MARIECLAIE.

The ride back to Xavier’s house was silent. Too silent. And even if I liked noises and loud places, this just wasn’t the occasion.

Someone was after me. Or Xavier. Or maybe both of us.

But I knew very well this person was looking for me. At me. And I also knew this person wasn’t Xavier. Xavier didn’t know about the little paper, though. The moment I spotted him coming, I had squeezed it and thrown it away immediately, mixing it with all the food and dirt on the ground.

What a wedding day.

The moment the driver parked the car inside the garage, I opened the door and slipped out. A minute later, I heard the soft sound of his footsteps. I wasn’t sure if Xavier noticed my change in mood, and even if he did, he did well not to ask.

Xavier walked ahead of me and led us to the elevator that took us up to his penthouse. My breath caught when I saw the interiors. I’d been born and bred with money, but Xavier was a whole other brand of rich—and he did well to show it.

I thought Father was richer than the Morellos?

"Where's my room?" I turned to him and asked when we stood in the sitting room.

Xavier stared at me for a beat, then asked, "What happened in there?"

I blinked, confused for a moment, before it clicked. "It's nothing," I answered, gulping and turning away from him.

He closed the distance between us in two strides and turned my face back to his with a finger under my chin.

"It’s not nothing if you look like life just drained out of you. What did the paper read, Marieclaie?"

A chill raced down my spine.

He had seen me read the letter.

"It’s nothing," I said firmly, but it came out choked as my throat had suddenly gone painfully dry.

Xavier took a deep breath in, his fingers still holding my chin in place. "Don’t tell me fucking nothing, Marieclaie. I saw you—"

"Saw me what?!" I yelled. "That isn’t part of our deal, Xavier! Have you forgotten that we each mind our business when we’re not in public? Now, where’s my room?" I hissed.

His clenched jaw told me he wanted to say more, but he just took a deep breath in and closed his eyes.

"Follow me," he ordered, then turned on his heels, leading us up the stairs.

I followed immediately, and we came to a stop before one of the doors.

"This is your room, and this is mine," he said, gesturing to the two doors beside each other.

His room was beside mine. He was making this way too easy.

"Food is in the kitchen downstairs in case you get hungry." He turned and touched his room’s doorknob but stopped, turning back to face me. "You’ll have to cook, though. The maids don’t stay until night."

He then opened his door and slipped inside. I did the same with a sigh.

I took off the wedding dress and everything else, had a cool bath, then came back to bed. Sleep didn’t come immediately, though—I was still thinking about the letter and whoever might be watching me. The person was perhaps close yet far. I might know them but not at all.

When sleep finally came, nightmares escorted it as well. The usual nightmares I had every night, followed by sleep paralysis.

Since my parents’ deaths, I was never the same Marieclaie Blackwood they left.

I was a broken one. One left with grief and loss and nightmares.

By eight o’clock in the morning, I was ready for business.

Over time, Xavier had stacked my wardrobe with things I liked—professional dress shirts and skirts—even though I was just twenty-one. If my mother were to see me, she’d tell me to live a little and not be so uptight like Father. She had never liked Father teaching me and Lucas about business, but I guess they came in handy anyway.

Standing before the wardrobe-sized mirror plastered onto my closet, I took a deep breath in and released it, tucking my hair behind my ear on both sides. Then, I slipped into my loafers, grabbed my handbag, and exited the room.

Of all the things I expected coming out of my room on the first day living with Xavier, it wasn’t him sitting on the couch in the living room—acting like an actual husband waiting for his wife.

He turned at the sound of my steps and slowly rose from his chair when I approached him.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice deep. And I almost forgot the real purpose of marrying him.

Almost.

"Morning," I responded, my voice harsher than it should be. "I'll be bringing my car in today."

It was still in the apartment I’d purchased after Father’s death. It hadn’t been sold yet, and the landlord was taking good care of it.

"There’s no need," Xavier stated. "There are plenty of cars for you to use here anyway." He paused, his brows furrowing. "And you’ll need to start going out with bodyguards."

I scoffed. "Bodyguards, plural? Please don’t start with that. I’m not going anywhere with bodyguards. I didn’t when I was still my father’s child, and I definitely won’t now."

He stepped closer into my space. It seemed he liked doing that a lot.

"Probably because when you were still your father’s child, you were immensely protected—and you didn’t even know it," he growled. "You will go out with bodyguards because I don’t know the meaning of the fuckery that happened yesterday, and I’m not letting anything happen to my wife." His nostrils flared dangerously as he spoke, and I didn’t even realize when I nodded.

Maybe it was because of his dominance. As much as I’d been a strong woman, I’d also been a seriously obedient one.

"Okay," I muttered.

"That’ll be for later, though. You’re riding with me this morning."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "No."

"There is no ‘no,’ darling. You will ride with me this morning."

He chuckled, then leaned down to whisper in my ear, "Appearance purposes. Did you forget? Hm, wife?"

He pulled back with a smirk, then brushed past me, walking out of the house.

With a heavy sigh, I followed suit.