go."

"Promise me something." She grabs my hand, her grip desperate. "Promise me that if it gets too bad—if he crosses a line you can't come back from—you'll leave. Even if it means we lose everything. Promise me."

I want to promise. I want to tell her that I'll choose myself over their survival if it comes to that.

But we both know I'm lying if I do.

"I love you, Di." I kiss her forehead. "Take care of Mom and Dad."

She doesn't ask me to promise again. She knows the answer.

The drive back to Cross Manor feels like returning to prison after a brief parole. The city lights blur past, and with each mile, I feel myself putting the mask back on.

Mara Quinn stays in Riverside District. Mrs. Lucien Cross returns to the glass fortress.

When the car pulls through the security gates, I see lights on in Lucien's home office. Still working. Always working.

I wonder if he even noticed I was gone.

Mrs. Dahlia greets me at the door, taking my coat. "Did you have a nice visit with your family, Mrs. Cross?"

"Yes, thank you." The lie comes easily now. "Very nice."

I climbed the staircase to the master suite, Diana's words echoing in my head.

You're already breaking.

In my bathroom, I stare at my reflection. Designer clothes. Perfect makeup. Diamond rings.

A hollow shell wearing an expensive costume.

Diana's right. I am breaking.

But I can't stop. Won't stop. Because the alternative is watching my father suffer, my sister give up her future, my mother drowning in anxiety.