Emily woke before dawn, though she hadn't really slept. Her body had lain still on the bed, but her mind had wandered a thousand restless miles. Questions hung over her like storm clouds—unanswered, unsettling.
She was someone's wife now.
Mrs. Emily Knight.
But she didn't know what her new husband did for a living, where he lived, or what he truly wanted from her—beyond a legal name on a paper. The contract had been clear: no emotional attachment, no interference in his life, and full confidentiality. But that didn't stop the gnawing curiosity from growing.
Was he a criminal? A businessman trying to seal some shady deal? Or maybe a billionaire avoiding scandal? The possibilities were endless—and all terrifying.
Emily sat up in bed, rubbing her temples. "Get a grip," she muttered.
She walked to the kitchen, the one place in her shoebox apartment that offered any sense of control. She made tea—no milk, no sugar—and stared blankly out the window at the grey London skyline.
Her phone buzzed.
Private Number Calling.
Her stomach flipped. She answered.
"Get dressed," the deep voice said.
It was him—Alexander Knight.
"Now?" she asked, her voice still groggy.
"Yes. There's a car waiting for you downstairs. You'll be moving into your new residence today. Pack what you need. You have twenty minutes."
The line went dead.
Emily didn't waste a second. She stuffed her clothes, a photo of her mother, and a few essentials into a small suitcase. Her heart thudded like a war drum the whole time. The reality of the deal had finally arrived.
A sleek black car idled outside her building. The driver didn't speak. He opened the door, and she slid inside, clutching her suitcase like a lifeline.
They drove in silence for nearly an hour before pulling into a gated estate on the outskirts of the city. It wasn't just a home—it was a fortress. The kind of place with stone walls, sweeping driveways, and windows that stretched like towers into the sky.
The driver led her through grand double doors and into a marble-floored foyer that gleamed like ice. A woman in her forties approached, dressed in a tailored black uniform.
"Mrs. Knight," she said with a respectful nod. "I'm Miranda. House manager. Mr. Knight has instructed me to get you settled."
Emily blinked. "Right. Okay."
Miranda led her through long hallways until they reached a bedroom—no, a suite. It was twice the size of her apartment, with velvet drapes, a four-poster bed, a vanity, and a private bathroom that looked like a spa.
"You'll stay here," Miranda said. "Your meals will be served in the dining hall unless otherwise instructed. If you need anything, press the intercom."
Emily placed her suitcase down, unsure what to do next.
Miranda paused at the door. "Mr. Knight is in his study. He may call for you later."
Then she left.
Emily sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the luxury surrounding her. It was too much. Too quiet. Too unreal.
An hour passed. Then two.
Just as she was about to wander the halls, the intercom buzzed.
"Come to the study," Alexander's voice commanded.
Her heart skipped. She didn't even know where the study was.
Thankfully, Miranda appeared and led her to a door at the far end of the mansion. Emily took a deep breath and knocked.
"Enter," came the reply.
She stepped inside.
The study was dark wood and leather, the kind of room built for power. Alexander stood near the fireplace, a glass of something amber in his hand.
"You're settling in?" he asked without turning.
"Yes," she replied, unsure if she should sit or stand.
"You'll stay here for the duration of our contract," he said. "You may go out when necessary, but your public presence will be minimal. My world… is complicated."
Emily shifted uncomfortably. "Can I ask what you do?"
He turned to face her. His grey eyes were unreadable. "You can ask. Doesn't mean I'll answer."
She folded her arms. "So I'm just supposed to play the obedient wife without knowing anything about my husband?"
He walked toward her slowly. "You're not here to love me, Emily. Or understand me. You're here to exist beside me. Quietly. Safely. In exchange, your mother lives."
That cut deeper than she expected.
"You don't have to remind me," she said, voice sharp.
A flicker of something—regret?—crossed his face. But it vanished just as quickly.
"I'll have a stylist prepare you," he said. "We have a public dinner in three days. People will expect a certain image. I need you to play the part."
Emily nodded. "Understood."
He studied her for a moment longer. "You're stronger than I thought."
She wasn't sure if it was a compliment or a warning.
As she turned to leave, he added, "Emily?"
She paused.
"You signed a deal with destiny. Don't try to rewrite it."
She left the room with his words echoing in her ears.