Arielle hated mirrors.
Not because she was insecure—but because they reflected things she didn't want to see. Like the sadness she wore under perfectly applied lipstick. Or the way her eyes darted toward the door every time she heard footsteps, hoping it was him. Hoping he'd say something more than a command.
After the gala, she hadn't seen Grayson for two days. Not even a note. Not even Ezra.
She wasn't sure what hurt more—his absence, or the way it didn't even surprise her anymore.
---
Downstairs, the estate felt colder than usual. Arielle wandered without purpose, barefoot, her silk robe brushing the marble as she turned into the hallway outside the old drawing room. A sliver of moonlight fell through the high windows, lighting up the rows of paintings on the wall—portraits of people she didn't know and would probably never ask about.
She stepped inside.
Not the piano room. That felt too vulnerable tonight.
Instead, she lingered in the empty corridor where Grayson's study lay just beyond the locked double doors. She paused at the threshold, staring at the closed room as if she could see through it—into his mind, his thoughts, his reasons.
The man was a fortress.
But tonight, so was she.
"You're pacing," came a voice behind her.
She turned quickly.
Grayson stood at the end of the corridor, one hand in his pocket, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Relaxed. Dangerous.
"You haven't said a word to me in two days," she said calmly.
"I was hoping you'd take the hint."
Her jaw clenched. "You're excellent at pushing people away. Is that how you plan to live? In a mansion full of shadows?"
He stepped closer. "And you? How do you plan to live—smiling at every man who looks your way?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Is this about Julian again?"
He didn't respond, but the flash in his eyes was answer enough.
She scoffed. "You think I'm sleeping with him?"
"I think you enjoy attention."
"From anyone but you, apparently."
Silence fell. Sharp. Slicing.
Then Grayson said coldly, "People like Julian don't just come to parties for champagne. He's playing you."
She stared at him. "You sound jealous."
"I'm warning you."
"No, Grayson," she said quietly. "You're deflecting."
She turned and began walking away, but he grabbed her wrist—not roughly, but firmly enough to make her pause.
"You're my wife."
She laughed bitterly. "On paper."
"That paper protects you more than you know."
She yanked her arm free. "And you think that gives you a say in who I speak to? You disappear, shut me out, treat me like an inconvenient clause in a contract—and now you want to play the possessive husband?"
His jaw clenched.
She stared at him a moment longer. "Don't worry, Grayson. I know how to stay in character."
She walked off, barefoot, refusing to let him see the tears brimming in her eyes.
---
Later that night, Arielle found herself out in the garden again.
She sat at the stone bench beside the empty fountain, arms wrapped around herself. The air was sharp with the scent of jasmine, the only softness in a life that was becoming more jagged by the day.
"Rough night?" a voice asked.
Julian.
He wasn't smiling this time.
"Did you follow me?" she asked.
"No. I just knew you'd need fresh air after talking to him."
Arielle stayed quiet, unsure of whether to argue or admit he was right.
Julian sat down beside her, uninvited but not unwelcome.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
He nodded.
"Who is he, really?"
Julian's gaze flicked toward the mansion. "Grayson Carter is a man with power, secrets, and debts—not all of them monetary."
"That's not an answer."
He looked at her, something darker in his expression. "Just know this—your husband's enemies don't go away. They just smile at you before they strike."
She swallowed. "And what about his wife?"
Julian's voice dropped. "They burn her first."
---
The next morning, the estate buzzed with movement. Staff rushed past with floral arrangements, servers in black uniforms moved like chess pieces, and Ezra was on the phone shouting about schedules and seating.
"What's going on?" Arielle asked one of the maids.
The girl looked uneasy. "Private dinner, madam. Mr. Carter's hosting some powerful people tonight."
Of course he was.
Arielle stayed out of sight, slipping back into the library to escape the circus. That was when she heard the voices—muffled but clear—coming from behind the walls.
The hidden hallway that led to Grayson's study.
She held her breath, pressing against the wooden paneling.
"…we move on the next phase. If she starts digging—"
"She won't. She doesn't even know who Elena was."
"She's not stupid. She's curious."
"Let me handle her."
That voice.
Grayson.
Arielle's heart twisted.
Elena?
Who was Elena?
And why didn't she know?
---
That night, she was summoned. Not requested—summoned.
Ezra stood in her doorway with a deep green silk gown draped over one arm. "Mr. Carter said you are to attend."
"Of course he did," she said under her breath.
The dining room was glowing with golden candlelight and murmurs of wealth. There were only six people total at the table—Grayson, five men with rings on every finger, and now her.
When she walked in, every head turned.
Grayson stood.
"This is my wife, Arielle."
He always said it like a claim.
She sat beside him, playing the role she'd been forced into. Graceful. Elegant. Untouchable.
Until one of the men leaned toward her. "Your husband is a lucky man. You're even more stunning in person."
Grayson's wine glass clinked too hard as he set it down. His smile didn't reach his eyes.
Arielle smiled sweetly at the man. "Careful, Mr. Donovan. Compliments like that might cost you a contract."
The table laughed. Grayson didn't.
---
Later, as the last guest left and the candles flickered out, Grayson cornered her near the base of the staircase.
"You enjoyed that."
She turned. "The attention?"
He nodded once, slow. "Yes."
She smiled faintly. "You don't give it, Grayson. Someone else will."
"Don't test me."
She stepped closer, not out of affection—but fury. "You can't control me, Grayson. Not with threats. Not with that contract. And not with your jealousy."
"Is that what you think this is?" he growled. "Jealousy?"
She stared at him, eyes blazing. "I think you hate that I'm not broken."
He didn't answer.
But he didn't stop her when she walked away,