Night had settled deep over the estate. Celeste lay curled, her hair fanned loosely over the pillow, the faint scent of lavender still clinging to her skin. She was half asleep half awake, whenever she began to drift off, a creak, or the wind at the window pulled her back awake. The thought that the mad heir was somewhere under the same roof as her made her on edge.
She tried not to think about it, reminding herself that the door was locked, but her mind refused to quiet. The image of his eyes kept returning, filling her with fear again. At some point, exhaustion won, and she drifted into a shallow sleep. But it didn't last long. Another sound jolted her awake, starting the cycle again.
Then she heard it, a sound too real to be part of a dream. A soft click.
Her eyes snapped open. For a moment, she thought she was imagining it. Then the door creaked open.
Celeste froze.
The room was dark, lit only by the faint light from the window, stretching across the bed and catching the mirror. She held her breath, her body still except for the rapid beating of her heart.
The door eased open.
The door — the door she knew she had locked — was shifting open, inch by inch.
She pushed herself up on one elbow, her pulse drumming against her throat. "...Anna?" Her voice came out thin and uncertain.
The space between the door and the frame widened. A shape filled it, tall and still. She wanted to believe it was Anna, but Anna was slender, and this figure was not.
He stepped inside.
The light from the window caught his outline, broad shoulders and a strong build.
It didn't take long for her to realize, who it was. The breath she'd been holding trembled loose as panic flooded her.
It was him.
The mad heir.
The door shut behind him. For a long moment, he didn't move. His gaze swept across the room before settling on her.
Celeste sat upright, half-hidden in the wash of moonlight, her back pressed against the headboard. She hadn't realized her robe had slipped in her sleep, falling open just enough to bare her shoulder.
Something flickered in his eyes, gone almost as soon as it appeared. Then he stepped forward.
"Wife?"
She recoiled instinctively, shifting back against the headboard. As she moved, the robe slipped with her, parting just enough to reveal the curve of her thighs and the smooth line of her legs.
"Celeste's voice came out trembling. "Don't... don't come closer." Then even softer, almost a whisper, she added, "Please..."
Aiden's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why are you here, then," he asked, his voice low, "if not to please me?"
Celeste's eyes widened, her pulse hammering in her chest. She swallowed, trying to make sense of him.
"You're in my room," he continued, his words slow and pointed, as though she should already know. "On my bed."
The weight of his voice sank into her. Her heartbeat raced as she pressed herself against the headboard, as if it could swallow her whole.
His room?
Her eyes darted around, as though the furniture might suddenly confess the truth. Everything looked the same as before, but now that she knew, it all felt wrong.
"I—" Her voice faltered. "This... this isn't my room?"
Aiden's expression didn't change.
"It appears not."
Celeste's throat tightened as realization dawned in full. "The servants..." She forced the words out through a shaky breath. "They must have made a mistake. I'll leave right away."
Celeste pressed herself harder against the headboard, as if the wood could shield her. But it only gave her away. The robe slipped lower, revealing more skin, but she was too afraid to notice.
Aiden's gaze followed the shift, his eyes darkening. She felt it, that change in him. He took a step forward, then another.
Celeste trembled.
He stopped beside the bed, hovering over her, his gaze heavy. For a moment, neither of them moved. Everything felt fragile, like one wrong move would break whatever was holding him back. The silence stretched, then his voice cut through it.
"It would be a waste for you to leave, wife."
Celeste gulped, her fingers tightening in the sheets. He leaned closer, and she stared at him, unable to move or breathe properly. A strand of her hair slipped forward, he caught it between his fingers, tracing it idly before letting it fall.
"We are married, after all," he said softly, almost as if reasoning with her. "We can share the bed."
Celeste's eyes widened slightly, in fear and disbelief. "No..." she managed to say, her voice barely a whisper. "That's not— I didn't mean—"
Aiden's gaze didn't waver. Then he said.
"Lie down."
The command wasn't shouted, and it didn't need to be.
Celeste froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers clenched the robe, knuckles pale. She wanted to speak, to protest, but nothing came. When she didn't respond, he moved closer. His fingers found her chin, tilting it up until their eyes met.
Hers wide with fear and disbelief. His steady, with something unreadable behind the calm.
"Lie down, wife," he urged again, lower this time, soft enough to almost sound like coaxing.
Her breath trembled. The warmth of his hand contrasted sharply with cool air, and the faint pressure beneath her chin left her no space to turn away.
For a minute, neither moved. Then slowly, like a puppet pulled by invisible strings, Celeste obeyed.