Amara had imagined many things when she signed the contract.
She had imagined awkward public appearances. Forced smiles. Cold dinners across a long table.
She had not imagined the gates.
The Blackwood estate stood behind tall iron bars that slowly parted as the car approached. The driveway curved through manicured lawns and trimmed hedges before revealing a house that was less a house and more a statement.
Glass. Stones. Clean lines. Power in architectural form.
Amara swallowed.
"This is excessive." She muttered under her breath.
Beside her in the backseat, Ethan didn't look up from his tablet. "It's functional."
She glanced at him. "For what? Hosting royalty?"
"For privacy."
The car came to a smooth stop beneath the covered entrance. A uniformed staff member opened the door before she could reach for the handle.
Staff.
Plural.
Amara stepped out slowly trying not to stare as two more employees appeared to collect her luggage. The single suitcase she'd packed felt embarrassingly small in comparison to the estate behind her.
"This way ma'am," one of those house staff said politely.
Ma'am.
Amara resisted the urge to look over her shoulder to see who they were talking to.
Inside, the house was quieter than she expected.
The floors gleamed. The air smelled faintly of something expensive and clean.
Cold.
That was the word that came to her.
The space was beautiful, yes. But it lacked warmth. It felt staged, like a showroom rather than a home.
Ethan stepped inside behind her.
"You'll have the east wing," he said calmly. "My quarters are on the west side."
"Quarters?" She repeated. "Are we in a palace?"
He ignored the sarcasm. "You'll have your own sitting area, office space, and bathroom."
She crossed her arms. "And the shared spaces?"
"Kitchen. Dining room. Main living room. Media room. Gym."
Of course there was a gym.
Amara followed the staff member up the sweeping staircase, her heels clicking against marble. She felt small here, not because of the size of the house, but because of what it represented.
This wasn't her world.
When they reached the east wing, the door opened to reveal a space larger than her entire apartment.
A king sized bed. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. A sitting area with plush furniture. A walk in closet bigger than her old bedroom.
Amara stepped inside slowly.
"This is temporary," she reminded herself quietly.
The staff placed her suitcase near the bed and excused themselves.
The door closed.
Silence settled around her.
She turned in a slow circle.
A year.
One year of this.
There was a knock on the open doorway.
Ethan leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets.
"Is it satisfactory?" He asked.
Amara looked at him. "It's ridiculous."
"I'll take that as a yes."
She moved toward the window, staring out at the skyline. From this height, the city looked distant, almost harmless.
"Does anyone else live here?" she asked.
"Just the staff."
"And now your contract wife."
He stepped further into the room. "You'll need to get comfortable being seen here."
She turned to face him. "Let's get one thing straight."
He waited.
"I am not here to decorate your life."
A faint flicker of something crossed his face, approval, maybe.
"Good," he said. "I prefer honesty."
"Then here's more," she continued. "We stick to the rules. No surprises. No controlling my schedule without discussion.
"That was agreed upon."
"And if you think you can intimidate me the way you did in that boardroom"
"I don't," he interrupted quietly.
The air shifted.
Amara hesitated.
"I won't treat you like an employee," he said. "You're not one."
She studied him carefully. He didn't look mocking. He didn't look irritated.
He looked…serious.
"That's new," she said softly.
Ethan didn't respond to that.
Instead, he walked to the small table near the sitting area and set down a folder.
"Your allowance will be transferred monthly," he said. "The first payment has already been processed."
Her chest tightened despite herself.
She hated how much relief she felt.
"And my mother's medical bills?" She asked.
"Handled," he replied. "My legal team will contact the hospital directly."
Amara blinked.
"That was fast."
"I don't delay obligations."
She didn't know how to respond to that.
For a moment, they simply stood there, the weight of their new reality settling between them.
"Dinner is at seven," Ethan said finally. "We should establish routine early."
She raised a brow. "Routine."
"It helps avoid confusion."
"Right," she muttered. "Heaven forbid the fake marriage becomes confusing."
A faint almost smile touched his lips.
Almost.
"I'll see you at seven," he said before turning and leaving the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Amara let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Dinner was quieter than she expected.
The dining table could seat twelve. They sat at opposite ends.
"This feels dramatic," she said, glancing down the length of the table.
Ethan set his glass down. "You can sit closer if it makes you more comfortable."
She hesitated, then moved to a seat midway between them.
"Better," she admitted.
The staff served dinner efficiently before disappearing again.
Amara picked at her food at first, her appetite still tangled in nerves.
"We announce the engagement in two weeks," Ethan said.
"So soon?"
"The board is already speculating."
She exhaled slowly. "And how exactly did we meet?"
He looked at her as if the answer were obvious. "Through work."
"That's vague."
"It's safe."
She leaned back in her chair. "You're good at controlling narratives."
"It's necessary."
Amara studied him in the warm dining room light. Without the cold boardroom atmosphere, he seemed…different. Less untouchable.
"You really don't care what people think?" She asked suddenly.
He paused.
"I care about outcomes," he said. "Opinions are secondary."
"That sounds lonely."
His gaze flickered to hers.
"Is that your professional analysis?" He asked.
She shrugged. "Just an observation."
Silence fell again, but it wasn't as sharp as before.
After dinner, they moved to the main living room.
Amara stood near the fireplace, unsure what to do with herself.
"So this is it," she said quietly. "Day one of the arrangement."
"Yes."
"And we just…coexist?"
"For now."
She turned to face him fully. "Why me, really?"
Ethan didn't answer immediately.
"Because you didn't beg," he said finally.
She frowned. "What?"
"What you were terminated," he continued, "you didn't beg. You didn't collapse. You walked out."
Her chest tightened.
"That's why?"
"It told me you could handle this."
Amara didn't know whether to feel insulted or…respected.
"You don't know anything about me," she said softly.
"Then I suppose we have a year to learn."
The words lingered in the air longer than either of them expected.
A distant roll of thunder echoed outside. Rain began to tap lightly against the tall windows.
Amara glanced toward the staircase leading to her wing.
"I should unpack," she said.
Ethan nodded once.
As she turned to leave, he spoke again.
"Amara."
She looked back.
"This only works if we trust each other."
She held his gaze.
"Then don't lie to me again."
A quiet understanding passed between them.
She walked upstairs without another word.
Later that night, Amara lay in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling.
The sheets were softer. The room was warmer than she expected.
But sleep didn't come easily.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
A notification.
Unknown sender.
She frowned and opened the message.
You think marrying him will protect you?
Her breath caught.
You don't even know what he's hiding.
The message ended there.
No name. No number she recognized.
Her heart began to race.
How did anyone know already?
They hadn't announced anything yet.
Slowly, she sat up in bed, staring at the screen.
This wasn't part of the contract.
And suddenly, the safety she thought she'd signed for didn't feel so secure anymore.