Chapter 2 The Stranger I Married

Elena stood alone in the study, the quiet ticking of the wall clock the only sound to mark the passage of time. The civil ceremony had ended less than five minutes ago, but it already felt like a memory from someone else's life. The moment the officiant left, Alexander had turned on his heel and walked away without another word. Not even a glance.

She hadn't expected a kiss. She hadn't even expected a smile. But the emptiness of the moment pierced deeper than she'd prepared for.

"Mrs. Blackwood," Mr. Hawthorne said softly from the doorway, interrupting her thoughts. "Shall I show you to your quarters?"

She flinched slightly at the title. Mrs. Blackwood. It didn't feel real. It felt like a costume stitched onto her skin.

"Yes... please," she said.

They walked in silence down long, polished corridors. Elena noticed how quiet the mansion was - no voices, no laughter, not even the sound of footsteps from anyone else. The house was filled with luxury but completely starved of warmth. Every chandelier, painting, and antique vase looked untouched. As if no one truly lived here.

Her new room was the same one from the night before, only now it had a wedding dress - untouched - hanging by the wardrobe. White lace and pearls shimmered under the soft lighting, unworn and unnecessary.

Mr. Hawthorne paused before leaving. "Dinner will be brought to your room by seven. Mr. Blackwood usually dines alone."

Of course he does, she thought.

"Thank you," she replied politely.

As the door clicked shut, Elena sat down at the edge of the bed. The soft mattress sank beneath her, but she didn't relax. Her fingers curled tightly around the bedspread as the silence settled around her again.

She was a wife now. In name only. To a man who didn't want her, didn't know her, and had no interest in ever changing that.

What kind of marriage is this? she wondered. What kind of life will this be?

---

Hours passed.

Elena wandered to the massive balcony attached to her room. From there, she could see the gardens - trimmed to perfection - stretching out like a maze of green and marble. Beyond them stood tall iron gates, and beyond that, the rest of the world. The world she had left behind.

She thought of her mother - now receiving better care, thanks to the contract she had signed. Of Tommy, who would soon start school with books and uniforms he'd never dreamed of having. Her sacrifice had not been for nothing.

But why did it feel so empty?

When her dinner arrived - a tray of grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, and delicate pastries - she could barely touch it. Her stomach churned too much to eat.

The sun set in streaks of gold and lavender, and with nightfall came the dread. Was he going to come to her room? Would he expect anything from her?

She changed into a soft nightdress left for her in a drawer. She sat upright in bed for hours, waiting.

He never came.

---

The next morning, Elena was startled awake by the sharp knock of a maid who brought her breakfast and informed her that she was expected to meet Alexander in his office at ten.

Her heart stammered.

When she entered the office, she found him standing by the window, dressed in another sharp suit. The room smelled of leather and cedarwood. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and files - everything in neat order.

He didn't turn when she entered.

"Sit," he said simply.

She did.

He faced her only when she was settled. His eyes were unreadable, like glass over steel.

"I'll make this simple," he said. "There will be times I require you to accompany me to public events. You will be given proper attire and briefed beforehand. You will say very little, and smile when necessary."

Elena's fingers curled into fists in her lap. "Is that all I am to you? Decoration?"

Alexander's brow raised slightly, but his expression remained impassive.

"You're free to interpret it however you like. But understand this - this arrangement benefits us both. Do not mistake charity for affection."

Elena stared at him. "Do you hate me?"

"No," he said. "I don't know you enough to hate you."

She swallowed hard. "Then why choose me? Of all people?"

A flicker passed through his eyes - so fast she almost missed it. A twitch of hesitation.

"I had my reasons," he said shortly. "That's all you need to know."

There was a long silence between them.

Finally, he added, "You'll be meeting my legal advisor this afternoon to finalize property paperwork. After that, your time is your own - within the house."

"Within?" she echoed.

Alexander looked at her coldly. "You will not leave the estate without my permission. For security reasons."

"So I'm a prisoner now?"

"You're protected," he corrected.

Elena stood. "No. I'm imprisoned. Dressed in silk, fed like royalty, but locked away just the same."

He didn't argue. He didn't say anything at all.

She walked out.

---

The weeks that followed were a strange blend of routine and isolation. Elena learned the layout of the manor, the names of the staff, and which halls stayed cold no matter how warm the weather. She ate alone, walked alone, existed alone.

Alexander kept his distance. They exchanged a few necessary words during brief encounters, but otherwise, he disappeared into work and meetings and phone calls. She heard whispers among the staff that he was acquiring a new hospital and dealing with lawsuits. Always business.

One evening, as she wandered the library, she found a photo tucked between the pages of an old book. It showed a young Alexander - maybe in his twenties - smiling beside a woman with soft features and gentle eyes.

Curious, she went to Hawthorne the next day.

"The woman in that picture... who is she?"

Mr. Hawthorne looked uncomfortable. "That was Mr. Blackwood's sister. She died five years ago."

"How?"

"Car accident. Drunk driver. She was very close to him. Her death changed him."

Elena felt something shift inside her. A crack in the armor she'd been building around her heart. Was that why he was so cold? So shut off from the world?

That night, she lay awake wondering what kind of man Alexander Blackwood had been before tragedy turned him into stone.

---

One stormy afternoon, about a month into the marriage, something unexpected happened.

Elena was in the garden, under the covered archway, watching the rain. It fell in silver sheets, painting the world in soft gray. Lost in thought, she didn't hear the footsteps behind her.

"I didn't expect you to be out in this weather," Alexander said.

She turned sharply. "Neither did I expect you to speak to me out of nowhere."

His lips twitched - almost a smile. Almost.

He joined her under the arch. For a moment, neither spoke. The sound of rain filled the silence.

"I used to come out here with my sister," he said suddenly. "She loved the rain."

Elena glanced at him. His eyes weren't so cold in that moment. More distant than harsh.

"She looks kind," Elena said softly. "In the photo."

"She was."

Another pause.

"I'm sorry you lost her."

He nodded, but said nothing more.

Then, without looking at her, he asked, "Why did you agree to marry me?"

Her breath caught.

"For them," she said simply. "My family. My brother. My mother. I didn't do it for myself."

He finally looked at her.

"We're more alike than you think," he said quietly. "We both did this for others."

Then he turned and walked back inside, leaving Elena standing in the rain-drenched silence.

---

The following week, Elena received word that she would be accompanying Alexander to a charity gala hosted by the city's elite. A high-profile event, full of media and whispers.

Mrs. Keene, the housekeeper, brought several gowns for her to choose from. Each was more beautiful than the last - deep blues, rich burgundy, soft gold - and each felt foreign on her skin. In the end, she chose a midnight blue dress with a high neckline and delicate embroidery along the sleeves. It was modest but elegant.

That evening, when Alexander came to escort her, his eyes flickered over her attire. If he was impressed, he didn't say it. But his pause - barely noticeable - was something.

"You look presentable," he said.

Elena gave him a tight smile. "And you're as charming as ever."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Shall we?"

---

The gala was held in a grand ballroom lit by crystal chandeliers and filled with the hum of soft music and sharp conversations. Elena had never seen so much wealth in one place. Laughter tinkled through the air like glass; waiters carried trays of champagne and canapés; and eyes - so many eyes - turned toward them.

Alexander was the center of attention, even if he tried to blend in. Men greeted him with firm handshakes and careful respect. Women glanced curiously at Elena, murmuring behind gloved hands.

She stood by his side, as instructed, smiling quietly.

And then it happened.

A woman with perfectly curled hair and too-red lipstick approached. Her name was Miranda Vale, a well-known socialite and former flame of Alexander's, according to whispered gossip.

"Oh, Alexander," Miranda purred, ignoring Elena completely. "You've been hiding, haven't you? And this must be the charity bride I've heard so much about."

The words hit Elena like a slap.

Before she could react, Alexander stepped forward slightly, blocking her with his body.

"Careful, Miranda," he said, his tone icy. "You're speaking to my wife."

Miranda blinked, startled. "It was just a joke-"

"I don't find humor in disrespect," Alexander said sharply. "And if you can't show basic manners, perhaps you shouldn't speak at all."

The room went quiet around them.

Miranda flushed with embarrassment and stormed away without another word.

Elena stood frozen, stunned. Not by Miranda - but by Alexander's defense.

He turned to her, his voice low. "You don't have to thank me. I won't allow anyone to treat you like that. No matter how this arrangement began, you're my wife now. That means something."

For the first time, she didn't see the cold businessman. She saw a man shaped by grief, hardened by the world, but not entirely without honor.

Later, in the car ride home, they sat in silence for a while before Elena spoke.

"Why do you protect me?" she asked.

He looked out the window. "Because... no one protected my sister when they should have. And I won't repeat that mistake."

Elena's chest tightened.

"Maybe we both lost people," she said quietly. "But that doesn't mean we have to lose ourselves too."

For the first time, he looked at her - really looked - and something in his eyes softened, just for a heartbeat.

---

That night, Elena stood again by the window in her room, watching the moonlight bathe the gardens in silver. Her heart was heavy but not in the same way as before.

She was still a stranger in a mansion. Still a wife by force, not choice.

But something had shifted.

He was still a mystery. A man of ice and iron.

But now, she saw a flicker of warmth inside the cold.

A flicker she didn't know what to do with.

Not yet.