Chapter 2 The Stranger I Married

The silence in the Lancaster estate was heavier than anything I had felt before. There were no voices, no footsteps, no warmth. Just the quiet hum of the lights and the distant echo of the sea crashing against the cliffs. I had been living here for four days, and not once had I seen my husband.

Yes-husband. That word still sat like a thorn in my throat.

Jace Lancaster had barely looked at me since the courthouse. After signing the marriage license, he disappeared before I could even speak to him. And now, we lived in opposite wings of a house big enough to hide a thousand secrets.

I had been shown to the east wing by a stiff-faced housekeeper named Marian. She explained, in clipped tones, that all meals were prepared by the chef, and if I required anything, I should speak with her or the driver, not Mr. Lancaster. There was no invitation for conversation. Just a reminder of my place.

A legal wife.

Nothing more.

The first night, I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the silver band on my finger. It didn't sparkle. It didn't shine. It was simple. Hollow. Like the promises behind it.

Each day since, I tried to keep myself busy. I read. I wandered the gardens. I visited my mother at the hospital when I could. Edward had made good on his promise. She had been transferred to a world-class private facility and was now under the care of specialists. Her color was returning. Her energy, slowly, too.

That was the only part of this deal I didn't regret.

But every time I returned to the house, the illusion of safety slipped away.

I was living with a stranger.

And I was married to him.

On the fifth night, I found myself standing in the grand hallway between our separate wings. I had intended to grab tea from the kitchen but heard the soft notes of a piano drifting through the silence.

Curiosity guided me toward the sound.

The music was low. Slow. Sad.

I followed it until I reached the west wing and peeked into the open doors of what looked like a study. And there he was.

Jace.

Seated at a black grand piano, head down, fingers gliding over the keys like they knew every note by heart. His face was half in shadow, his jaw tense, his expression unreadable. The music sounded like memory-like pain wrapped in melody.

I should have turned away. But I didn't.

I watched him.

Until he stopped.

He didn't turn. Didn't look at me. But he spoke.

"You've been standing there for ten minutes."

I flinched. "I didn't mean to intrude."

"You didn't. You just lingered."

"I heard the music."

He still didn't look at me. "It's the only thing in this house that doesn't lie."

There was something sharp in his voice, but tired, too. I took a step forward.

"You play well."

He finally looked up. His eyes met mine. Dark, unreadable, intense. "I didn't play for you."

"I know."

He rose from the piano bench, walked to the bar in the corner, and poured himself a drink. Whiskey. No ice.

"You don't have to pretend," he said. "We both know why you're here."

"I'm here because your father paid for my mother's treatment."

"And in return, you gave up your life for a year."

I said nothing.

He took a slow sip. "He's very good at that. Turning people's desperation into leverage."

"I didn't have a choice."

He laughed once. Dry. "No one ever does. Not when it comes to Edward Lancaster."

He walked past me, brushing my shoulder lightly as he left the room. I turned, watching him disappear down the hall, the glass still in his hand.

The next morning, Marian informed me that we would be attending a formal charity event that evening-a Lancaster Foundation gala. Press would be present. I was expected to appear as the doting new bride.

I hadn't been warned.

Of course I hadn't.

I spent the day feeling like I was being prepared for an auction. A designer dress was delivered-deep emerald green, silk, tight at the waist. A stylist showed up to do my hair and makeup. I stood still as they brushed and curled and pinned.

It all felt fake.

When the car pulled up to the front of the estate, Jace was already inside. He didn't say a word as I slid into the backseat beside him.

He looked... perfect.

Black tuxedo. Cufflinks. Hair neat. Cold eyes straight ahead.

"You clean up well," I said.

He raised a brow. "Don't get used to it."

We arrived at a hotel ballroom glowing with crystal chandeliers and golden light. Photographers waited outside. A red carpet had been rolled out. When the door opened, Jace stepped out first, turned back, and extended his hand.

It was the first time he'd touched me in public.

I took it.

Cameras flashed.

We walked in together-his hand at the small of my back, his posture poised, his smile faint but convincing.

I wondered how many people could see that this was all a performance.

Inside, we were greeted like royalty.

Edward was there, of course, smiling at us like we were his greatest accomplishment. He introduced us to everyone-donors, politicians, celebrities. Everyone commented on how beautiful we looked together.

Jace never let go of my waist.

But every time his smile slipped, I saw the tension in his jaw. The coldness behind his charm.

Halfway through dinner, I excused myself from the table and stepped out to the balcony for air.

The stars above were blurred by city light. But the air was cool. Clean.

"Careful," a voice said behind me. "Someone might think you're trying to run."

I turned. Jace leaned against the stone railing beside me, drink in hand.

"I just needed a break."

"From me or from them?"

"Both."

He looked out over the city, the light catching the edge of his cheekbone.

"Why do you hate him so much?" I asked suddenly.

Jace didn't answer right away. Then, quietly-"Because he never lets go. You think you're free of him, and then he pulls the strings again. He's always ten moves ahead."

"And now I'm one of his moves," I said.

He looked at me. "You're not the only one in this marriage who had no choice."

We stood in silence for a moment.

Then he said something that surprised me.

"I never forgot you."

I turned. "What?"

"That summer. You were fifteen. We met at that stupid lake house retreat. You spilled lemonade on my shirt."

I laughed despite myself. "You told me I'd never amount to anything."

He smiled faintly. "I was sixteen. I was an idiot."

"And now?"

He took a sip. "Now I know better. About some things."

He turned to leave, but paused.

"Tomorrow morning, eight o'clock. Breakfast. Dining room. If we're going to fool the world, we need to learn how to look like we belong in it together."

And then he was gone.

Back inside, the music played. Laughter echoed. Champagne flowed. The Lancaster name spun on everyone's lips like it was gold.

But I knew better now.

The Lancaster name was a mask.

And I had just agreed to wear it.