Married to the Billionaire Who Hated Me First

The wedding was over.

Or, rather, it had been a performance a lavish, glittering stage set for the world, with Evelyn Hart cast as the unwilling lead. She had walked down the aisle in a delicate white gown, her hands trembling as though the fabric itself could anchor her in some false sense of control. Every eye in the grand ballroom had followed her, every whisper slicing like a knife.

Lucas Blackwood had stood at the altar like a statue carved from ice. His eyes, impossibly sharp, had followed her every step, analysing, judging, calculating. There had been no warmth, no softness, no hint of the man she once thought she knew. Just the cold intensity of a man who had decided she was nothing more than a problem to manage.

As the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, Evelyn forced a smile that felt more like a mask than an expression. The applause rang hollow in her ears. She barely heard it over the pounding of her heart.

The reception was no better. Lucas seemed intent on reminding everyone of their imbalance of power. He whispered cold commands to the staff, ensuring Evelyn's every movement was scrutinized. Every toast was an exercise in endurance: she smiled, nodded, and counted down the minutes until she could escape to her room.

Finally, it was over. The last guest had left, leaving behind a cavernous ballroom echoing with silence. Evelyn exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, thinking the worst was behind her.

She was wrong.

Lucas didn't leave the ballroom. Instead, he walked beside her silently, his tall frame casting a shadow over her as they moved toward the private wing of the mansion. Every step felt like a march toward some inevitable doom she couldn't avoid.

"This is your room," he said abruptly, gesturing to the door. His voice was flat, almost clinical. "Tonight, you sleep there."

Evelyn blinked. "I um what about ?"

He cut her off with a sharp look. "You don't need to know. Go. Now."

The room was enormous, adorned with opulent furnishings that seemed to mock her humble upbringing. She set down her small clutch and sank onto the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of reality pressing down on her chest.

A knock at the door made her start.

"I assume you know what time it is," Lucas said, stepping into the room. He didn't close the door behind him, letting the sound of the hallway echo faintly as he approached. "And I assume you understand your obligations."

Evelyn's stomach twisted. "I signed the contract..."

"Good." He reached for the folder he had handed her earlier, flipping it open. "Let's review a few points. Clause twelve states: 'The wife shall comply with the husband's directives in all public appearances.' That includes tonight's dinner. Clause nineteen: 'The wife shall maintain a decorum befitting a Blackwood.' That includes your posture, expressions, and every word you utter.'"

She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came.

Lucas's gaze softened only slightly as if to remind her there was no escape. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." Her voice was small. "I understand."

He nodded, then left without another word. The door clicked behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Alone... but not really.

The walls seemed to close in, memories of the past five years crashing over her. The accusations, the betrayal he believed she had committed, the way he had walked away and left her shattered it all came flooding back. And now, she had to live under the same roof as the man who had destroyed her life.

Hours passed. The silence of the mansion was suffocating. She couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't think clearly. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound made her jump.

Then the knock came again.

This time, she didn't flinch.

Lucas stepped inside, holding a glass of water. His expression was neutral, unreadable. "Drink this."

She took it reluctantly, her fingers brushing against his. The contact was electric, sending an unwelcome shiver through her body. She pulled her hand back quickly, embarrassed by the reaction she couldn't control.

"You don't trust me," he said, more statement than question.

"I..." She hesitated, searching for words that would not come. "I... shouldn't."

He chuckled softly, a sound devoid of humour. "Good. You shouldn't. That's Clause twenty-seven: distrust is mandatory until proven otherwise."

Evelyn blinked. "You "

"Enough talking." His voice cut her off. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow, we begin the training."

"Training?" Her heart skipped.

"Yes. How to behave as a proper wife of a Blackwood." He stepped toward the door, paused, and added, "Fail, and I will remind you of the consequences."

Her pulse raced. What could he possibly mean? She had already signed the contract. What more could he demand?

That night, sleep eluded her. She stared at the ceiling, the faint light of the city filtering through the curtains, painting the walls in streaks of gold and blue. She tried to convince herself she could survive this that she could endure the year, outlast his cruelty, and somehow protect her family.

But deep down, she knew one thing:

This marriage was not about love.

It was about power.

And Lucas Blackwood would wield it mercilessly.

Cliffhanger: Evelyn's phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from an unknown number appeared:

"He plans to destroy you. Be careful. - Someone who knows"