Chapter 4

Lydia

I turned.

He was standing a few feet away now, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

There was no softness in his face.

Just cool detachment.

The kind that made the evening breeze feel warmer by comparison.

For the first time since he arrived, he looked directly at me and held the gaze.

And for some reason, that felt worse than the silence.

“This marriage,” he said evenly, “is one of convenience.”

I stared at him.

He continued like he was laying out office policy.

“It is not a love story. It is not a romantic arrangement. And I need you to understand that from the beginning so there are no misunderstandings later.”

I said nothing.

Not because I didn’t have anything to say.

Because I had too much.

And none of it was safe to release.

He glanced briefly toward the house behind me, then back at me.

“You will be comfortable here,” he said. “Anything you need can be handled through the staff.”

The staff.

Not him.

Of course.

“I won’t be here often.”

That one landed harder than I expected.

Something small and stupid in me had still been waiting for him to say something remotely human.

A sentence with warmth.

A sentence with room in it.

Instead, I got terms and conditions.

“You are free to live your life as you please,” he continued. “You will have privacy. Space. Access to whatever you need.”

He paused.

Then added, “But I expect the same in return.”

There it was.

The real point.

I folded my arms slowly.

“And what exactly does that mean?”

His expression didn’t shift.

“It means you do not ask questions about my schedule.”

Strike one.

“You do not monitor my movements.”

Strike two.

“And when I am here, I do not like being disturbed unnecessarily.”

Strike three.

I blinked at him.

Then looked past him at the massive house again.

Then back at him.

“You married me,” I said before I could stop myself. “Or did you forget that part on the way here?”

Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

Gone too quickly to name.

“This arrangement benefits both of us,” he said.

Arrangement.

Not marriage.

Interesting.

“And if I decide I don’t like the arrangement?” I asked.

His gaze stayed on mine for one quiet second too long.

Then he said, “You’ll adapt.”

Oh.

Oh, he was insane.

Good to know early.

A laugh almost escaped me, but I swallowed it.

Because what exactly was I supposed to do?

Scream?

Cry?

Beg him to care?

No.

I had already humiliated myself enough for one lifetime in front of people who didn’t deserve the performance.

So I just nodded once.

“Anything else?” I asked.

He studied me for a second, as if trying to figure out whether I was being sarcastic or simply exhausted.

Maybe I was both.

Then he said, “No.”

And just like that, he turned away.

Walked back toward the car.

Got in.

And left.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe properly.

I just stood there in the middle of the driveway, in my wedding dress, watching my husband disappear into the evening less than ten minutes after dropping me off at his house like a package he had signed for under protest.

The car vanished through the gates.

Then I turned slowly toward the house.

Toward whatever this was.

Toward my new life, apparently.

The front doors stood tall and silent, waiting.

I climbed the steps.

One after the other.

Pushed the doors open.

And the second I stepped inside

I was shocked by what I saw.