Chapter 2: The Cold Carriage

Elena’s POV 

“You’re shaking, Alyssa.”

Alexander’s voice is a low whisper that vibrates through the leather seats, cold as a scientist studying a bug.

“The fearless girl from the news, trembling like a thief.”

“Why?”

“Is my presence that offensive?”

Cold sweat prickles my skin. Alyssa. Every time he says that name, the clock ticks closer to my death. I have to speak. I have to become her. Chin high. Voice sharp. Or the lie shatters before we reach his house.

I force my shoulders back, mimicking her proud posture.

“No one enjoys being dragged into a car and told they’re a ghost in their own marriage, Mr. Sterling,” I reply, voice sharp and cold.

He laughs, low and dark. The sound chills me.

“Mr. Sterling? An hour ago, you promised before God to call me husband.”

“Don’t play the victim.”

“Your father signed the papers.”

“You wanted the check.”

The check. His words stab deep. He thinks I’m here for wealth. He doesn’t know it’s the only thing keeping my grandmother’s heart alive.

Alexander leans back, crossing one leg over the other. His mask glints in the dim light.

“Don’t look for romance here.”

“You want Sterling money.”

“My grandfather wants a legacy.”

“That’s all.”

“When the lawyers are in the room, you’ll act like a wife.”

“The rest of the time—you don’t exist.”

Silence drops hard, stone-heavy. Crushing the breath out of me. My pulse hammers. If he sees through me before the gates, I’m finished.

The limousine rolls through iron gates into a fog-draped courtyard. The mansion rises like a fortress, pillars cold and forbidding.

The car stops. A butler in a crisp suit opens the door, bowing as I step onto wet gravel. Alexander’s boots click steadily beside me as we enter the grand foyer, air heavy with marble dust and soot.

The space swallows me whole. Chandeliers drip with crystal, but the light feels icy, sterile. Portraits of stern men line the walls, their painted eyes following me with silent judgment. Every step echoes like a warning.

Alexander suddenly stops near the base of the staircase, barking orders to a servant waiting in the shadows.

“The East Wing stays locked.”

“No staff enters without my clearance.”

“Is my medical delivery secured?”

“Yes, Mr. Sterling,” the servant answers quickly. “It arrived just before you entered the gates.”

Alexander turns, mask lenses locking onto mine with cold intensity. His finger points toward the western hall.

“You stay in the West Wing.”

“You never touch my business sheets.”

“You never cross the black marble line.”

His tone drops lower, colder.

“The butler, Harris, will show you to your quarters, Alyssa.”

“Do not make me regret saving your father’s credit lines.”

He turns on his heel, coat sweeping behind him, leaving me alone with the staff.

“Right this way, Madam,” Harris says softly, guiding me up the staircase.

He opens a set of white double doors. The suite sprawls wide, gold dripping from every corner, yet it smothers me. A prison dressed in silk. The air smells of polish and old stone.

The moment Harris bows and leaves, the mask drops. I rip off the veil, toss it aside, and grab my phone. My hands shake as the screen lights up: BrightPath Blooms balance, thirty-five pounds.

Hot tears sting my cheeks. Not enough to buy freedom. If his security team runs a deep check on my sister's files or tracks a single signature back to my flower shop contracts, the fraud explodes. One slip of my voice—and I’m finished.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, staring at the carved ceiling above me. The silence of the West Wing presses down, heavier than the storm outside. My grandmother’s fragile smile flickers in my mind, the only reason I endure this gilded cage.