Chapter 2 The script was bold

Alessandra sat on the edge of the velvet chaise in her temporary quarters, the contract resting in her lap. The script was bold, precise-just like the man who had handed it to her. Lucian Arquette. Even his name, inked in elegant strokes at the bottom of the page, carried an air of finality.

Her fingers hovered over the papers, tracing the edges as if she could somehow soften the sharp reality of what they meant. Marriage. A bond with a man who did not want her, only needed her. A man who had been forced into this just as she had.

She exhaled slowly and leaned back, staring at the high ceiling. The room was beautiful in its opulence-dark wood paneling, deep sapphire drapes, gold accents catching the dim light-but it was lifeless. Like the rest of the house, it was pristine, untouched by warmth or personality.

A place built for appearances, not comfort.

Just like their marriage would be.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Before she could respond, the heavy doors pushed open, revealing a woman in a crisp black uniform. Her posture was rigid, her expression professional.

"Miss Dione, the master has requested your presence in the dining hall."

Alessandra hesitated. "Did he... actually request me?"

The woman did not flinch. "He expects you there in fifteen minutes."

Of course. Not a request. An expectation.

Alessandra nodded, setting the contract aside. "I'll be there."

The woman left without another word, the door closing behind her with a soft but final click.

Alessandra stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her golden-brown hair was still carefully pinned from the morning, her dress still immaculate despite the weight of exhaustion pressing against her bones. She looked... composed. But inside, a war waged between acceptance and quiet rebellion.

Fifteen minutes later, she descended the grand staircase, her hands trailing along the cold marble banister. The house was eerily silent, save for the occasional flicker of the chandeliers above. No laughter, no soft murmurs of a family gathering-only stillness.

When she reached the dining hall, she hesitated for just a second before stepping inside.

Lucian was already seated at the long mahogany table, a single crystal glass of whiskey in front of him. He didn't look up as she entered. The only acknowledgment was the slight shift of his fingers as he tapped them against the glass.

A butler pulled out the chair across from him, and Alessandra took her seat. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Finally, Lucian spoke. "I assume you've read the contract."

She straightened, meeting his gaze. "I have."

"And?"

She inhaled slowly. "You want an heir."

A flicker of something passed through his eyes, but it was gone before she could name it. "That is the primary purpose of this arrangement, yes."

Her stomach tightened, but she kept her expression neutral. "And after that?"

Lucian tilted his head slightly, as if studying her. "Once that obligation is fulfilled, you will have everything you could possibly need. Wealth. Status. Independence, if you desire it."

Independence. The irony wasn't lost on her. She was being caged into a marriage, bound to a man who would never love her, and yet he spoke of independence as if it were something he could gift her.

"And what about you?" she asked. "What do you get out of this, besides an heir?"

His jaw tensed. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. Then, with a calm, almost chilling certainty, he said, "Closure."

Her breath caught. She hadn't expected that.

Lucian swirled the whiskey in his glass, his gaze distant. "This marriage will silence expectations. It will satisfy my family's demands. And most importantly, it will keep anyone else from trying to control my life."

His voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. This was not about companionship. It was about control. About reclaiming what little agency he had left after his past had been shattered.

Alessandra understood then that this was not just about her. She had been placed into his life not as a wife, but as a shield.

A placeholder.

A replacement for something that had been stolen from him.

The thought twisted in her chest, but she forced herself to smile. "Then I suppose there's no reason to delay."

Lucian's gaze snapped to hers, sharp and assessing, as if he hadn't expected her to surrender so easily. Perhaps he had expected resistance. Perhaps he had wanted it.

Instead, Alessandra picked up the pen that had been placed beside her plate and, without hesitation, signed her name beside his.

The ink dried in silence.

It was done.

She was no longer Alessandra Dione.

She was Alessandra Arquette.