I heard the iris blooming

The following day, two seismic events shook Ashford to its core.

First, Nova—the younger daughter of the Nova family—publicly broke off her engagement to Stephen and refused to marry him.

Second, in a sudden whirlwind ceremony, that same Nova married Grant, the head of the Grant family.

The city’s elite were thrown into an uproar.

Everyone said I had lost my mind. How could I discard a dazzling prospect like Stephen only to chain myself to a man known as a notorious wreck?

Stephen stormed into my family home, eyes bloodshot, and confronted me. “Nova, what the hell are you playing at?”

I looked at his furious face, my own heart still as a placid lake. “Stephen, we have nothing more to say to each other. Please don’t trouble me again.”

“You’re betraying me for that cripple?” He seized my wrist, his grip so fierce I thought the bones might snap.

“Betrayal?” I laughed until tears streaked my cheeks. “Stephen, are you even worthy of that word? Did you ever truly see *me*? From the very beginning, I was just Joyce’s stand-in—a tool to secure your family’s fortune. Well, this tool has decided she’s done being used. What right do you have to be angry?”

All the color drained from his face.

I wrenched my hand free and walked away without a backward glance, following the convoy of Grant family cars as they left my childhood home behind.

The wedding at the Grant residence was perfunctory, insultingly simple. No guests, no ceremony. Still in my everyday clothes, I was driven directly to a villa perched halfway up the mountainside.

The villa lay silent, inhabited only by an elderly housekeeper.

I was led to a bedroom on the second floor. There, the man of legend sat in a wheelchair, his back to me, gazing out at the city lights below.

“You’re here.”

His voice was better than I’d imagined—low, slightly hoarse, threaded with an indefinable weariness.

He turned the wheelchair. A handsome, pallid face came into view. A savage scar ran from the corner of his left eye down to his jaw, marring his features and lending him a sinister, intimidating air.

This was my husband. Grant.

His eyes swept over me, sharp as a hawk’s. “Not afraid?”

“I am,” I answered truthfully. “But I don’t regret it.”

Something like a smile touched his mouth, though the scar twisted it into something grim. “There’s a contract on the table. Sign it.”

I walked over and picked up the document. The terms were clear: a marriage of convenience, valid for one year. For that year, I would play the part of Mrs. Grant flawlessly. We would not interfere in each other’s lives. Afterward, we would divorce, and he would give me another substantial sum.

At the very end, one final clause stood out: *Do not, unless absolutely necessary, go to the third floor.*

Without hesitation, I picked up the pen and signed my name.

“Good.” He gave a slight nod. “The Centennial Royal Sapphire Necklace has already been delivered to the Nova family. From today, you are my wife. Remember your place.”

With that, he wheeled himself out of the room.

Alone in the vast space, I walked to the window and looked down at the sea of city lights below. A hollow feeling settled in my chest.

I had leapt from one cage into another.

But this time, I had jumped willingly.