As darkness gave way to dawn, the sky lifted its covers, allowing the sun to stand proud and kiss the earth's surface.
Elora tossed in bed, her hand searching instinctively for Lucian, only to meet the soft quilt beneath the blanket. He wasn't there. The sheets were cold on his side.
Her eyelids fluttered open slowly, strands of her long brown hair sticking to her cheek. Lazily, she lifted her left hand to brush them aside. A wide yawn escaped her lips, eyes squeezed shut as her mouth stretched open.
She tried to stand, the urgent need to use the bathroom hitting her all at once—but her body wouldn't budge. She felt as though she had done something physically exhausting the day before. Her limbs were heavy, and a dull ache throbbed at the top of her head.
What's wrong with me? she wondered groggily.
"I was fine before going to bed yesterday," she muttered.
Letting out a sigh, she forced herself upright. The room slowly came into view. She murmured a brief prayer as her feet found her slippers at the edge of the king-sized bed. Yet something else lingered—something heavier than the ache in her head.
Memories flickered.
Lucian had carried her to bed last night. She had dozed off while reading on the couch. He thought she was asleep—but she had awakened the moment his arms slid under her. She remembered the way he looked at her, how his eyes stayed fixed on her face. Gentle. Unreadable. Intense.
A smile tugged at her lips. Her cheeks flushed red.
This isn't real, Elora. It's just a contract, she scolded herself.
She stepped into the bathroom and stood in front of the golden sink, her reflection staring back at her from the vanity mirror. Her face was visibly flushed. She reached up and touched her cheeks, half-hoping they would cool down. Half-wishing Lucian's gaze had been real.
Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her toothbrush. She turned on the bath and placed the brush in her mouth, scrubbing away while the warm water filled the tub behind her. The room began to fog lightly with steam.
Sliding into the bath, her skin tingled from the heat. A soft sigh escaped her lips as the lavender-scented bath bomb released its fragrance into the air. It filled her nose, then her lungs, calming her nerves in ways she couldn't explain.
She leaned back, eyes closed, pretending—just for a moment—that this was her life. That Lucian wasn't pretending. That he would come through the door any second to check on her, kiss her forehead, and ask her how she slept.
But imagination was dangerous.
How long could she keep pretending for others while lying to herself? How long before her heart stopped understanding that it was all fake?
The water was beginning to cool, matching the cold wind that slipped through the open vent. She sat up, a light shiver running down her spine. Goosebumps formed across her skin. The winter sun glowed weakly through the frosted windows, doing little to warm her.
She reached for her body wash—one of many luxurious products Lucian had stocked for her. Lathering it between her palms, she began scrubbing her skin in slow, methodical circles.
I have to stay focused, she reminded herself. This marriage is an agreement. A transaction. That's all.
Still, her heart whispered otherwise.
Perfect. Here's the continuation with Lucian's unexpected return, still aligning with the chapter theme "Imagination"—blurring the line between what's real and what she wishes were real.
Just as she reached for her towel, the bathroom door creaked open.
"Elora?"
Her head snapped toward the door, eyes wide. Lucian stood there, holding a steaming cup in one hand and a small paper bag in the other. He looked caught between concern and hesitation.
"I—I knocked, but you didn't answer," he said, averting his eyes the moment he realized she was still in the tub. "I thought something might be wrong. You weren't at breakfast."
A sharp silence filled the room.
"I'm sorry," he added quickly. "I should've waited."
"No, it's okay," she managed, pulling the towel tighter around herself as she stood. Her cheeks burned for reasons beyond the hot water. "I didn't hear you. I was just… lost in thought."
Lucian placed the cup and the bag on the marble counter, eyes still respectfully turned away.
"I brought you ginger tea and those little almond buns you like. I figured you might not feel like coming downstairs."
Something tightened in her chest. She hadn't expected this. Not from him.
"You remembered?" she asked, unable to hide the surprise in her voice.
Lucian glanced at her then, his expression unreadable. "Of course I did."
There was another pause—thick, but not awkward. Heavy with the things neither of them knew how to say.
Elora clutched the towel more tightly around her. This wasn't part of the contract. Morning tea and quiet gestures weren't in the rules. Yet here he was.
"Thanks," she murmured.
He nodded, lingering for a second too long before stepping back. "I'll leave you to it."
Then he closed the door gently behind him, leaving behind the scent of tea and warm bread—and a flurry of questions she wasn't ready to ask.
Elora sank onto the edge of the bathtub, staring at the door he'd just left through. Her skin was still damp, her hair clinging to her back. But the real heat wasn't from the water. It was from the war brewing quietly within her.
Imagination was one thing. But this?
This was beginning to feel real.
********
She sat there for a few more seconds, towel clutched to her chest, heart thudding like she'd just run a mile. The warmth of the tea and the softness of his voice lingered in the air longer than they should have. Her fingers brushed the rim of the cup, now placed neatly on the sink. Even the paper bag looked too thoughtful for a contract marriage.
Before she could gather herself enough to step out and dry off, the door creaked again.
Lucian stepped back in, his eyes scanning the room until they found hers. "Sorry—I just realized… leaving food in the bathroom isn't the best idea."
Elora froze, caught mid-motion as she reached for her robe. His gaze dropped instantly, respectful as ever, but the blush that crept up her neck didn't care.
"I just want to put this in the room," he said, voice lower now, careful.
She nodded, too stunned to say anything, and turned slightly away from him.
But he saw it anyway—the damp tendrils of her hair cascading over her shoulder, the pink hue on her cheek, the way her hand trembled slightly as she adjusted the towel around her.
Lucian didn't speak further. He walked in, picked up the tea and the bag, and headed back to the door. But just before stepping out, he paused.
"You don't have to act with me, Elora," he said, voice quiet, but deliberate. "We may have a contract, but that doesn't mean you have to hide how you feel. Not from me."
And then he was gone.
Elora stood motionless for a moment, her breath caught in her throat.
How I feel?
What did he mean by that? Did he know? Could he see through her defenses?
The water had long lost its warmth, but her body still felt like it was on fire.
Wrapping her robe around her tightly, she stepped out of the bathroom and walked toward the room—where the tea and buns now sat perfectly placed on the small coffee table beside her window.
Outside, the world was blanketed in soft white snow. Peaceful. Controlled.
Inside, her world was shifting.
This wasn't just a marriage of convenience anymore.
At least, not to her.