Chapter 3 The ink was barely dry on the contract

The ink was barely dry on the contract when Alessandra felt the weight of it settle over her like an iron shackle. There had been no congratulations, no acknowledgment of the life-altering decision she had just made. The moment she signed her name, Lucian simply nodded, took the papers, and stood as if the conversation no longer required his attention.

Now, as she followed a silent maid down the vast, dimly lit corridor leading to her new chambers, Alessandra wondered if this was what it felt like to walk toward a prison cell. Except this prison had silk sheets and diamond chandeliers.

The maid stopped before a set of double doors and pushed them open, revealing a room grander than anything Alessandra had ever called her own. High ceilings with intricate molding, velvet drapes framing arched windows that overlooked the vast estate gardens, and a fireplace large enough to step into. A four-poster bed dominated the center, its silk canopy swaying faintly from the cold draft that crept through the room.

"This will be your bedroom, ma'am," the maid said, her tone devoid of warmth. "The master's quarters are down the hall. If you need anything, ring the bell."

Alessandra turned to her. "And if I don't?"

The maid blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "Then I suppose you will be left alone."

Alessandra exhaled a slow, quiet breath. Alone. It wasn't a foreign concept to her. She had spent most of her life being an afterthought, a spare piece to be used when necessary. But this felt different. This was an isolation crafted deliberately.

"Thank you," she murmured.

The maid gave a brief nod and excused herself, leaving Alessandra standing in the vast emptiness of her new world.

She moved toward the windows, pressing a hand against the cool glass. The gardens below stretched endlessly, neatly trimmed hedges and marble fountains gleaming under the moonlight. It was breathtaking, and yet all she could think was how far the gates must be from here.

Her entire life had been dictated by others-her parents, their ambitions, their endless hunger for power and status. Marrying Lucian had never been a choice; it had been a demand wrapped in the guise of duty.

And now, here she was. The wife of a man who did not want a wife. A woman placed in a role that did not require love, only obligation.

Alessandra turned away from the window and sank onto the edge of the bed. She let out a slow breath and closed her eyes, exhaustion pressing against her bones.

Then, a knock.

Her eyes snapped open.

She hesitated, expecting a maid, but when the doors creaked open, it wasn't a servant standing there.

It was him.

Lucian Arquette.

He didn't step inside. He simply stood at the threshold, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room. He had discarded his jacket, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, revealing the taut lines of his forearms. He looked... at ease. And yet, there was something sharp about the way he held himself, as if he, too, was aware of the suffocating tension that lay between them.

"I assume everything is to your liking," he said, his voice as smooth and unreadable as ever.

Alessandra forced herself to meet his gaze. "Yes."

He nodded, his expression betraying nothing. "Good. There are a few things you should understand about this arrangement."

She swallowed. "I'm listening."

Lucian stepped inside then, closing the doors behind him with deliberate slowness. The click of the lock echoed louder than it should have, sending a ripple of awareness through her.

"You are free to do as you please," he said, his tone measured. "You will have access to anything you need-resources, staff, money. In public, we will play the part required of us. But behind closed doors..."

Alessandra's breath hitched as he took another step closer.

"This is not a marriage," he continued. "Not in the way most would assume."

Her fingers curled against the silk sheets. "And what is it, then?"

His lips curled, but there was no warmth in it. "A performance. One that will last until its purpose is fulfilled."

Alessandra forced herself to hold his gaze. "And if that purpose is never fulfilled?"

Something flickered in his eyes-something dark, something she couldn't quite place.

"Then this arrangement becomes meaningless," he said simply.

A shiver ran down her spine, not from fear, but from the sheer coldness of his words. Meaningless. Was that all she was to him? A duty that could be discarded if it failed to serve its function?

Lucian exhaled and ran a hand through his dark hair. For a brief moment, his carefully crafted mask seemed to slip, just enough for her to see something else-something weary. But it was gone before she could grasp it.

"You will find that I am not a cruel man, Alessandra," he said, his voice lower now, almost quiet. "But I am not a kind one either. I do not expect affection, nor do I wish for it."

She should have been relieved. A marriage with no emotional entanglements meant no risk of heartbreak. No chance of being shattered by a man who had already given his heart to someone else.

And yet...

The hollowness of it settled deep within her bones.

Lucian studied her for a moment longer, then turned toward the door. "Get some rest. The engagement announcement will be made tomorrow."

And just like that, he was gone.

Alessandra sat frozen, staring at the empty space where he had stood.

No expectations. No love. No warmth.

This was not a marriage.

This was survival.