Chapter 4 The polished floors

Aria's mind was still reeling from the conversation she'd had with Dorian days ago. Every time she tried to settle her thoughts, to gather a semblance of control over the situation, her mind would inevitably circle back to the same conclusion: she was trapped.

The coldness in Dorian's eyes haunted her, but it was something else that made her skin crawl. It wasn't just his need for control or the forceful way he had taken charge of her life-it was the unsettling feeling that he wasn't just manipulating her for a child. There was something darker at play. Something far more dangerous than the marriage itself.

As she walked into the lavish dining hall that evening, the overwhelming luxury of it all hit her like a wave. The polished floors, the delicate crystal chandeliers, the towering walls adorned with portraits of distant relatives-all reminders that she was now part of this suffocating world, whether she liked it or not.

Dorian sat at the head of the table, his usual air of icy indifference firmly in place. The room seemed to hold its breath as Aria made her way to the seat beside him, her steps tentative. She had no idea what to expect tonight, or if there would even be a semblance of normality.

He looked at her without speaking, his sharp gaze piercing through her defenses. He had a way of making her feel small, insignificant, as though every movement she made was being studied and calculated.

She sat down, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. The silence between them was thick, suffocating. She opened her mouth, ready to say something-anything-but the words died before they could form. What could she say to him that hadn't already been said?

"I trust you've been adjusting well to your new life, Mrs. Alden?" Dorian's voice sliced through the stillness, cool and detached.

His words were meant to provoke, she knew. He wanted to see her react, wanted to see her squirm under the weight of their situation. But Aria wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. Not tonight. Not ever.

"I'm adjusting fine," she replied, her tone even, but the edge of bitterness was hard to conceal. "How about you? How is your 'plan' coming along?"

The faintest trace of amusement flickered in his eyes. "It's progressing," he said, lifting his wine glass to his lips. "But there's still a lot of work to be done."

Aria's stomach churned. She couldn't bring herself to ask the question that had been eating away at her-what exactly did he mean by "work"? Was it just about having a child, or was there something more? She didn't dare voice her suspicions. Not yet.

As the meal continued, Dorian's presence seemed to grow heavier. It wasn't just his physical nearness-it was the power he wielded over her, over everything. He was like a storm, always on the edge of breaking, and she was trapped in its path, unable to escape.

When dinner finally ended, Dorian didn't wait for her to make a move. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. His eyes flicked to her, then toward the door, as though expecting her to follow without question.

"Come with me," he ordered, his voice low, but the command was unmistakable.

She didn't hesitate, but there was a tightening in her chest. Her feet carried her down the hall, to the stairs that led to the upper floors of the mansion. The place was silent, save for the echo of their footsteps. It felt like a labyrinth, a prison made of marble and glass.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice shaking despite her best efforts.

Dorian didn't answer. He simply led her into a large, dimly lit study, the room thick with the scent of old books and expensive leather. He moved toward a large desk in the center of the room, where a stack of papers lay, half-completed, as if he had been preparing for this moment.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing toward the leather chair in front of the desk.

Her eyes narrowed, but she did as he asked, sitting down slowly, her back rigid. There was something about the way he controlled every aspect of this situation that made her insides twist in anger and fear.

He didn't sit immediately. Instead, he stood before her, his hands resting on the back of the chair, his gaze never leaving hers.

"You've been avoiding the truth, Aria," Dorian said, his voice calm, but there was a sharpness to it now, like a knife hidden under velvet. "You think this marriage is just about the child. But it's not. There are other things at play here, things you don't understand."

She wanted to scoff, to tell him that she already knew she was nothing more than a pawn in his game, but something about the way he spoke-the dark intensity in his voice-stopped her.

"Then enlighten me," she said, her tone challenging, though the nervous tremor in her hands betrayed her.

He leaned down slightly, his face just inches from hers. "It's about power," he said, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "Power, Aria. The kind of power you can't even begin to imagine."

Her breath caught in her throat. She didn't need to ask what he meant. The look in his eyes said everything.

"You're not just here to bear my child," Dorian continued, his voice now a low whisper, full of dark promise. "You're here to help me build an empire. You'll be my queen, and together, we'll reign over everything. You'll be the one to give me what I need to secure my future-and yours."

Her heart skipped a beat. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. "What are you talking about?" she asked, trying to steady her voice. "You can't expect me to just... play along with this."

"I don't expect you to play along," Dorian replied, standing up straight again, his expression unreadable. "I expect you to understand. Because once you do, there will be no going back."

Aria's mind spun. He was making it clear that her role in this marriage was far from over. She wasn't just an unwilling bride or a surrogate mother-she was the key to something far more sinister. Something he wasn't ready to reveal yet.

But she would find out. She would dig until she had the answers.

Dorian turned away, walking toward the door. "You'll stay here tonight," he said without looking back. "Rest. Tomorrow, we begin."

As he left, the door clicking shut behind him, Aria sat there, numb. The walls seemed to close in around her, pressing her deeper into the chair. She was no longer just a pawn in a game. She was a piece in a much larger, much darker game, and there was no escaping it.

As Aria stared into the shadows of the study, her mind raced. What had Dorian meant by "empire"? What was he planning, and how far was he willing to go to get what he wanted? She was about to be dragged into something far more dangerous than she could have ever imagined-and there was no turning back.