Married to my father's enemy

The last voicemail my father left me ended with a scream.

I didn't know how many times I'd listened to it over the past three months. Twenty? Fifty? Maybe a hundred? The recording was only seventeen seconds long, but it had become the center of my universe.

"Aria, sweetheart, I'm running late tonight. Don't wait for me. Tell your mother I'll..."

Then a loud crash, heavy breathing and then a scream that still clawed at my chest every time I heard it.

The message was cut off after that. I stared at my phone screen with my thumb hovering over the replay button, but I couldn't bring myself to listen again, at least not tonight.

Outside, rain battered the windows of our tiny apartment, turning Silvercrest City into a blur of gray lights but inside, the silence was somehow worse.

On the kitchen counter sat unpaid bills, three final warnings from the electricity company and an eviction notice folded neatly beside a half-empty bottle of my mother's medication.

Just fourteen days left before we lost our home. I squeezed my eyes shut in agony.

"Please," I whispered to nobody. "Just let something go right for once."

The universe didn't answer. From the next room came the sound of my mother coughing. I quickly shoved the eviction notice under a stack of newspapers before walking into her room.

She sat by the window, wrapped in a blanket, staring out into the rain.

"Mom, you should be sleeping." I whispered.

Grace Bennett smiled weakly. "Did your father call?"

The question hit me like a knife, every night she asked the same question and every night I replied with the same lie.

"Not yet," I replied softly, sitting on the edge of her bed and taking her hand. Her fingers were cold, thin, the bones too prominent beneath her skin.

Her eyes drifted back to the window. "He'll come home."

I wished I believed that but three months ago, my father had left for work and vanished. The police said he was probably hiding somewhere, his company stopped looking after two weeks and his friends stopped calling after a month.

But my mother still sat by the window every evening, waiting for headlights that never appeared.

"Of course he will," I lied again, squeezing her hand gently. "He probably just got held up with something. You know how Dad is."

"I'll make some tea," I whispered again.

She nodded absent-mindedly.

Back in the kitchen, I opened the cupboard and found exactly two tea bags. Perfect. My life was becoming more like a comedy written by someone who hated me.

I laughed bitterly and sank onto the floor, my back scrubbed against the cabinet.

The rent was overdue, the electricity would be cut off next week, my mother's heart medication was running out and my father was gone.

The weight of it all crashed over me at once and for the first time in weeks, I let myself cry. It wasn't the quiet tears I'd mastered over the years, it was real, ugly tears.

A knock on the door startled me, I opened my eyes and for a moment, I didn't know where I was then another knock, three times. I glanced at the clock on the microwave.

11:47 p.m. Who the hell visits people at midnight? My mother had fallen asleep in her room. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened the door.

An older man stood in the hallway, perfectly dressed in a black suit despite the rain outside. His silver hair was neatly combed and he held a leather briefcase in one hand.

He looked completely out of place in our crumbling apartment building.

"Aria Bennett?" He asked.

I tightened my grip on the door, my senses suddenly on high alert. Strangers didn't come to our door at midnight. A stranger who knows my name. "Who's asking?"

He offered a polite nod. "My name is Richard."

"Okay... Richard who?"

"I work for Mr. Ethan Blackwood."

The name punched the air from my lungs. Everyone knew Ethan Blackwood, the billionaire CEO, a movie star and the heir to the Blackwood empire. His face was plastered on magazine covers and billboards across the city. Women swooned over him. Men envied him.

"What does Ethan Blackwood want with me?"

Something unreadable flashed across the old man's face. "He has a proposal."

"A proposal?"

Richard opened his briefcase, inside was a thick stack of papers and a silver pen. I stared at him and wondered if I'd somehow fallen asleep on the kitchen floor and was still dreaming.

"What is this?"

"A marriage contract."

I blinked, convinced I'd misheard him. "I'm sorry... what?"

"One year of marriage to Mr. Ethan Blackwood."

The silence that followed was almost funny, then I laughed, not because it was amusing but because it was insane.

"You've got the wrong apartment."

"I assure you, Miss Bennett, I don't."

I stepped back, ready to slam the door in his face. "Look, I'm not interested in whatever joke this is."

"It's not a joke."

He pulled a document from the briefcase and handed it to me. At the top, in bold letters, were the words:

CONTRACT MARRIAGE AGREEMENT

My stomach twisted. "Why me?"

"That isn't my place to answer."

"Then tell Mr. Blackwood to find someone else."

Richard didn't move, then he replied slowly. "All your debts will be paid."

I froze and he continued.

"Your mother's medical bills, the overdue rent, the loans your father left behind. One year." Richard continued quietly. "Your family will never worry about money again."

I stared at the papers in my hand, this wasn't real, it couldn't be. Nobody offered millions to marry a stranger. Nobody.

There had to be a catch, there always was. "Why?" I whispered.

Richard looked away for the first time. "I can't answer that."

My eyes drifted to the kitchen counter, there laid the eviction notice, the unpaid bills, and the medicine my mother desperately needed. Then there was my father, gone without a trace.

I thought of my mother sleeping in the next room, waiting for a man who might never come home. What choice did I have? Slowly, I picked up the pen. It was just a contract.

Richard watched me carefully.

"If I sign this..."

"Your problems disappear." He replied.

My hand trembled, my problems never disappeared, problems like mine simply changed shape.

"Where do I sign?"

For the first time since he'd arrived, something like sadness crossed Richard's face, he pointed to the last page and I signed my name.

Aria Bennett.

The ink hadn't even dried when regret crashed into me. What had I just done?

Richard carefully closed the briefcase. "A car will arrive tomorrow morning at eight."

I nodded numbly, then he turned to leave.

"Wait!" I called him back. "One question."

Richard looked back at me.

"Do you know where my father is?"

For the first time that night, the old man's composure cracked, but only for a second, I saw it. He lowered his eyes.

"Mr. Blackwood asked me not to answer that."

Cold fear spread through my chest. "What does that mean?"

Richard stepped into the hallway. "Get some rest, Miss Bennett."

"Richard!"

He paused. "Tomorrow, your life will change forever."

Then he walked away.

I stood frozen in the doorway long after the elevator doors closed.

Behind me, thunder shook the apartment and in my hand, the marriage contract felt heavier than stone. Then I realized eerily that somewhere, in a place I couldn't see, a man I'd never met was waiting for me.

****

Daniel Bennett was chained to a chair while Ethan Blackwood was standing in that dark basement over him, staring at him like a vulture hungry for meat.

Aria's father.

Blood dripped from Daniel Bennett's split lip as he struggled to lift his head. Ethan crouched in front of him with a cold expression and a phone pressed against his ear.

"She signed?"

Richard's voice crackled through the phone. "Yes, sir."

For the first time in fifteen years, Ethan smiled although cruel and broken, it was a smile.

He reached down and grabbed Daniel's chin.

"Good."

Daniel Bennett's eyes widened in horror, Ethan stood and walked toward the door but before leaving, he looked back.

"Tomorrow," he said quietly, "your daughter becomes my wife."

Then he slammed the metal door shut.

Daniel Bennett screamed his daughter's name.

"Aria!"

The first time I met my husband, he didn't even look at me.

Rain hammered against the windows as Richard's car climbed the winding road to Blackwood Manor. I sat in the back seat with my fingers wrapped tightly around the marriage contract resting on my lap, trying to convince myself that this wasn't completely insane.

Outside, the city faded away, replaced by towering trees and iron gates that reminded me about my new identity.

The iron gates creaked open, revealing the estate beyond. The Blackwood Manor wasn't a house, it was a kingdom.

Stone walls rose into the darkness, towering windows glowed with golden light, fountains lined the driveway, their water shimmering beneath the rain. The mansion sat at the top of the hill like a dark crown, watching over the city below with silent authority.

I turned to Richard. "Do people actually live here?"

He smiled faintly. "Some survive it better than others."

That wasn't comforting. The car rolled to a stop beneath the grand entrance, a servant opened my door, and cold air rushed over me. For a moment, I couldn't move.

"Mrs. Bennett?" Richard asked gently.

I swallowed hard and stepped out into the rain. Then I saw him.

Ethan Blackwood stood beside the fireplace, dressed in a black suit with one hand tucked into his pocket as he listened to an old lawyer shuffle papers.

He was taller than I expected and older too. He is handsome in a way I couldn't describe. He glanced at me for exactly two seconds before returning his attention to the lawyer.

The lawyer cleared his throat. "Miss Bennett, if you could sign here."

I looked around the empty room. "No guests?"

"No."

"No flowers? Priest?" I asked.

The lawyer shifted awkwardly. "No."

I laughed nervously. "Wow! Romance really is dead."

Richard coughed to hide a smile, Ethan didn't react and the lawyer slid the document toward me.

"Once both parties sign, the marriage becomes legally binding."

I stared at the paper, then slowly I picked up the pen, my hand shook as I signed my name.

Aria Bennett.

The lawyer passed the paper to Ethan and without hesitation, he signed beneath mine.

Ethan Blackwood.

The lawyer smiled. "Congratulations. You're officially husband and wife."

Ethan stood up immediately. "Richard, show her to her room."

I blinked. "Wait, that's it?"

He looked directly at me. "What exactly were you expecting?"

"I don't know, maybe an actual wedding?"

"This wasn't supposed to be one."

The words hit me like a slap but before I could respond, he turned and walked away. I stare at him, watching his broad shoulders disappear through a doorway at the far end of the room.

"Did my husband seriously leave ten seconds after marrying me?"

Richard sighed. "Mr. Blackwood isn't good with people."

"Clearly."

He picked up my suitcase and motioned toward the stairs. "Come with me."

The second floor was even more intimidating than the first. Portraits of people I'd never met lined the walls, watching me as Richard led me down a long hallway.

He stopped in front of a large white door. "This is your room."

I pushed the door open and froze. The bed alone was bigger than my apartment. Moonlight spilled through the windows illuminating shelves filled with books and furniture that looked too expensive to touch.

"This is a room?" I whispered.

Richard smiled. "Welcome to Blackwood Manor."

"Honestly, I'm afraid to sit on anything."

Richard handed me a cream-colored envelope. "Mr. Blackwood asked me to give you this."

I opened it and inside was a single sheet of paper.

Rules of Blackwood Manor.

Rule one: Never enter the west wing.

Rule two: Never ask questions about Isabella Blackwood.

Rule three: Never forget that this is a contract.

I looked up. "Your boss sounds like he escaped from a prison."

Richard actually laughed this time and then turned to leave.

"Wait!"

He stopped at the door. "Why did Ethan choose me?"

The old man's expression softened. "I'm afraid that's a question only he can answer."

Then I was alone. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the ring on my finger. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through old pictures of my family.

There was one of my father teaching me how to ride a bicycle and another of my mother laughing in our tiny kitchen.

Tears burned behind my eyes. What would Dad say if he saw me now? Would he tell me I'd lost my mind? Probably.

My stomach growled, I was hungry. After wandering the mansion for nearly ten minutes, I eventually found the kitchen.

To my surprise, someone was already there. Ethan.

He stood by the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He looked up when he heard me enter and for several seconds, neither of us spoke.

I opened the refrigerator just to avoid the awkward silence.

"So..." I said finally. "Do you always marry strangers on random Tuesdays?"

He took a sip of coffee. "Only once."

"Good. I was worried this was a hobby." I grabbed a bottle of water. "You know, most people introduce themselves to their wives."

He placed the cup on the counter. "My name is Ethan."

"Wow. Incredible progress."

His eyes flickered toward me. "You're sarcastic."

I leaned against the counter. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask."

"Why me?"

His expression changed instantly. "You should get some sleep."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."

He walked past me, close enough that I caught the scent of his cologne, something seductive and expensive. Then he disappeared from the kitchen,

I stared after him. "What an unbelievably weird man."

"That," Richard's voice said from behind me, "is an understatement."

I spun around to find the butler standing in the doorway, a knowing smile on his face. "You really shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

"My apologies. I came to check if you needed anything."

"Honestly? A guidebook would be nice. Or maybe a map. This place is like a maze."

Richard chuckled. "You get used to it."

I laughed awkwardly.

****

Sleep didn't come easily, the mansion was too quiet, the creak of the floorboards made me sit upright and every gust of wind made my heart race.

At around two in the morning, I gave up trying. I climbed out of bed and walked toward the window, the city lights glittered below the hill.

Somewhere out there, my mother was asleep in our tiny apartment, and somewhere out there, my father was missing.

And somehow, I was here, married to a stranger. A soft sound pulled me from my thoughts, the sound of a closing door.

I got out of the room and the hallway outside was empty. But at the far end, I caught a glimpse of someone disappearing around the corner.

It was Ethan. Curiosity sparked inside me and I quietly followed. He stopped in front of a black door hidden at the end of the corridor.

I hadn't noticed it before, then he slid a silver key into the lock. The sound echoed through the empty hallway but before he could open it, the floor beneath my foot creaked.

Ethan turned immediately, our eyes met and for a moment, neither of us moved. Then his gaze shifted from me to the door behind him.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

I crossed my arms. "I couldn't sleep."

"And following strangers through dark hallways seemed like a good solution?"

"You're not exactly a stranger anymore. We're married."

My eyes drifted to the door. "What's in there?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"That answer is becoming your favorite."

"Maybe because you keep asking the wrong questions."

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, before closing it, he looked back at me.

"Go back to bed, Aria."

Then he shut the door. I stared at it for several seconds and that's when I noticed something on the floor. I picked it up, it was a photograph.

It was old and the edges worn with time. The picture showed a smiling woman with dark hair standing beside a teenage Ethan. On the back, written in faded ink, were three words.

'Find the truth.'

Suddenly, footsteps echoed from behind the door. The footsteps continued slowly and heavy, coming closer.

My heartbeat quickened and then, from the other side of the door, Ethan's voice cut through the silence. It sounded sharp and dangerously calm.

"Mrs. Blackwood."

I froze.

"If you're still standing there when I open this door..." The handle began to turn. "...you're going to regret it."

I should have walked away like any normal person would have, but I didn't.

Here I was with a mysterious black door in the middle of a billionaire's mansion, a husband who barely tolerated my existence and a warning that sounded less like a threat and more like a promise. Yet somehow, my feet refused to move.

Every rational thought in my head screamed at me to turn around, to go back to my room, to pretend I hadn't seen anything.

On the other side of the door, silence swallowed the hallway.

Cold sweat prickled across my back as I stared at the silver handle, my fingers tightening around the photograph I'd found on the floor.

Without another thought, I spun around and hurried back down the corridor. But just as I turned the corner, the black door creaked open behind me.

"Mrs. Blackwood." Ethan's voice echoed through the empty hall.

I froze.

A cold shiver ran down my spine as I slowly looked over my shoulder.

He stood in the doorway with one hand gripping the frame and his gray eyes fixed on me.

"You have a habit of ignoring instructions."

I tried to sound casual though my voice betrayed me with a slight trembling. "You have a habit of acting like a serial killer."

For a moment, his expression didn't change, then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"You should sleep."

"And you should stop disappearing into creepy rooms in the middle of the night."

"Curiosity gets people into trouble."

"Good thing trouble and I are old friends."

His eyes dropped to my hand, to the photograph still clutched between my fingers. His expression shifted, "When did you find that?" He asked with a look of concern.

I glanced down at it. "It was lying on the floor."

He slowly walked toward me and every instinct in my body screamed at me to step back, but I stayed rooted to the spot.

Without a word, he took the photograph from my hand and slipped it into his pocket.

"Go to bed, Aria."

"Who is she?" I was pried.

His jaw tightened. "I said go to bed."

"Is she Isabella Blackwood?"

For the first time since we'd met, something flashed across his face. Pain. But it disappeared almost instantly.

"I won't ask again."

The coldness in his voice caught me off guard. For a second, neither of us moved, then he turned around and disappeared behind the black door and this time, the lock clicked.

I stood there for another minute before finally retreating to my room. But sleep never came.

****

The next morning, I woke up convinced that the previous night had been some bizarre dream but then I saw the wedding ring on my finger, I knew it was definitely not a dream.

Sunlight poured through the windows as I climbed out of bed and for a moment I forgot where I was. Then reality struck me, I was in Blackwood Manor. Stuck in a contract marriage with an emotionally unavailable billionaire husband.

After getting dressed, I wandered downstairs in search of coffee and possibly answers. The dining room was already occupied, Ethan sat at the end of the enormous table, reading the newspaper while drinking coffee, Richard stood nearby.

"Good morning," I greeted.

Richard smiled. "Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood."

Ethan didn't even look up. I bit my lip, pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down.

"So, is ignoring your wife before breakfast another house rule?"

Ethan folded the newspaper without lifting his eyes. "Good morning."

I stared at him. "Such enthusiasm."

He took another sip of coffee. "You're very talkative this early."

"I'm compensating for your lack of personality." I talked back.

Richard nearly dropped the teapot and for the first time, Ethan actually looked at me, there was something dangerously amused in his expression.

"Be careful, Mrs. Blackwood." He warned, although he didn't sound stern.

"Or what?"

"You'll start thinking we're friends."

I snorted. "That seems unlikely."

For a brief moment, silence settled over the table then Richard cleared his throat.

"Mr. Blackwood, your father called." Ethan's expression darkened instantly. "He wants you both at dinner tonight."

"Both?" I asked.

Ethan folded the newspaper and stood. "Unfortunately."

"Your family sounds lovely." I smiled.

"They're not," he frowned and with that he left the room.

****

By noon, boredom had officially declared war on me. The Blackwood Manor was beautiful, but it was also enormous and strangely empty. And every corridor eventually led back to one place.

The west wing. I stopped at the velvet rope blocking the entrance. Never enter the west wing, rule number one. Naturally, I wanted to know exactly what was hidden inside.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?"

I jumped. Richard stood behind me, carrying a stack of books.

"Thinking about what?"

"Breaking the rules."

I smiled innocently. "I would never."

"Mrs. Blackwood, I've worked here for forty years." Richard shook his head and walked away but before disappearing down the hall, he turned back. "Whatever you do, don't ask Mr. Blackwood about his mother."

"Why?"

His face grew serious. "Because some wounds never heal." Then he left.

And somehow, I felt even more curious than before.

****

That evening, I found Ethan in the library. He sat alone in an armchair with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a book in the other. For someone who acted like a robot, he looked surprisingly human in the soft light.

I leaned against the doorway and asked casually. "So, you read?"

He didn't look up so I continued. "I thought billionaires just counted money for fun."

"Only on weekends."

I blinked. "Was that a joke?"

"Don't get used to it." He murmured loud enough for me to hear it.

I walked farther into the room. "What are you reading?"

He closed the book before I could see the cover. "Something that doesn't concern you." He snapped.

"Do you ever answer questions?"

"No."

For a moment, silence settled between us. Then my eyes landed on a framed photograph on the shelf beside him, it was the same woman from last night. Dark hair, a bright smile and young Ethan standing beside her.

I picked it up.

"She was beautiful."

The room instantly went cold and Ethan stood up quickly, staring at me like someone who had no feelings whatsoever.

"Put it down." His voice wasn't angry, no, it was much worse, it was empty.

I slowly lowered the frame and asked. "She was your mother, wasn't she?"

He crossed the room in three strides and took the photograph from my hands.

"I told you not to ask about her."

"I was just curious."

"Curiosity isn't always harmless."

I swallowed but I didn't give up. "Did something happen to her?"

His expression hardened and for a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. Then he spoke quietly.

"She died."

I gasped lightly. "I'm sorry."

He stared at the photograph but before I could say anything else, his phone rang.He glanced at the screen, and whatever softness had appeared in his face vanished immediately.

"Excuse me." He walked toward the door.

"Ethan." I yelled out.

He stopped. "What?"

I hesitated then finally I asked. "Why did you marry me?"

For several seconds, he didn't answer, then he looked over his shoulder and replied. "That's the wrong question."

I frowned. "Then what's the right question?"

This time, he turned and for the first time since I'd met him, there was something strange in his expression. It wasn't anger nor annoyance. It felt like regret.

"You should be asking why I chose you."

Before I could respond, he walked out of the library. I stared after him with my heart pounding. Why did I choose you? The words echoed in my mind long after his footsteps disappeared.

Curiosity got the better of me again, I crossed the room and looked at the bookshelf Ethan had been standing beside. Something white was sticking out from between the books, so I pulled it out. I was a newspaper clipping, the headline read.

BLACKWOOD GROUP FOUNDER'S WIFE DIES IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT

Beneath the headline was the same woman from the photograph. Isabella Blackwood. My eyes moved to the date, it was fifteen years ago, I turned the clipping over. Three words had been scribbled on the back in black ink.

Find the truth.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed from the hallway. Heavy and fast, coming straight toward the library. I shoved the clipping back into the shelf, my heart racing, my hands shaking. I barely had time to step away before the door burst open. I was caught in the act, I guess.

Ethan stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with something that looked like panic. His gaze immediately fell on the bookshelf, on the spot where I'd been standing, and genuine fear flashed across his face.

"Did you touch anything?"

I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady. "No." I lied.

He stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether I was lying, then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said.

"Stay away from my mother's room."

Before I could ask where it was, Ethan turned and walked away. Only after he disappeared did I notice something tucked beneath the armchair.

It was a silver key and hanging from it was a small tag. WEST WING.

I stood in the library for a long time after he left, the key clutched in my trembling hand.

The west wing. Rule number one. Never enter the west wing.

But I'd never been good at following rules.