Chapter 38: The Prisoner of Leo Estate
The days blurred together like watercolors in rain.
Serene stopped counting them after the first week. What was the point? Each morning was the same—waking in the beautiful room, dressing in clothes that weren't hers, descending to meals where no one spoke to her, enduring the cold stares of servants who had been told exactly what to think of the mute bride.
Ethan was absent more than he was present.
Business, they said. Meetings. The endless work of running Leo Industries.
She suspected he was simply avoiding her. Avoiding the silence. Avoiding the weight of what he'd done.
Fine. Let him avoid her. She preferred his absence to his presence.
---
Mia made her life a daily torment.
The younger Leo sister had appointed herself Serene's unofficial warden, and she took the role with sadistic pleasure. She appeared at Serene's door each morning with a list of tasks—meaningless chores designed to humiliate, to remind Serene of her place.
"The linens need folding."
"The silver needs polishing."
"The gardens need weeding—by hand, of course. We wouldn't want you disturbing the plants with improper tools."
Serene performed each task without complaint. Without reaction. Without giving Mia the satisfaction of seeing her break.
But at night, alone in her room, she wrote.
She wrote to Clive—letters she couldn't send, words he would never read. She filled page after page with her love, her despair, her desperate hope that somewhere out there, he was still searching for her.
She wrote to David—short notes she managed to slip to him during his rare visits, begging for news of Clive, of the outside world, of any hope at all.
David wrote back when he could. His notes were gentle, honest, devastating:
Clive is still in the city. He's hired investigators. He's not giving up.
Mother has forbidden me from contacting you directly. I'm writing this in secret.
Ethan knows about the notes. He didn't stop me. I don't know what that means.
I'm so sorry, Serene. I'm so sorry.
---
Celeste summoned her on the tenth day.
Serene stood before Ethan's mother in the same morning room where she'd been slapped, her hands clasped in front of her, her face carefully blank.
"You've been here ten days," Celeste observed. "You've eaten almost nothing. You barely sleep. The servants report you spend your nights writing in journals instead of resting."
Serene said nothing. Could say nothing.
Celeste rose, moving to the window with the fluid grace of a woman who had spent her life in control.
"I know you didn't choose this marriage. I know you loved someone else. I know—" she paused, something flickering in her cold eyes "—that my son has handled this badly. He has handled many things badly, where you're concerned."
The admission was unexpected. Serene's hands twitched, but she kept them still.
"None of that matters now." Celeste turned, her expression hardening again. "What matters is that you are a Leo. You carry our name. And whether you believe it or not, that name protects you."
Protects me? The thought was almost laughable. From whom? From what? The only threats Serene had ever known came from inside these walls—from people like Mia, like Celeste herself.
"The rumors about you have grown," Celeste continued. "The village talks constantly. About your silence. About your collapse. About Clive Marcer." Her eyes sharpened. "About whether you carry another man's child."
Serene's hands flew up before she could stop them: I don't. I never did. Clive and I never—
Celeste held up a hand, stopping her. "I believe you. That's not the point. The point is that perception matters. And the perception is that my son married damaged goods."
The words were knives, but Serene had been cut so many times she barely felt them anymore.
"So here is what will happen." Celeste moved closer, her presence filling the room. "You will begin attending social functions with the family. You will smile. You will nod. You will let people see that you are not the broken creature the rumors describe."
I can't speak.
"You don't need to speak. You need to be seen. Present. Normal." Celeste's eyes were merciless. "You will play the role of Ethan's devoted wife, and you will play it perfectly. If you do—if you convince society that this marriage is real—I will ensure Mia stops tormenting you. I will ensure you have some measure of peace within these walls."
And if I refuse?
The question hung in the air, unasked but understood.
Celeste's smile was thin and cold. "Then you'll learn just how creative my daughter can be when she's given free rein."
---
The first social event was a dinner party.
Twelve guests. Prominent families. The kind of people whose opinions shaped society, whose whispers became truth.
Serene dressed in a gown Celeste had chosen—deep green velvet, modest but elegant, the color of Ethan's eyes. Her hair was styled by a maid who didn't speak to her. Her face was painted by someone who treated her like a mannequin.
And then she was led downstairs to stand beside her husband.
Ethan looked at her when she entered. For a moment—just a moment—something flickered in his green eyes. Recognition. Memory. The ghost of the boy who had once loved her.
Then it was gone, replaced by the mask he always wore.
"You look..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Appropriate."
The highest compliment a Leo could give.
She nodded, once, and took her place at his side.
---
The evening was an exercise in endurance.
Serene smiled until her face ached. Nodded until her neck cramped. Accepted compliments she hadn't earned and deflected questions she couldn't answer with gestures that passed for conversation.
Through it all, Ethan stayed close.
Not touching—he never touched her, not since the wedding. But present. Watchful. His eyes following her as she moved through the room, tracking every interaction, every glance, every moment when someone looked at her with pity or curiosity or contempt.
She didn't understand it.
Didn't want to understand it.
She just wanted the night to end.
---
It ended badly.
Lady Marguerite Ashworth was a monument to old money and older cruelty. She had built her reputation on the ruins of other women's dignity, and she smelled weakness the way sharks smelled blood.
"So you're the famous Serene Leo," she said, appearing at Serene's elbow like a well-dressed vulture. "I've heard so much about you."
Serene smiled. Nodded. Played her role.
Lady Marguerite's eyes glittered. "All those rumors about Clive Marcer. About your collapse. About—" she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper "—whether you might be expecting a happy event sooner than expected."
The words were deliberate. Cruel. Designed to wound.
Serene's smile didn't waver, but something in her eyes shifted.
"No answer?" Lady Marguerite's smile widened. "Ah, yes. I forgot. You can't answer, can you? Poor thing. Married to such a handsome man and unable to say a single word to him."
The silence stretched, heavy and terrible.
And then Ethan appeared.
He materialized at Serene's side like a shadow given form, his arm sliding around her waist with casual possession. His green eyes fixed on Lady Marguerite with an expression that made even that formidable woman take a step back.
"Lady Marguerite." His voice was smooth, pleasant, utterly terrifying. "How kind of you to entertain my wife. I'm sure she appreciates your... interest in her health."
Lady Marguerite's smile faltered. "I was merely expressing concern—"
"Concern." Ethan's arm tightened slightly around Serene's waist. "How touching. I'll be sure to return the concern when your daughter's engagement is announced next month. I've heard such interesting things about her fiancé's business dealings."
The threat was velvet wrapped in steel.
Lady Marguerite's face went pale. She muttered something that might have been an apology and retreated, swallowed by the crowd.
Ethan didn't move.
His arm remained around Serene's waist, warm and solid and utterly confusing. She could feel his heartbeat through the layers of their clothing—steady, calm, nothing like the chaos in her chest.
"Thank you," she signed, not knowing if he'd understand.
He looked down at her hands, then at her face. Something softened in his expression—just for a moment, just enough to hurt.
"You're my wife," he said quietly. "Whatever else you are, whatever else we are—no one speaks to you like that. Not while I'm here."
He released her and walked away, leaving Serene standing alone in the crowd, more confused than ever.
---
That night, she wrote in her journal:
He defended me. Ethan. The man who trapped me here, who stole me from Clive, who wrote those words that killed my hope—he stood between me and that woman and threatened her for my sake.
I don't understand him.
I don't understand anything anymore.
Clive, where are you? Why haven't you come?
I'm still waiting.
I'll always be waiting.
---
The days continued.
Mia's torment lessened—Celeste had kept her promise, or at least reined in her daughter's worst impulses. The servants grew slightly less hostile. Ethan remained absent more than present, but when he was there, he watched her with those unreadable green eyes.
And Serene waited.
For Clive.
For rescue.
For a miracle she was beginning to believe would never come.
---
One night, a note appeared under her door.
Not from David—the handwriting was different. Sharper. More urgent.
She opened it with trembling hands.
I haven't stopped searching. I haven't stopped fighting. They've blocked every attempt to reach you, but I will find a way.
Wait for me, my princess.
I'm coming.
—C
Serene pressed the note to her heart and wept—silent tears of relief and hope and desperate, aching love.
Clive was coming.
He hadn't given up.
He was coming for her.
She hid the note beneath her pillow, next to the pressed flowers from another lifetime, and for the first time in weeks, she slept.
---