The Doctor's Return

Elara's POV.

The ring felt heavy on my finger. It was a diamond the size of a postage stamp.

I sat in the back of the sedan, my hands resting on my lap. I kept touching the ring, trying to

convince myself it was real.

Three hours ago, I was scrubbing beakers in a basement, worried about the bus fare. Now, I

had a marriage certificate in my bag and a rock on my finger that could probably buy the entire

university.

I was married. The realization didn't feel like a romantic swell like I always thought it would be.

There were no flowers or soft music. I had entered into a legal merger.

Dante sat on the other side of the wide leather seat, his phone pressed to his ear. He hadn't

looked at me once since we left City Hall.

We reached a massive gate and the car came to a stop under a stone portico. The driver opened my door, and I stepped out.

I felt like an intruder. I turned to Dante, expecting him to say something, maybe a welcome or a

brief explanation of the house rules.

He stepped out of the car, checked his watch, and signaled to another black SUV idling near the

garage. An older woman in a charcoal-grey suit stepped out of the front doors of the mansion.

She had her hair pulled back in a slick tight bun.

"This is Mrs. Gable," Dante said. His eyes finally flickered to me for a fraction of a second.

"She is the housekeeper. She will show you to your room and provide whatever you require."

I opened my mouth to ask where he was going, but he was already walking toward the second

car.

"This way, Mrs. Moretti," the woman said.

I followed her inside.

I had spent my life in cramped apartments and shared dorms where the walls were thin and the

air smelled like old cooking oil. I would have never imagined that I would live in a house like this.

It felt cold and empty, despite the expensive furniture.

"Mr. Moretti's office and private wing are to the east," Mrs. Gable said. Her voice echoed off the

high ceilings. "You are not to enter that wing unless invited. Your suite is on the second floor,

west wing. There is a library, a gym, and a cinema on the lower level. Meals are served at eight, one, and seven. If you have dietary preferences, you will leave a list on the kitchen island."

"I can cook for myself," I said. My voice sounded thin in the vast space. I was used to making

ramen on a hot plate or eating leftovers from the hospital cafeteria.

"That won't be necessary," she replied. She didn't even smile."The staff handles everything.

Your belongings have been moved from your dormitory. They are in your dressing room."

She led me up the wide stairs and into a room. Inside was a bedroom larger than my entire old

apartment. It had a king-sized bed, a walk-in closet, and a bathroom made of gold and stone.

The tour ended, dinner was served in a dining room that sat twenty people, and the housekeeper and I parted ways. I ate my meal in total silence.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Moretti," Mrs. Gable said when she came to clear the table, and then she was

gone.

I went up to my room, into the bathroom to take a shower and used the expensive soaps that

smelled like sandalwood and citrus. I dried my hair with a towel that was softer than any blanket

I owned. I put on an old, oversized t-shirt I'd had since freshman year. It was thin and faded, but

it was the only thing that felt like me.

I climbed into bed. The sheets were high-thread-count silk.

The silence of the house was heavy, and it was beginning to itch my skin. There were no sirens

from the street, no shouting neighbors, no dripping pipes. It was so quiet that I could hear my organs functioning.

I felt isolated.

I lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling. I thought about the contract.

Ten million dollars, my debt wiped clean and all I had to do was survive this house and give a

man I didn't know a son.

I closed my eyes, trying to force sleep to come.

The click of the door handle woke me.

I didn't move. I kept my breathing shallow, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. I

looked at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was two in the morning.

The door groaned slightly as it swung open. A heavy, masculine scent filled the room. I opened my eyes and sat up, pulling the duvet to my chest.

The room was dark, but the moonlight spilling through the window showed the figure standingover me. He was tall, his shoulders broad, blocking out the light from the hallway.

"Dante?" I whispered, hoping it was him and not a stranger.

"Take off your clothes." His voice was hoarse and demanding. It wasn't a request.

I reached for the lamp and turned on the light. The sudden brightness made me squint. Dante

was standing at the foot of the bed, his black suit jacket was gone. His white shirt was already

unbuttoned halfway down, and his tie was loose on his shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up,

revealing muscular forearms. He looked tired.

His body was quite literally more visible now. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, and he was also the most terrifying.

Despite the fear, a strange heat curled in my stomach. I had been alone for so long, and his

presence was overwhelming. It made me long to just hold him, to feel another person close to

me in this silent house.

I kept staring at his perfectly sculpted features, the sharp jawline, and the dark, stormy eyes.

"Elara," he said.

"Sir," The word fell out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"Take off your clothes." He repeated. He stepped closer to the edge of the mattress.

The tone of his voice made me realize I was in for a lot. My life as a student was over.

 My life as his wife had finally begun.