Married to the man who loved me first

Chapter Two: Under the Same Roof The car ride to the Blackwood mansion was quiet. Not awkward-just heavy. Damien sat beside me in the backseat, his presence commanding the space without him doing anything at all. He didn't look at his phone. He didn't look at me either. His attention was focused straight ahead, jaw relaxed, posture perfect, like this was just another item on his daily schedule. Marry a stranger. Take her home. Continue life. I clasped my hands together in my lap, my fingers cold despite the warmth inside the luxury vehicle. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows, and with every passing minute, the reality of what I had done settled deeper into my chest. I was married. Not in the romantic, dreamlike sense people talked about. No wedding dress. No vows. No smiles or witnesses. Just ink on paper and a contract that had changed the course of my life. "Are you comfortable?" Damien asked suddenly. His voice startled me. "Yes," I replied quickly. "I'm fine." He nodded once and returned to his silence. That was it. No small talk. No unnecessary words. Somehow, that made my chest tighten even more. The mansion gates came into view ten minutes later. Tall, black iron gates slowly opened, revealing a long driveway lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and soft golden lights. The house itself was enormous-modern, elegant, and intimidatingly beautiful. This was his home. And now, apparently, mine. The car stopped at the entrance, and a line of staff appeared almost instantly, moving with practiced precision. A middle-aged woman stepped forward, her expression respectful but curious. "Welcome home, sir," she said, then turned to me. "Welcome, madam." Madam. The word echoed in my head as damien stepped out of the car and offered his hand. I hesitated for half a second before placing my hand in his. His grip was warm. Steady. Reassuring in a way I didn't expect. He didn't let go until I was fully out of the car. "This is Mrs. Helen," he said calmly to the staff. "She will be staying indefinitely." Staying. Not visiting. Not temporarily housed. Staying. "Yes, sir," they replied in unison. Mrs. Helen I swallowed. Inside, the mansion was even more stunning. Marble floors, high ceilings, soft lighting that made everything feel unreal-like I had stepped into someone else's life. Someone richer. Someone more composed. Someone who belonged here. I didn't. Damien walked beside me, his pace unhurried, as if he was giving me time to adjust. We stopped in the expansive living room, and he finally turned to face me fully. "You'll have your own room," he said. "Across the east wing. My room is on the west." Separate. I nodded, relief and confusion mixing together. "Thank you." "There are rules," he continued, his tone calm but firm. "We present ourselves as a married couple in public. At home, you have freedom. You can decorate your space as you like. You can invite friends, within reason. If anything makes you uncomfortable, you speak to me directly." I blinked. I hadn't expected that. "And... you?" I asked carefully. "What about you?" A pause. "I won't intrude on your boundaries," he said. "Unless necessary." Necessary. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I didn't ask. A maid appeared with tea, setting the tray down quietly. Damien gestured for me to sit. "Eat," he said. "You haven't had dinner." I stiffened. "You noticed?" His eyes flicked to me briefly. "You didn't eat during the meeting." Oh. I sat down slowly and lifted the teacup, my hands trembling just slightly. Adrian remained standing, watching me in silence. Not staring-observing. Like he was memorizing something. "You don't have to hover," I said softly, attempting a smile. Something unreadable crossed his face. "I'm not hovering," he replied. "I'm making sure you're settled." I nodded and took a sip. The tea was warm. Comforting. "So," I said after a moment, "do your family members live nearby?" "Yes." My stomach tightened. "Will I meet them soon?" "Tomorrow evening," he answered. "Dinner." My grip on the cup tightened. "Already?" "Yes." I hesitated, then asked the question that had been bothering me since morning. "Why is this marriage so important to them?" Damien didn't answer immediately. He sat across from me instead, folding his hands together. "Because they've been waiting for it," he said. Waiting. "For you to get married?" I asked. "For you," he corrected. My breath caught. "Me?" "They wanted someone suitable," he said calmly. "Someone without scandals. Someone controllable." I laughed softly, despite myself. "And they think that's me?" "They underestimated you," he replied. I looked up at him, surprised. His gaze held mine for a second longer than necessary before he stood. "You should rest. It's been a long day." He gestured toward the stairs. "Mrs. Helen will show you to your room." As I followed her up the grand staircase, my thoughts raced. Nothing about this man fit what I had expected. He wasn't cruel. He wasn't cold in the way movies portrayed rich men. He was... restrained. Like he was holding something back. My room was breathtaking. Soft neutral colors, a large bed, a private sitting area, and a balcony overlooking the gardens. It felt too perfect-too thoughtful-to be random. "This was prepared for you," Mrs. Helen said gently. "If there's anything you need, please let us know." "Thank you," I said sincerely. After she left, I closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling deeply. This was real. I changed into the clothes provided and stepped onto the balcony, letting the cool night air brush against my skin. The gardens below were quiet, bathed in moonlight. "You won't fall," a voice said behind me. I turned sharply. Damien stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, expression calm. "I didn't hear you," I said. "I know." That should have bothered me. Somehow, it didn't. "I wanted to check on you," he said. "Make sure the room is acceptable." "It's more than acceptable," I replied. "It's... perfect." His gaze softened, just barely. "I'm glad." An uncomfortable silence followed. "I won't stay," he added. "But there's something you should know." I straightened. "What is it?" "This marriage may be temporary," he said carefully, "but while it exists, you are under my protection." Protection. "No one in this house will disrespect you. No one in my family will harm you. And if they try-" He stopped. "And if they try?" I prompted. "They'll answer to me." My chest tightened at the quiet intensity in his voice. "Why?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Why go this far for a contract?" He looked at me for a long moment. "Because I don't make careless decisions," he said. Then he turned and left. I stood there long after the door closed, my heart racing. That night, sleep refused to come. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face-calm, controlled, watching me like he was afraid I might disappear if he blinked. On the other side of the mansion, Damien stood by his bedroom window, his phone dark in his hand. Seven years. Seven years of watching from a distance. Of restraint. Of silence. And now she was here. Under his roof. His wife. Even if only on paper. "Not yet," he murmured to himself. "But soon."