Chapter 2 2

Liana didn't sleep that night.

She lay in her cramped bed above the flower shop, staring at the ceiling, listening to the city whisper through broken windows. The heater wheezed. The floor creaked. The past year replayed in jagged flashes-hospital visits, overdue bills, the sound of her sister coughing through the night.

By sunrise, her decision was made.

She arrived at the mansion in jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair tied in a messy bun, determination coiled in her chest like a wire pulled too tight.

The same man from before-the lawyer-met her at the front door. "Mr. Thorne is expecting you."

"No curtain this time?" she asked, mostly to herself.

He didn't smile. "You'll speak to him again after the agreement is signed."

Agreement.

The word made her stomach twist.

She was led into a study larger than her entire apartment, where the air smelled like ink, oak, and clean paper. A thick folder waited on the table, its contents arranged with terrifying precision.

The first page read:

CONFIDENTIAL MARRIAGE CONTRACT – THORNE & CREST

"You'll want to read it carefully," the lawyer said, sliding it toward her. "Standard NDA clauses. No press contact. No disclosure of Mr. Thorne's condition. You'll be compensated monthly, with a bonus upon completion of the one-year term."

She flipped through the pages, absorbing legalese and cold numbers. Then-

Clause 14: The wife shall not attempt to uncover Mr. Thorne's appearance under any circumstance. This includes, but is not limited to, removing veils, masks, disabling lighting systems, or engaging in physical inspection. Breach of clause will result in immediate termination.

Liana blinked. "Physical inspection?"

The lawyer remained stone-faced. "Mr. Thorne is... private."

That was one word for it.

Another clause outlined her responsibilities: attend public events when summoned, live full-time on the estate, and maintain the appearance of a genuine relationship-without intimacy unless mutually agreed.

"Am I allowed to see my sister?"

"Of course. You'll have access to a private car and driver. Visits can be arranged weekly."

Liana hesitated over the final line:

Sign below if you agree to become Mrs. Liana Thorne.

Her fingers hovered over the pen.

It wasn't love.

It wasn't safety.

But it was salvation.

She signed.

He didn't appear when the contract was complete.

Instead, the lawyer returned with a keycard, a phone, and a white-gold ring in a velvet box. The band shimmered with tiny diamonds, delicate enough to be cruel.

"Mr. Thorne requests your move-in be immediate. Your belongings will be retrieved."

So that was that.

No bridal gown.

No kiss.

No vows.

Just a signature and a silent man behind a wall.

Her new room was too perfect.

Cream walls. Silk sheets. A walk-in closet larger than her flower shop. It felt less like a bedroom and more like a high-end showroom waiting for someone else to live in it.

A maid delivered her dinner on a silver tray.

By ten p.m., Liana was pacing the floor, anxious and angry at how calm she seemed on the outside. She'd sold a piece of herself for security-her name, her freedom, maybe even her sanity-and yet she couldn't regret it.

Evie's surgery was being scheduled as they spoke. That was what mattered.

But then the phone on her nightstand buzzed.

Unknown Number:

Come to the south wing library. Bring nothing.

She nearly dropped the phone.

She followed the hallway signs, her bare feet silent on marble. The mansion stretched like a dream-one she could get lost in and never escape. The library was a cathedral of glass and shadow, lit only by wall sconces and the fire.

And there he was.

Or rather, there was the curtain again-gossamer, pale gray, hanging between her and the man behind the voice.

"Mrs. Thorne," Blaise said smoothly.

Her stomach clenched.

"It's still Liana."

A pause. "Liana, then."

"You know, you could've just interviewed me like a normal person. Face to face."

"I'm not a normal person."

She stepped closer. "You're not a ghost either."

The fire crackled. "Did you read the contract fully?"

"Yes."

"And you still signed."

"You were offering a lifeline," she whispered. "Of course I signed."

Silence settled between them.

She could see his silhouette behind the veil-tall, broad-shouldered, unmoving.

"You don't sound like someone who wants company," she said gently.

"I don't."

"Then why marry me?"

"Because company, when controlled, is less dangerous than loneliness."

That answer did something strange to her chest.

She studied the curtain. "Do you remember what love feels like?"

He didn't speak.

And maybe that was answer enough.

"You'll have full access to the house," he said instead. "Except my quarters. You'll never need to come to this wing unless summoned. Your role is simple-appear where you're told. Smile for photos. Be charming."

"You make it sound like I'm one of your algorithms."

He laughed then.

Just once. A sharp exhale.

It was the first real sound she'd heard from him, and it caught her off guard.

"I've read your file, Liana. You're not an algorithm. You're a risk."

"And yet, you married me."

"That's what makes it interesting."

Her pulse fluttered.

Before she could speak again, he said quietly, "Go back to your room. Rest. Tomorrow, your new life begins."

She lingered one heartbeat longer.

Then obeyed.

But as she walked back down the hallway, the firelight dancing behind her, Liana realized something both terrifying and true.

She didn't want to see his face out of curiosity.

She wanted to see it because-God help her-she wanted to know what kind of man sounded so broken behind so many walls.