CHAPTER 3

I dragged myself upstairs, my limbs heavy with exhaustion. The encounter with Heinrich had drained me, leaving behind an unsettling weight in my chest.

Collapsing onto my bed, I grabbed my phone and dialed my uncle. The phone rang a few times before he answered, his voice casual, almost indifferent.

“Heinrich was just here.” I cut straight to the chase.

“That’s good news.”

I clenched my jaw. Good news?

“He wants me to move in with him tomorrow.”

“That’s good news too.” His tone remained calm, almost amused. “That will give you time to get to understand him before the wedding.”

It annoyed me how little he seemed to care. How easily he was selling me off.

I swallowed my frustration. “Yeah… okay.” I hung up without another word, staring at the ceiling as an unbearable sense of helplessness settled over me.

I couldn’t believe this was my life now. Forced into a marriage alliance just to survive.

A sharp ache twisted in my chest. “Mom, I miss you.” I whispered into the silence.

My hands curled into fists. What if the police never solved her case? What if her killer was out there, living his life freely, unbothered?

The thought made me sick. I couldn’t let that happen.

But what could I do? I wasn’t a cop. I wasn’t an investigator.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping—praying—that the police would find something soon.

Exhaustion took over before I even realized it, pulling me into a restless sleep.

---

The next morning, I woke up around 6 AM.

The weight of what was coming pressed down on my chest like a heavy stone, but I forced myself to move. One step at a time.

I took a long, hot shower, letting the steam soothe my nerves. Then, I started packing.

Each item I placed in my suitcase felt like I was erasing a part of myself, leaving behind the life I had known for something unknown.

I reached for a framed picture of my mother and held it close to my chest. Her smile in the photo was warm and full of life, so different from the lifeless body I had seen three weeks ago.

Tears burned my eyes, but I forced them back.

Carefully, I packed the picture, then picked up her wedding ring—a simple silver band. She hadn’t been wearing it the day she left for work. She must have forgotten, which wasn’t surprising, considering my father had died when I was five.

I slid the ring onto a thin chain and clasped it around my neck, feeling its comforting weight against my skin.

She would always be with me.

Zipping the last of my bags, I sighed heavily.

I made my way downstairs, forcing myself to eat a bowl of cereal, though every bite tasted like cardboard. My appetite had been gone for weeks.

At exactly 9 AM, the doorbell rang.

My pulse spiked.

It was time.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

A tall man in a black suit stood there, his posture stiff and formal. His sharp gaze met mine. “Hello, madame. Mr. Volkov ordered me to take you to his villa.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I’ll go get my luggage.”

“No need.” He stepped inside. “I’ll take care of that.”

I nodded, stepping aside as he collected my bags. He moved with efficiency, carrying them to the sleek black car parked outside.

My feet felt like lead as I followed him. This was real.

I slid into the car, watching numbly as my house—**my mother’s house—**faded into the distance.

As the city passed by, my thoughts drifted to my mother. Would she be horrified by this? Would she have fought to stop it?

I clenched my fists in my lap. She would have.

But she wasn’t here.

And I was alone.

---

An hour later, we arrived at the Volkov estate.

My breath caught in my throat.

It was nothing like I had imagined.

The villa sat on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by tall iron gates and dense, towering trees that created a sense of eerie isolation.

The air was silent, almost too silent. The only sound was the distant rush of a waterfall behind the villa, its presence soothing yet ominous.

The structure itself was massive—a grand mansion with intricate gothic architecture. The dark stone exterior gave it a cold, imposing presence. Ivy crawled up parts of the walls, giving it an almost haunted look.

It felt less like a home and more like a fortress.

I stepped out of the car, my shoes crunching against the gravel driveway. My throat was dry as I took in the sheer size of the place.

A man, possibly in his late forties, approached. He had neatly combed gray hair and wore a black suit, his posture straight and refined.

“Welcome to the Volkov residence.” His voice was calm, polite, but his sharp eyes held a quiet authority. “I am the butler, Sam. Mr. Volkov is currently out.”

I nodded hesitantly. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

He gestured for me to follow him inside. “Allow me to show you to your room.”

I hesitated for a second before stepping inside.

The interior was even more breathtaking—and suffocating—than the exterior.

High ceilings. Dark chandeliers dripping with crystals. Expensive paintings hung on the walls, each one more unsettling than the last.

The decor was a mix of wealth and mystery.

The hallway stretched endlessly, lined with doors that I didn’t dare peek into.

Sam led me up a grand staircase, his footsteps light despite the silence surrounding us.

We stopped in front of a set of large, double doors.

He pushed them open, and my stomach dropped.

This wasn’t just any room.

This was Heinrich’s room.

The scent of his cologne lingered in the air—dark, musky, dangerously intoxicating.

The room was huge. A king-sized bed with dark sheets dominated the space, positioned against a wall with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the vast forest outside.

To the side, a sleek black desk sat near a bookshelf filled with leather-bound books.

And then there was the walk-in closet and the en-suite bathroom, both luxurious, both screaming of a life that didn’t belong to me.

My stomach churned.

I turned to Sam. “Is there another room I can stay in?”

He shook his head politely. “Mr. Volkov specifically instructed that you are to stay here.”

Of course he did.

I forced a smile, nodding. “Alright. Thank you, Sam.”

He inclined his head. “If you need anything, ring the bell by the nightstand.”

With that, he left, shutting the door behind him.

And just like that, I was alone.

I stood in the center of the room, my mind racing.

I didn’t belong here.

I didn’t belong in his world.

But there was no way out.

My hands trembled as I walked toward the bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress. The sheets were cold, untouched. Would he be sleeping here tonight?

I wrapped my arms around myself, staring out the window.

The waterfall in the distance glistened under the morning sun, its beauty a cruel contrast to the cage I had just walked into.

I reached for my mother’s ring around my neck, gripping it tightly.

“Mom, what do I do?”

Silence.

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the overwhelming fear creeping up my spine.

Because whether I liked it or not…

I was now Heinrich Volkov’s bride.

I stood in the center of the enormous walk-in closet, my hands gripping the handle of my suitcase as I looked around the pristine space. The closet was a sleek blend of modern minimalism and sophisticated luxury. Row after row of meticulously arranged clothing, shoes neatly lined up, and polished accessories displayed with an almost clinical precision. Everything screamed perfection, just like the man whose home I had just moved into.

I sighed, irritated by the sight. There wasn’t a single empty space where I could hang my clothes. With a frustrated grunt, I left my suitcase standing against the wall of the closet and turned back to the bedroom.

The bed was large, with plush sheets, but the space felt overwhelmingly empty. A bit too empty for comfort, like the air in the room was heavy with expectations, and I felt like I was the one who didn’t belong.

I walked over to the bookshelf that stretched across the far wall, hoping to find something—anything—to distract me from the unease gnawing at me. Books always brought me comfort. The pages, the stories, they were a world I could escape into. I ran my fingers along the spines of the books, their smooth leather covers cool to the touch. They were exactly what I’d expect to find in a man like Heinrich's house: a collection of business guides, biographies of powerful figures, and even a few political thrillers. It was all so… predictable.

I moved to the far end of the shelf, where a small, unassuming book caught my eye. A tiny, almost delicate leather-bound book wedged between two larger volumes. I could tell by the way it looked out of place that it wasn’t like the others. Intrigued, I reached for it, my fingers brushing against the cool surface.

I immediately noticed the lock on the spine.

A diary.

Of course, it had to be Heinrich’s. What else could it be? I hesitated for a moment, my fingers hovering over the tiny lock. The temptation to pry into his private thoughts was overwhelming, but I knew better. I could already hear the words echoing in my mind: What are you doing, Mariane?

This was none of my business.

Still, the urge to know—to understand more about the man I was about to marry—gnawed at me. I tried to peer at the edges of the book, trying to see if I could catch a glimpse of the writing, but the angle was off, and the lock was too small to easily tamper with. I cursed softly under my breath. It was useless. The book was designed to be kept shut. And it was most definitely not meant for me.

After a few seconds of fruitless fiddling with the lock, I sighed and gently returned the diary to its rightful place on the shelf. What would I find there anyway?

Probably nothing worth knowing. Heinrich was a man who kept his secrets buried deep. He had to be. After all, he was the kind of man who commanded fear and respect in equal measure. Nothing about him felt… real, genuine, or open. He was inaccessible.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but the weight of my thoughts pressed down on me. I had to focus. The wedding was only weeks away, and I had an exam to study for the next day. That’s what I should be focusing on. I dropped onto the edge of the bed, pulled my phone from my bag, and began scrolling through social media to kill time. But it wasn’t long before my fingers grew tired and the anxiety began to creep back in.

I couldn’t focus.

The room felt like it was closing in on me. I knew what was coming, knew that soon I would have to face everything: the marriage, the tension, and, most of all, the overwhelming weight of my mother's death still hanging in the air. There was no escape from any of it.

I shoved my phone aside and grabbed my laptop from the desk in the corner. I had to study.

But even as I opened my notes, I found myself staring blankly at the screen. The words blurred in front of my eyes, merging together into a haze of nothingness. My mind kept drifting back to the sound of Heinrich’s voice, the image of him in my doorway, the cold confidence in his eyes. It was strange, how his presence could dominate the space without a single word. But that was Heinrich Volkov, wasn’t it? An enigma wrapped in a mystery, surrounded by a cloud of power, and yet still… something about him made me want to understand more.

I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts swirling in my brain. Now is not the time for this.

I was not going to waste my time on someone I didn’t know. I had more pressing matters. Like the fact that I barely knew anything about Heinrich, let alone the life we were about to build together. But the reality was clear—I had no choice.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to refocus. I opened my textbook and started making notes, determined to get through at least one chapter. But the words felt distant, as if the page itself were mocking me. I couldn’t concentrate. Every time I tried to read, my mind wandered, and the thoughts I was avoiding crept back into my consciousness.

My mother’s death.

I hadn't heard anything new from the police since the last time I called. The case remained unsolved, with no real leads or explanations. I wasn’t going to find any closure just by sitting here.

I slammed my laptop shut, frustrated with myself. I needed a break. I needed to think, to breathe. So I went back to the bed and collapsed against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

The room was silent, save for the faint sound of the waterfall outside.

My eyes fluttered closed, but sleep didn’t come. I was too aware of the space around me, the quiet weight of Heinrich’s absence, and the silent questions that kept drifting through my mind. Would I ever feel at home here? Or was I just a temporary part of his life—an obligation to be fulfilled, a contract to be signed, and then left to wither?

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling again. What had I gotten myself into?