Chapter 9: First Impressions

Savannah’s heart hammered in her chest as she stood before the grand gates of Jackson’s family mansion, a towering structure that looked more like a palace than a home. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming, the marble columns and intricate stonework like something out of a fairy tale. Yet, there was no magic here, only coldness.

The sound of the gate opening reverberated through her body, and the sleek black car glided inside the compound, its tires whispering against the smooth cobblestone. Jackson’s grip on the steering wheel was firm, his gaze locked forward, unreadable. Savannah tried to settle her nerves, but the silence in the car was suffocating.

“Are you okay?” Jackson’s voice broke the silence, but it was distant, as if he wasn’t really asking.

Savannah turned her head slowly to face him, offering a strained smile. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t, though. She wasn’t fine at all.

She had never imagined her life would bring her here, standing on the threshold of a mansion that symbolized everything she was not. The wealth, the influence, the coldness, it all felt like a barrier between her and the world she had always known. She had agreed to this contract for Jackson, yes, but as the gates slowly closed behind them, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was about to become something... disposable.

Jackson didn’t seem to notice the heaviness in the air. He opened the door for her without a word, gesturing for her to step out.

“Welcome to my world,” he muttered.

Savannah stepped onto the gravel path, her heels crunching loudly beneath her. The air smelled fresh, too fresh, like it had been engineered to be perfect. The estate was breathtaking, sprawling out in every direction, expansive gardens, manicured lawns, water features that sparkled in the sunlight. It was beautiful, and yet, it felt so out of reach.

She followed Jackson up the steps to the front door, her gaze moving from the polished wood of the entryway to the ornate bronze handles. Everything screamed wealth, but it was a wealth that made her feel small, insignificant. Jackson, however, seemed completely at ease here.

The door opened to a grand foyer, where the sound of their footsteps echoed in the cavernous space. The marble floors gleamed, the soft hum of a distant piano drifted through the air, and a large chandelier cast an ethereal glow over everything. It was like stepping into another world.

But as the door closed behind her, Savannah realized that something was off. The warmth of the house didn’t reach her. It felt... hollow. As if the space was empty, even though it was filled with people.

Jackson’s mother was the first to greet them. She was a striking woman, tall and composed, her presence commanding without a word. She stood at the top of the grand staircase, her eyes locked on Savannah the moment she entered. There was no warmth in her expression, only cold calculation.

“Jackson,” she said, her voice clipped, barely a whisper above the sound of the piano.

Jackson’s response was equally cool. “Mother.” He glanced at Savannah, then back to his mother. “This is Savannah. My wife.”

The word felt foreign on his lips. Savannah could tell there was something lacking in the way he said it. It was as if he was speaking to a stranger, not the woman who had agreed to marry him. She smiled politely, trying to ease the tension, but it was clear Jackson’s mother wasn’t interested in pleasantries.

“Of course,” she said, her gaze sweeping over Savannah with icy detachment. “We’ve been expecting you.”

The others in the room watched her with similar coldness. The silence stretched on, like they were all waiting for some kind of performance. It was as if they were waiting to see if she would live up to their expectations.

“Savannah,” Jackson’s mother continued, her gaze flicking to a nearby servant. “I trust you’ll be comfortable here. We have... very specific standards.”

Savannah swallowed hard, a knot forming in her stomach. She wanted to say something, to ask if Jackson’s family always treated guests like this, but the words wouldn’t come. She glanced at Jackson, hoping for some kind of support, but his attention was elsewhere.

One of the women, a well-dressed figure with sharp features, approached them. “You must be Savannah. The one who caught Jackson’s eye.”

Savannah nodded, forcing a smile, though her insides were churning.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly despite her efforts to stay calm. “I’m... honored to meet you.”

The woman’s smile was thin, condescending. “Honored, she says,” she murmured to another family member, her voice low enough that only Savannah could hear. “How quaint.”

Savannah's cheeks burned, and she tried to shake off the insult, but it lingered. Jackson’s family made no effort to hide their judgment. She could feel their eyes boring into her, appraising her worth. She wasn’t even sure they saw her as a person. She was a symbol, an object, a mere cog in a much larger machine.

As the evening unfolded, the distance between them only grew. There were no casual conversations, no light-hearted jokes to break the ice. Jackson’s family barely acknowledged her existence beyond the occasional cold remark or pointed glance. She was an outsider, and they made sure she knew it.

When dinner was finally served, the opulence of the table only made Savannah feel more alien. The crystal glasses, the fine china, the gourmet dishes, nothing here was designed for comfort. It was all for show.

Jackson sat beside her, but even his presence felt distant, as if he, too, had become part of the furniture in this sterile world. His hand rested on the table, but it was a casual gesture, almost as if he were indifferent to her.

Savannah’s fingers curled around the edge of her glass, the cold surface offering some small comfort. She glanced around the table, but no one was looking at her. They were all too busy with their own conversations, speaking in clipped, formal tones. She was invisible.

And then there was Jackson’s mother again. She leaned forward, her voice low enough that only Savannah could hear.

“You’re here to fulfill a contract,” she said, her tone smooth, almost predatory. “Nothing more. Don’t get too comfortable.”

The words hit Savannah like a punch to the gut, but before she could process them, Jackson’s mother had already turned her attention to someone else, as if their conversation had never happened.

Savannah stared after her, her stomach sinking. She had known this marriage wasn’t going to be easy, but the weight of the truth hit her harder than she had anticipated. She wasn’t a wife here, she was a business arrangement. A tool. A means to an end.

She glanced at Jackson again, hoping to see some sign of emotion, some indication that he felt the same way, but his face remained neutral, unreadable.

In that moment, Savannah realized that the world she had entered was not a world of love or affection. It was a world of power, of strategy, of control. And she was nothing more than a player in their game.