The clinking of silverware and crystal echoed in the grand dining room like a conversation neither of them wanted to have.
Elena sat straight, napkin in her lap, a perfectly untouched glass of wine in front of her. Across the table—too far for comfort—Aiden was cutting into his steak with mechanical precision.
This wasn't a dinner.
It was an interrogation in slow motion.
Neither had spoken since she'd entered the room, dressed in the black silk gown his assistant had "suggested" she wear.
He hadn't even looked at her when she entered.
Finally, she spoke. "You don't have to force this. We don't have to pretend."
He didn't look up. "Who said I was pretending?"
"I did."
He placed his fork down carefully and leaned back in his chair. The fire beside them cracked and hissed, as if filling the space with a voice neither of them could find.
"You think I'm playing house with you?" he asked, tone sharp but calm.
"I think you're playing something," she shot back. "I just haven't figured out what."
His eyes met hers now, cold steel with a flicker of something darker. "You were the one who signed the marriage contract. Voluntarily."
"I didn't think it came with... cages," she said, almost whispering.
"Everything beautiful lives in a cage," he replied. "That's how it survives."
She blinked. "That's twisted."
"That's reality."
A long silence followed. The tension between them could have broken glass.
Then he stood, walked toward the fireplace, and poured himself another drink. "You're still here," he said. "After everything. Why?"
"Maybe because I don't run away when things get difficult."
He turned his head slightly. "Or maybe you're still trying to understand me."
Her voice softened. "Maybe I am."
Another beat.
"You won't like what you find," he said. "There's nothing noble beneath the surface. No tragic hero. Just sharp edges."
"I'm not afraid of edges."
"You should be."
He turned back to face her, the firelight casting harsh shadows across his face. "Do you want the truth, Elena?"
She nodded. "Always."
"I didn't marry you because I needed a wife. I married you because I needed a shield."
That landed like a slap.
She swallowed. "Against what?"
His jaw clenched. "Against people who want to destroy everything I've built."
"Who?"
He laughed once, bitterly. "Everyone."
She stood now, the chair scraping against the marble. "So I'm just a chess piece?"
"Yes," he said, without hesitation. "But even pawns can become queens."
That stopped her.
She didn't know whether to be insulted or intrigued.
"You have this idea that I'm cruel," he continued, walking toward her. "But cruelty is a tool. And in my world, tools keep you alive."
They stood face to face now, only inches apart.
"And what am I supposed to be?" she whispered. "A tool? Or a person you actually see?"
His hand rose slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "That depends on whether you can survive being close to me."
The air between them thickened, heavy with tension.
"I'm not scared of you," she said, eyes locked on his.
"You should be," he repeated, even softer this time.
But he didn't step back.
Neither did she.
The space between them dissolved like fog in the sun.
Then—his phone rang.
A sharp sound that sliced through the moment.
He turned away instantly, answering without a glance. "Yes?"
His voice shifted—colder, sharper, more clipped. Business mode.
She stood there, forgotten, as if nothing had just passed between them.
She waited a few moments before quietly turning and walking out of the room.
---
In her bedroom, Elena stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Same dress. Same hair. Same girl.
But something had changed.
She wasn't playing the game anymore.
She was becoming part of it.
Whether she wanted to or not.