The mansion loomed ahead like a dark fortress, its towering gates and stone walls bathed in soft golden lights. Eleanor pressed her hand against the car window as they drove through the sprawling driveway, her heart thudding with nervous anticipation. Damian's house—no, their house now—was exactly what she had expected of him: grand, imposing, and meticulously designed to impress.
The car came to a smooth stop in front of the massive entrance. A uniformed butler hurried forward, opening Eleanor's door before she could even reach for the handle. She stepped out, her heels clicking against the polished stone steps, and for a moment, she felt completely out of place. She didn't belong here. She didn't belong to this world of wealth and power.
Damian exited the car effortlessly, moving with the same quiet authority he carried everywhere. His sharp suit looked perfectly in place in front of the grand mansion, like a king returning to his castle. He turned to her, his gaze unreadable.
"Come," he said simply, placing a gentle hand at the small of her back to guide her inside.
The butler and two maids stood in a line just inside the entrance hall, heads bowed respectfully. The marble floor gleamed under the soft chandelier light, and the air carried the faint scent of fresh lilies—probably placed there for her arrival. Damian gave a curt nod to the staff.
"This is Mrs. Blackwood," he introduced firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt or disrespect. "From today onward, she is to be treated as the lady of this house. Understood?"
The staff responded in unison with polite bows. Eleanor felt her cheeks flush at the title Mrs. Blackwood. It sounded strange—unreal, almost like a role she was only pretending to play.
Damian didn't linger. He gestured for her to follow him up the sweeping staircase, his long strides forcing her to hurry slightly to keep up. The hallway upstairs was lined with elegant paintings, and every step they took was muffled by the plush carpets.
When they stopped in front of a set of double doors, Damian pushed them open, revealing a beautifully furnished bedroom.
"This will be yours," he said.
Eleanor blinked, stepping into the room. A grand canopy bed draped in soft cream sheets stood in the center, while sheer curtains fluttered gently from the tall windows. The space was warm and inviting, yet still carried the same refined elegance as the rest of the house.
"My room?" she asked softly, turning to face him.
"Yes," Damian replied without hesitation. "You'll stay here. No one outside this house knows we're married, so we need to keep appearances separate for now."
Eleanor nodded slowly, a strange pang of disappointment tugging at her chest even though she knew this was a marriage of convenience. She shouldn't expect to share a room with him. She shouldn't expect anything beyond protection.
"Dinner will be served in thirty minutes," Damian said, his tone calm and businesslike, as if he were discussing a meeting instead of their first night as husband and wife. "You can freshen up and rest. I'll have the staff bring your belongings later."
She hesitated, then gave a small nod. "All right."
Damian lingered for a moment, his gray eyes scanning her face as if searching for something. Then, in a softer tone, he added, "You're safe here, Eleanor. No one can get to you."
Her chest tightened at the way he said it, so firm yet strangely reassuring. She wanted to believe him—needed to believe him.
"Thank you, Damian," she whispered.
For a second, something flickered in his gaze—something unspoken, something she couldn't quite name. But it was gone almost instantly, replaced by his usual calm mask. He gave a slight nod before turning toward the door.
When it clicked shut behind him, Eleanor let out a long breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She crossed the room, brushing her fingers across the silky bed sheets, then moved toward the tall window. From there, she could see the sprawling gardens below, lit faintly by garden lamps. It was beautiful, almost too beautiful for someone like her to call home.
But this was her reality now. She was Mrs. Blackwood—Damian Blackwood's secret bride.
---
Dinner was quiet. The long dining table, meant for grand parties, felt too big with just the two of them sitting at opposite ends. Eleanor pushed her food around her plate nervously while stealing glances at Damian, who ate with calm precision.
Finally, she broke the silence. "Do you… do you live here alone?"
Damian looked up briefly, his expression unreadable. "I have staff, but yes. No family lives here."
Eleanor nodded, trying to hide her curiosity. She had read about him in magazines, seen him on TV—always portrayed as the cold, ruthless businessman. But now, sitting across from him, she couldn't help wondering what kind of man he truly was when the world wasn't watching.
"Don't look so tense," he said suddenly, his voice softer than she expected.
Her eyes widened slightly. "I'm not—"
"You are." A faint, almost teasing smirk curved his lips. "You're sitting like you're about to be interrogated. Relax, Eleanor. This house is yours now."
His attempt to lighten the mood, though subtle, eased something inside her. She offered a small smile, and for a brief moment, Damian's gaze softened as he watched her. But then, just as quickly, the wall was back up, and he returned to his meal.
---
Later that night, Eleanor wandered into the garden, drawn by the soft glow of the lanterns. The air was cool, carrying the scent of fresh roses. She needed a moment to breathe, to process everything that had happened in just a single day.
She didn't hear him approach until his voice broke the silence.
"You shouldn't be out here alone."
Startled, she turned to find Damian standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable as usual.
"I just needed some air," she said softly.
He walked closer, his tall figure casting a long shadow under the garden lights. "I'm not saying you can't be here. But you're not alone anymore, Eleanor. If something happens to you, it won't just be your problem—it'll be mine too."
The way he said it, so matter-of-fact yet so protective, made her heart flutter. She looked up at him, her voice quieter this time. "I don't want to be a burden to you."
Damian's gaze locked onto hers, intense and unwavering. "You're not a burden." His tone left no room for doubt.
For a moment, they just stood there, the night air thick with unspoken words. Eleanor felt her pulse quicken under his gaze, her breath catching as he stepped closer. His presence was overwhelming, but instead of fear, all she felt was… warmth.
"Come inside," Damian said finally, his voice softer now. "It's getting cold."
She nodded, following him back toward the house. But as they walked side by side, one thought echoed in her mind, refusing to leave:
This marriage might have started as a secret for protection, but her heart was already in danger of breaking the very rules they had set.