The moment I stepped inside the house, I realized it wasn't a home.
It was a fortress—cold, silent, and obsessively controlled.
"Your room is ready," a woman's voice said behind me.
"My room," I replied. "Not his."
She looked surprised but said nothing.
Even here, my words carried weight. At least for now.
I saw him at dinner.
He was alone at the table, comfortable in his solitude—as if it were his choice.
"You're late," he said.
"I didn't ask you to wait."
He lifted his head, his gaze locking onto mine.
That look—the kind that silenced people.
"There are rules in this house," he said calmly, with an edge of threat.
I pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Perfect," I said. "Then I'll add a few of my own."
One of his eyebrows lifted slightly.
For the first time, he wasn't fully in control.
"You know my name," he said.
"Yes," I replied. "But I'm not obligated to use it."
Silence fell between us.
Then he smiled—not a real smile, more like a warning.
"You're a dangerous woman," he said.
"No," I corrected him. "I'm used to danger."
He stood up, closing the distance between us.
I didn't step back.
"You don't scare me," I whispered.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
I held his gaze.
"If I were, I wouldn't be here."
That was the moment I understood—
This marriage wasn't just an obligation.
It was a challenge.
And I had always loved a challenge.