Chapter 2.

From that day on, every hallway of Blackthorne's house felt like a glass maze, reflecting his steps and fears. His every step down the long white marble hallway was accompanied by the echo of the servants' steps. The servant's smile was stiff, his lips moved, but his eyes remained blank, as if he was holding back something Elena must not know.

There was no laughter, no light conversation just silence. Their footsteps were regular, each door opening and closing with a rhythm that was too neat, too... controlled. Elena felt like there were eyes around every corner.

She once tried to greet a waiter in a friendly manner. The result? A blank stare, a bowed head, and a quick step away. That alone was enough to make her understand that in this mansion, every word could be a weapon that could strike whoever spoke it.

Elena began to feel her breath catch every time she walked down the corridor. I can't be here. I have to go.

---

That day, Damien came to her.

He sat in the spacious study, the walls lined with black bookshelves, the smell of old wood mixed with the faint odor of cigarettes.

"I... I can't stay here. Every corner of this hallway is staring at me, waiting for my mistake. I have to get out-for Julian, for myself."

Damien, sitting in a large leather chair, only raised an eyebrow. His lips curved into a thin, not warm smile, but a smile that looked more like a wound.

"Go where?" his voice is low, flat.

"Back to my life. I have no business with your family."

A long silence fell over the room. Damien twisted the pen in his fingers, then placed it on the desk.

"Julian," he said softly, almost a whisper.

Elena's blood froze. "What do you mean?"

Damien leaned forward. "Your brother. She's still in the hospital, isn't she? Are you sure she's safe... without us?"

Elena held her breath. Her hands were shaking. "Don't... bring up Julian."

But before she could continue, the door opened. Victoria entered with graceful steps, as if the stage was hers. She carried a tablet, turned on the screen, and pointed it at Elena. Hospital camera footage. A frail Julian, lying with an IV tube in his arm. A man in a black suit stands at the door of his hospital room, like an invisible guard.

The implicit message is clear:

If Elena tried to escape, Julian would suffer.

Hot tears filled Elena's eyes, but she dared not shed them in front of them. Her throat felt dry, like she was suffocating.

She could only look down, clutching her skirt tightly.

---

That afternoon, a young maid approached her in the hallway. Her face was pale, but her eyes looked anxious.

"Madam..." she whispered softly, looking down. "Be careful with Lord Damien. Many things in this house are not what they seem."

Elena looked at him, both surprised and hopeful. "What do you mean?"

The servant was about to speak further-but suddenly the sound of heavy steps could be heard. Two male servants appeared from down the hall, grabbed the girl by the arm and dragged her away without explanation.

"No! I haven't-!" he shouted before his voice disappeared around the corner.

Elena froze, her heart racing. She knew one thing: something much darker lurked behind the imposing walls of this mansion.

---

That night, Elena sat alone in her room.

Her wedding dress still hung on the chair, the blood stains on the bottom blackened, clinging like a curse. She touched the fabric, then tears finally fell unbidden.

"Adrian..." she whispered hoarsely.

Suddenly, faintly-as if coming from behind a thick wall-she thought she heard a voice.

"Elena..."

She looked up, her body shuddering. "A... Adrian?"

But the voice was gone, replaced by silence.

Elena covered her face, confused between reality and hallucination.

---

The next day, Damien announced his plan. The long table that was filled with dishes yesterday was now empty, with only Victoria, Damien, and Elena.

"Family honor must be maintained," Damien said coldly. "Adrian is gone. Therefore, you, Elena, will marry me."

Elena turned around quickly, her eyes widening. "What!? No! I won't do it!"

"You have no choice."

"I don't love you! I don't even know you!"

"You don't need to know me to be my wife."

Damien leaned back in his chair, his gaze calm but threatening.

"If you refuse... think of Julian."

The name was a shackle again. Elena felt her blood boil with despair. She wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but the words died in her throat.

---

The wedding was held three days later. No invitations, no party. Only close family.

The white dress was no longer waiting for Elena. Instead, Victoria herself handed over the long black dress whose material was heavy and cold. "Wear it. Black is the color you deserve," she said simply.

As she stood in front of Damien, Elena felt like she was attending her own funeral. The ring was on her finger without ceremony, without a smile, without love. Damien fitted it with cold hands, as if it were a business transaction.

"From today," Damien said without emotion, "you are my wife."

---

That night, Elena sat on the big bed, her black dress still on. Damien entered with slow steps, then stood before her. His face was flat, his eyes dark.

He didn't touch Elena. He didn't try to extend a hand. He simply said, coldly and clearly: "From tonight, you are my wife. Don't even think of running away."

Her body stiffened, her breath came in short gasps. There was no warmth in the room. only darkness, menace, and the feeling that her every move was being watched.

And there she realized, her destiny was sealed.

She was now the wife of a man she didn't know, didn't love, and perhaps... would never trust.