Chapter 7 First night
Elara’s POV
The marble staircase feels endless beneath my feet. Each step echoes like a countdown to my doom, dragging me deeper into a life I didn’t choose. A life I don't want. When I first came, Damien’s estate swallowed me whole. It was filled with stone, glass, and silence. Now, I keep my chin high, but inside, I can feel the weight of invisible chains tightening with every step I take.
My room is absurdly large. Larger than my old apartment altogether, larger than the newsroom where I once fought tooth and nail for bylines, headlines and to meet my deadlines. Above me, a chandelier glitters overhead, scattering rays of light across his pearly white walls. The king sized bad stares at me, drowning in silk sheets. I flinch a little. It's the kind of bed that looks like it devours anyone who dares to lie in it. The curtains shimmer silver against the moonlight, tall and heavy enough to hide the secrets behind it.
I drop my bag on the floor and just stand there, unsure of whether I should laugh or scream. Across the room, a full length mirror reflects my looks. Wide eyes, drawn lips, the perfect picture of a woman caught in the trap she willingly walked into.
I wanted evidence, I wanted a story. Now I've walked into a fancy cage disguised as home. I sit on the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands, silently praying that it is worth it. At the end, I finally get the story that would ruin the life of my enemy. The silence presses in on me until I think I’ll suffocate, my chest aching with the weight of it. This is only temporary, I remind myself. Six months is all I need. If I can endure for six months, I will be able to be free again. I get through this and I get myself back. I say to myself, but it sounds like a lie. A bitter one at that.
I lie back, staring at the ceiling. My mind replaying every moment of the day, every sharp word Damien has thrown at me, every truth he flashed before me like a sharp blade. You were already broken before you walked in through those doors. The words cut deeper now, here in the dark, alone. More than they did in the heat of the moment.
A knock splits the silence.
I sit up quickly, heart hammering against my ribs.
The door opens without waiting for my answer as Damien steps in. Jacket discarded, tie loose, shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He doesn’t even ask permission. He does not hesitate. Instead, he moves like this house belongs to him, and it does but he does it like I belong to him too. Maybe it's because I'm in his house.
My chest tightens. What does he want again?
“Come with me,” he says. His voice is quiet, firm, like a command wrapped in silk.
I stand slowly, trying to keep my face blank. “To where?” I ask, my mind unraveling.
His gaze meets mine, unflinching. “My room.”
The words hit harder than they should. My pulse races. I grip the edge of the bed like it might anchor me, hold me, ground me.
“I’m not—” I start, not finding the right words.
“You’re my wife,” he cuts in, tone razor-sharp. “And you stay under my roof. You must understand that appearances are everything, even in my household.”
My throat tightens. “Appearances? Or control?”
He steps closer, shadows clinging to him, his presence swallowing the room whole. “Both.”
I swallow hard, forcing my voice steady. “We only agreed to a contract and nothing more. You're pushing it.”
“We agreed you’d be my wife,” he counters. “And wives don’t vanish into guest rooms while their husbands sleep alone, what then is your use?”
The air between us crackles. The memory of our first encounter comes flooding back. The near kiss when he had me cornered, the night he ordered me to dance, the way his eyes had burned into me like fire and ice. I had promised myself then that I wouldn’t let him inside my head. But now… I could feel my heart betray me as it started beating too loud, too fast for my enemy.
“I’m not playing house with you,” I shot back, finding my voice. My fists curl at my sides.
He leans down, close enough that I can feel his breath brush my cheek. “This isn’t a game, Elara. And the sooner you understand that, the easier this will be.”
My resolve softens, just for a heartbeat and he catches that. He always notices.
I force myself to meet his gaze, even as a knot ties in my stomach. “You can drag me into your room, Damien, but you can’t make me yours.”
His smile is cold and humorless. “We’ll see.”
He turns, striding toward the hallway without looking back, but his voice drifts over his shoulder. “I give you five minutes. Meet me there.”
The door closes behind him, leaving me shaking on my feet.
I press my palms to my face, trying to steady my breath. My brain screams at me to stay here and lock the door. To remind myself that I came into this house with a mission. I came here to find the truth about my father, and about Cade Enterprises, about the secrets buried under Damien’s empire.
But my body… my damn body keeps betraying me. I felt my legs carry me toward the door.
I open it with a soft click, staring down the long corridor at where Damien is waiting for me. My pulse hammers, my skin prickles, every nerve screams danger. The hallway stretches out like a gauntlet, each step heavier than the last.
I pause, gripping the doorknob until my knuckles ache. I want to stay. I want to fight, to claw my way out of this trap before it closes in around me.
But then I see him, standing at the end of the hall, leaning against the wall with the kind of patience that feels like a threat. His eyes find mine immediately, sharp, unyielding, daring me to defy him. He does not call on me, he doesn’t need to. I could already feel the command.
I follow him, my footsteps slow and unsure.
The silence between us is thick as I walk, my footsteps echoing too loudly against the polished floors. His eyes never leave me, and with each step, I feel stripped bare, like he’s peeling away every layer I have always tried to hide behind.
When I finally reach him, he pushes himself off the wall, and turns toward his door without a word. I catch the faint scent of his cologne, sharp and grounding, and hate myself for noticing it.
As I step into his shadow, I promise myself that tomorrow, I will pull myself together. I will remember the mission. Even if we spend the night today, I will start digging again—keep digging. No matter what happens behind those closed doors.
But tonight, I will wear the mask of a wife. I follow him reluctantly to his room, every step echoing with a vow I don’t dare say out loud: six months of this cage, six months of pretending. And when the time is right, I’ll tear the whole thing down.
Especially him.