Audrey's Pov
By morning, the mansion felt too quiet.
I woke up early, not because I wanted to, but because my body refused to rest in a place that didn't feel like mine. The bed was soft, the room luxurious, but comfort didn't always mean peace.
Breakfast was already set by the time I walked into the dining area. The staff greeted me politely, efficiently, like I was a guest instead of a wife.
I sat down, stared at the food for a moment, then finally asked, "Is… Mr. Drake around?"
One of the staff bowed slightly. "He left early, ma'am. He's already at work."
Of course he was.
I nodded and ate in silence, my thoughts louder than the room. When breakfast ended, the day stretched endlessly ahead of me. I wandered the library, picked up books I barely read, scrolled through my phone, called friends who asked too many questions I couldn't answer.
Time dragged.
By nightfall, the mansion was still quiet. Too quiet.
I checked the time again. 11:47 p.m.
I should have gone to bed. I knew that. But something kept me rooted to the sitting room, curled on the couch with a book resting uselessly on my lap.
When the front door finally opened, I jolted upright.
Richard walked in like he owned the night itself—jacket draped over his arm, expression unreadable, eyes sharp even at this hour. He stopped when he saw me.
"You're still awake," he said.
I stood slowly. "You came home late."
His eyes darkened.
"And?"
The single word felt like a warning, but I ignored it. "I was just wondering," I said, genuinely. "You work this late every—"
"That's not your concern."
The coldness in his voice hit harder than I expected.
"I didn't ask to control you," I replied, my tone tightening. "I asked because I'm here. Because I'm your—"
"Don't finish that sentence."
He stepped closer, his presence heavy, dominating. "This marriage is a contract. Nothing more. You don't ask where I go. You don't wait for me. You don't concern yourself with my schedule."
I felt heat rise in my chest.
"And what exactly is my role then?" I asked, crossing my arms. "To exist quietly in your house and pretend you're not human?"
His jaw flexed.
"You exist because the contract demands it," he said. "Don't confuse permission with intimacy."
Something snapped.
"I didn't beg to be here," I shot back. "And I'm not your employee. If you expect silence, you married the wrong woman."
The room went still.
For a moment, I thought he might explode. Instead, his lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
"Careful, Audrey," he said quietly. "Test my boundaries again, and you won't like the outcome."
I met his gaze, refusing to step back.
"Then stop pretending you're the only one trapped here."
Silence.
His eyes burned into mine—calculating, restrained, unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.
Leaving the air thick with tension.
And me standing there, heart racing, knowing one thing for certain—
This contract was already cracking.