After the marriage, Mia returned to Victor Hale's mansion as his wife—yet nothing about it felt like marriage. It felt like isolation. Like exile.
She was married to a man she knew nothing about, living in a house that breathed silence despite being filled with servants. The halls were wide, the ceilings high, the walls cold. Everything felt strange.
This is a prison, she thought. Not a home. A beautiful jail.
Victor called the servants together and announced, with no warmth in his voice, that Mia was his wife and would be addressed as Mrs. Hale. The title made her stomach churn. She felt nothing—no pride, no joy—only a dull sickness. But she said nothing.
After dismissing the gathering, Victor turned to her.
"Scott will be your personal bodyguard," he said coldly. "You will not go anywhere I have not approved. No phone calls. No visitors. Remember—my house, my rules."
His voice lowered, sharper.
"If you disobey me, you will mourn your father without ever seeing his corpse."
Mia's breath caught, but she did not beg.
"You will sleep in my room every night," he continued. "You will satisfy me as a wife should. You are the debt your father failed to repay. Don't ever mistake this for love—it is strictly transactional. You will dress to my standards and present yourself properly before my business partners."
Mia listened, unimpressed, untouched by his cruelty. She had already made her choice. She would do anything to save her father.
She looked at Victor calmly and asked, "Are you done? Because I'd like to go upstairs and get out of this dress."
Victor stiffened, clearly caught off guard. He had expected fear. Tears. Pleading.
Instead, Mia turned away, walked upstairs, and locked herself in her room.
The next morning, Mia dressed neatly and came downstairs for breakfast. The servants addressed her as Mrs. Hale, just as Victor had commanded.
She sat and began eating.
Moments later, Victor joined her at the table. He expected her hands to shake, her eyes to avoid his. Instead, she was composed—quiet, steady.
Mia, be calm. Be bold, she told herself. If you beg him, he'll treat you like a maid.
She met Victor's gaze without flinching.
It unsettled him.
Why did she look at me like that? he wondered.
In that moment, he realized—Mia was not weak.
Suddenly, a servant accidentally spilled water onto Victor's suit. He shot to his feet and slapped her hard across the face.
"You foolish woman!" he roared. "You've ruined my office suit. You're fired. Pack your filthy things and get out of my house!"
The servant collapsed into tears.
Victor glanced at Mia, expecting a reaction.
There was none.
She didn't flinch. Didn't look at him. She simply continued eating.
Victor clenched his jaw.
Bold… fearless, he thought. But this is still my house. My rules.
Yet from that moment, Mia understood one thing clearly—
She was trapped in the home of a heartless, cold-blooded man.
The following day, Mia overheard servants whispering in the corridor.
"Boss has brought another one home," one said. "Tomorrow she'll run off, saying he's cold-hearted. I don't know what women see in him. So wicked."
Mia's chest tightened. She wasn't like the others—but she was trapped all the same.
She went to the poolside, the only place that felt calm. Sitting by the water, she finally allowed herself to cry.
Victor appeared behind her.
"Don't get too comfortable," he said flatly. "You're not the first woman I've owned. The only difference is that I married you. So don't relax. Don't feel happy."
His words cut deep.
And Mia knew—this was only the beginning.