My hands ran over silk and satin as I paced around my room, yanking dress after dress off the rack that Adrian had had filled on order. I despised the cause, but I couldn't help the quality.And still. none of them connected.

I had to meet his parents this evening. My future father- and mother-in-law. Even the term itself gave me shivers. In-laws.

It left a bitter taste in my mouth. I wasn't even aware of how I had arrived here, I had been free, if broken, the day before, and I was now Mrs. Blackwood.

This wasn't the manner I had imagined being wed. No, back in fantasies it had been love, laughter, something that hurt my heart the best possible way. But actual life? Actual life was a contract, blackmail, as well as a man who looked at me as if I was some chess piece that he had moved into position.

I sighed, throwing a gown that was sequined onto the bed before settling into the mattress itself. It engulfed me, so plush it almost didn't feel real, but even luxury couldn't still the racing of my mind.

At least Adrian had the decency to provide me with my own room. We weren't even a real couple, after all.

As I positioned my body on the blanket, a loud rap snapped me up.

"Is everyone ready yet?" came Adrian's voice through the door, a short, tolerant statement.

I sighed. "I'll be right out!" I shouted back, perhaps a bit louder than I should've.

Minutes elapsed, then twenty-nine.

And so, I picked a gown, a silk gown the shade of a midnight sky that clung around the waist before flowing generously to the ground. It featured an off-shoulder neckline that framed the collarbones, little crystal embroidery scattering the bodice as if they were constellations. Paired with silver heels, I looked… elegant.

Taking a calming breath, I went down the grand staircase.

Adrian stood in the doorway to the kitchen, working the adjustment of his black-suit cufflinks. He was slicked back neatly, his back rigid. But as his eyes met mine, came up, and locked, the whole world stopped.

His eyes moved slowly as they followed the lines of my gown, the smooth line of my shoulders, and the silent defiance in my posture.

Heat crept to my cheeks under his scrutiny.

Then, almost instantly, he snapped the silence. His face clamped up, his tone frigid. "It took you twenty minutes to get ready.

I blinked, surprised, the urge to jerk back involuntarily. but the word came out of my mouth instead. "Sorry."

Why was I apologizing? I wasn't apologizing.

His eyes relaxed, barely, as if he hadn't been expecting me to surrender. Then, before I could interpret too much, his hand came to mine.

Come," he said quietly.

My breath caught as his hands worked around mine, firm but warm. He didn't need to hold me. I wasn't unable to descend a staircase. I just didn't protest.

No, as I, for the first time during the ordeal, comprehended something dangerous.

I liked his hand on mine.

And that frightened me more than anything.

It was an uncomfortable silence, the engine the only noise that filled the air. Then came the voice of Adrian, his voice even and low.

"My father… he's a man of discipline. He believes there are rules, there's order, no mistakes. He's strict, but he's fair. If he respects you, he's gonna stand up for you without a doubt."

I sat back, gripping the skirt of my gown as if that would hold me there. Something about his voice, something tender as I'd ever heard him, admiration, nearly. As if part of him still craved that man's approval.

"And your mother?" I questioned, hesitant, almost as if I were testing.

His jaw moved, his eyes still locked on the road. "She's.different. She observes more than she says.

I nodded slowly, chomping on my lip.

Seconds after, the vehicle decelerated, stopping in front of the mansion of the Blackwoods.

My breath hitched.

Outside, a row of maids stood impeccably aligned, almost as if they were painted, each wearing spotless black-and-white uniforms, their hands together in front of them. Heads bowed simultaneously as the car pulled up. At their backs, the stairway rose high, festoned with fresh flowers and golden lanterns that shone softly in the waning light.

It was too perfect. As if I lived the frame of some great movie I used to watch, except that I lived it. And I didn't fit.

Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood," the butler said, his smooth grin as he opened the car door.

It was then that Adrian appeared first, dignified as ever, then turned about to hold his hand out to me. "Cheers, Richard," he added silkily.

I stood frozen for half a second, eyes scanning the opulent spread before me. My heart pounded so loudly I could've sworn Adrian heard it. Then, I slowly inserted my hand into his. He was warm, his touch firm, anchoring, and although I recognized I didn't need him, I let him pull me out of the car.

I got up, trying to be calm, even though inside I was as fragile as a girl who would be walking into the lion's den.

We stepped into the mansion, and I swear my breath caught again. The inside was nothing short of intimidating. High ceilings stretched above us, chandeliers dripping with crystals cast golden light over polished marble floors. Every detail screamed wealth and control.

And then I saw them.

His parents sat on the opposite side of the great hall, waiting. His father was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that must've cost more than the entirety of my wardrobe.

His mother was his polar opposite. She stood next to him in a silk gown that flowed around her, her hands neatly together in front of her. Smiled faintly, politely, almost too restrained, but her eyes… her eyes looked me up. Watchful, as Adrian had warned.

"Father. Mother," said Adrian, his voice short but deferent.

Adrian." It was his father again, his voice grave and authoritative, like the cracking of the gavel. Then his eyes moved to me. "And this is the woman that you married without so much as bothering to inform us.". My face was flush-hot the moment I laid eyes on him. I wasn't sure if I would be expected to curtsy, or shake his hand, or stand as still as a statue and disappear into the earth. I forced myself to meet his eyes. "It's… it's a privilege to meet you, Mr. Blackwood. Mrs. Blackwood."

His father did not smile. He only hummed, a sound that sounded less like approval than verdict. His mother, however, came forward a step. "Welcome, dear," she said kindly, her voice warm enough to untie the knotty ball in my stomach, but her eyes never stopped sizing me up.

Adrian then grasped my hand again, this time his grip stronger.

His mother called him to dinner.

Dinner is ready," she stated, then almost after that as an afterthought said, "Lucas is already waiting.".

My heart contracted at the reference to his brother. Naturally, he was.

We trailed behind them into the great dining room, a long gleaming mahogany table that seated twenty easy, although tonight there was only the six of us. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, bathing us all in soft golden light. Maids glided like shadows, graceful and competent, setting dishes before us with silent ease.

I was sitting between Lucas and Adrian, the very worst place I would've seated myself.

It took a while before the butler, who was called Richard, departed, and, peculiarly, gave a gracious line-up of questions directed to me. "Do you enjoy traveling, Mrs. Blackwood? Do you have hobbies? Do you enjoy music?"

His questions were harmless, nearly tender, and I answered as I was able, gratified that something mundane existed in this suffocating room.

But the moment could not last.

"So, your surname is?" his mother asked suddenly, her voice cutting the peace as abruptly as a knife.

My hands clutched the fabric of my gown, and nearly automatically, I looked around the table, directly into Lucas' eyes. He looked back, his face otherwise impassive, as if he challenged me to speak the word.

Montgomery," I said finally, my voice strong even as my heart pulsed with nerves.

It was instantaneous. His mother's gracious face faltered, her lips turning downward.

“Montgomery,” she repeated, her tone dripping with disdain. Then, as if she couldn’t help herself, she added, “Isn’t that the family of drunkards with a crumbling legacy?”

My breath hitched.

I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, flushing to the face, but before I could open my mouth, before I could protest, Adrian's hand moved over mine under the table.

"That's enough," he said. He stared into his mother's eyes. "Aria is my wife. And she is deserving of this family, more than deserving. I won't have her disrespected at this table."

I stared at him, speechless.

His father had not shifted, had not uttered a word, only stared at us behind those measuring eyes, drinking it all in.

But Lucas relaxed back into his chair, smile expanding. "Father," he said silkily, although the venom in his voice was undeniable. "Are you seriously just going to let Adrian address Mother that way? Towards this family that way?

The air in the room grew thick for a tense moment. I felt Adrian's hold on my hand tighten, grounding me.

And then without even glancing at his brother, Adrian stood up, yanking me to my feet. "Thanks for dinner," he said, his voice low but cold. "But if this's the way your wife is treated, then we're leaving."

And just like that, he led me out.

My heels ringing off the marble floors, my heart pounded step after step. I dared not glance back, not to Lucas's victorious grin or his mother's angry countenance.

Once we were outside, I released a breath I wasn't even aware I was taking. I was flush-cheeked, tight-chested. I couldn't believe what had just occurred ,that Adrian, the man I believed had married me based on little short of sense, had stood there and defended me that way. I looked up at him as he ushered me into the car. He was gritting his jaw, his eyes cold, but his hand had never gone. I wasn't sure whether I should do anything about the sudden bulge forming on my chest. Surprise. Thanks. But one thing was certain, I was touched. And I was more confused about him than ever.