Arabella had seen luxury before.
She lived in it. Breathed it. Bathed in rose water and diamonds.
But this was different.
Cassian Vale's penthouse was cold.
Not in temperature — in soul.
The floors were marble. Walls, white. Furniture, steel and glass. Not a single flower. Not a single picture. Nothing warm, nothing soft.
She stood in the center of the living room, clutching her designer handbag like a lifeline.
"I had your things moved to the guest wing," Cassian said, already turning away. "Your room's on the left. I have work."
Arabella blinked. "Guest wing?"
He paused only slightly. "It's more comfortable that way. I assume you didn't expect this to be… romantic."
Her lips parted. No words came out.
Romantic? Maybe not. But she expected something. A dinner. A conversation. A moment of eye contact.
But Cassian had already disappeared into his office — a door clicking shut behind him like the seal on a vault.
She was alone.
In her wedding dress.
Standing in a penthouse that felt more like a mausoleum.
---
She explored in silence.
Every room was pristine, but sterile. No color. No warmth. It was the opposite of her world. No pink. No plush. Just cold surfaces and sharper edges.
In her room — the "guest room" — her clothes were neatly hung. Her skincare arranged like a museum display.
They had planned this. Days in advance. Without asking her.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her train falling around her like a broken dream.
Was this it?
Was she just… an accessory?
A beautiful box he checked to close a deal?
You used to call me princess, she thought bitterly.
Now you won't even say goodnight.
---
That night, she ate alone.
Cold pasta. The chef didn't even stay to serve.
She tried texting her friends, but their replies were hollow.
They didn't understand. They thought she was lucky.
"Married to Cassian Vale?! Girl, you hit the jackpot!"
But Arabella didn't feel rich. She felt empty.
She wandered back to the living room and found the one thing that caught her eye: a tiny porcelain music box on a shelf.
She opened it.
A familiar melody played — soft and haunting.
Her breath caught.
It was the song they used to dance to as kids. That stupid pretend wedding when she was seven and he wore a cape made from her mom's curtain.
The same tune.
So… he hadn't forgotten?
Her fingers trembled. She closed the lid.
---
Midnight.
She tiptoed to his office.
The door was cracked open just enough.
Cassian sat behind his massive desk, sleeves rolled up, glasses on, reviewing documents with that same unreadable face.
She knocked softly.
He looked up.
"Yes?"
"I—" Her voice failed. "I just wanted to say goodnight."
A pause. Long enough to be awkward.
Then: "Goodnight."
She stood there. Waiting. Hoping.
But he returned to his papers, dismissing her without a second glance.
She walked back to her room, heart heavier than her wedding gown.
---
This wasn't a marriage.
It was a transaction.
And she was nothing more than a well-dressed placeholder in Cassian Vale's life.
But Arabella Quinn had been raised in diamonds and silk. She had never earned anything before.
Until now.
Now, she would earn his attention.
His respect.
And maybe, if fate allowed it… even his love.
---