I barely slept.
The walls of my new room felt like they were closing in on me, suffocating in their pristine perfection. The silk sheets were too soft, the bed too large, the quiet too unnatural. This wasn't my world. It was his.
Kieran Weston. My husband.
The thought made my stomach churn.
When dawn finally crept in, bathing the room in soft gold, I forced myself to rise. I wasn't naïve enough to think I had any freedom here, but I refused to cower in this room like a prisoner. My feet were bare against the cold marble as I stepped toward the closet, pulling open the doors.
My breath caught.
Rows of designer clothes, untouched and arranged with precision, lined the space. Dresses, shoes, jewelry—everything a woman of wealth would own. Everything I had never even dreamed of.
I reached out hesitantly, brushing my fingers over a deep emerald dress. The fabric was smooth, expensive. A part of me wanted to rip it down, to prove that I wasn't some doll for him to dress up. But I swallowed the urge.
I had to be smart.
I selected a simple black blouse and a pair of fitted jeans—probably the least extravagant option available. Once dressed, I hesitated at the door. What now? Was I supposed to wait for someone to summon me?
No.
Kieran might control this world, but I refused to let him control me.
Squaring my shoulders, I stepped out. The hallway was eerily quiet, stretching endlessly in both directions. For a moment, I hesitated, but then the scent of coffee drifted through the air, guiding me forward.
I followed it down a spiral staircase, past the opulent living room, until I reached what I assumed was the kitchen.
Kieran was already there.
He sat at the head of a long marble island, a newspaper in one hand, a steaming cup of coffee in the other. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up, revealing the sharp lines of his forearms. He looked effortlessly powerful, a man who commanded attention without even trying.
His gaze flicked to me, cool and assessing. "You're up early."
I swallowed, keeping my voice steady. "Couldn't sleep."
His lips twitched. "Good. You'll get used to it."
Something in his tone made my skin prickle. But I ignored it, instead moving toward the coffee pot.
I felt his gaze on me as I poured myself a cup, the weight of it pressing against my spine. I didn't turn to face him until I had taken my first sip, savoring the bitter warmth.
"You don't seem like the type to make small talk," I said cautiously.
Kieran tilted his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "And you don't seem like the type to stay quiet."
I bristled but forced a neutral expression. I needed to learn from him, to understand what kind of man I had married. And more importantly, how dangerous he truly was.
"You said you have rules," I said. "I'd like to hear them."
Kieran set down his coffee cup, leaning forward slightly. "You're not in a position to negotiate, Lauren."
"I'm not trying to negotiate," I countered. "I just want to know what you expect."
His expression darkened, and for a second, I wondered if I had pushed too far. But then he smirked.
"Fine," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "Rule number one—you do as I say. No questions, no hesitation."
Of course.
"Rule number two—you don't leave this house without my permission. Ever."
I stiffened. "You mean I'm not allowed outside at all?"
"You can use the gardens," he said lazily. "But beyond that? No."
I set my coffee down with a little too much force. "So I am a prisoner."
Kieran's smirk faded. "You're my wife," he corrected. "And you will behave like one."
Anger simmered beneath my skin, but I bit my tongue. Now wasn't the time to fight.
"Any other rules?" I asked, keeping my tone even.
Kieran studied me for a long moment. "Yes. Rule number three—don't lie to me."
Something about the way he said it sent a chill down my spine.
I forced myself to hold his gaze. "I don't lie."
His lips curved slightly. "We'll see."
The tension between us crackled, thick and suffocating. I wanted to scream, to demand why he had chosen me, why he had dragged me into this world. But I knew I wouldn't get an answer.
Instead, I turned away, my hands trembling as I gripped the edge of the counter. I needed to breathe. I needed space.
"I want to see the gardens," I said suddenly.
Kieran raised a brow but nodded. "William will show you."
I didn't wait for him to change his mind. I turned and left the kitchen, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
---
The gardens were beautiful.
Lush greenery stretched in every direction, woven with cobblestone paths and marble fountains. It was a world of its own, untouched by the suffocating coldness of the mansion.
I inhaled deeply, letting the crisp morning air ground me. Here, at least, I could pretend I wasn't trapped.
But the illusion shattered when I felt a presence behind me.
"You should be careful."
I turned sharply, finding William watching me. His gaze was unreadable, but there was something almost… sympathetic about it.
"Careful of what?" I asked.
He hesitated. "Mr. Weston isn't a patient man."
I swallowed hard. "I've noticed."
William sighed, glancing toward the mansion. "Just… be smart, Mrs. Weston. He doesn't forgive easily."
A chill ran down my spine.
I wanted to ask more, but before I could, a voice cut through the air.
"Lauren."
I turned. Kieran stood at the garden entrance, watching me with an unreadable expression.
Time seemed to slow as our eyes met.
And in that moment, I knew—whatever game he was playing, I was already losing.