Chapter 2: The First Night
The Drive to the Moreau Estate – A Caged Bird
The wedding was over. The guests had dispersed, the applause had faded, and now Celeste sat in the backseat of a sleek black Rolls-Royce, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Beside her, Vincent Moreau sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the darkened cityscape passing by. His presence was suffocating. Every breath she took felt monitored, every movement restrained.
She stole a glance at him. His sharp jawline was set, his expression unreadable. The dim glow of the streetlights cast shadows over his face, making him look even more like the devil she knew him to be.
The car ride was silent, save for the occasional hum of the engine.
Finally, Celeste spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "What happens now?"
Vincent didn't look at her. Instead, he took his time before answering. "You will live at the Moreau estate. You will act as my wife in public. You will obey me."
His words sent a chill through her veins.
She clenched her fists. "And if I don't?"
Vincent turned his head, finally meeting her gaze. "Then you'll learn very quickly that defiance has consequences."
Her stomach tightened, but she refused to look away.
"I'm not a slave."
A smirk flickered across his lips. "No, you're not. You're something far more valuable."
She didn't ask what he meant. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
---
Arrival at the Moreau Estate – A Palace of Shadows
The car pulled up to the Moreau Estate, an imposing mansion that loomed against the night sky like a predator waiting to devour its prey. The iron gates groaned open, revealing a long driveway lined with marble statues—figures of warriors, kings, and fallen angels.
The mansion itself was breathtaking, a blend of old-world opulence and modern brutality. Massive chandeliers glowed from within, illuminating the vast estate like a gilded prison.
The driver opened Celeste's door, but she hesitated.
Vincent stepped out first, not bothering to wait for her.
Luca Bianchi, Vincent's right-hand man, stood at the entrance, watching with mild amusement. "Welcome home, Mrs. Moreau."
The title made her stomach twist.
Vincent strode inside, and Celeste had no choice but to follow.
As they entered the grand hall, she took in the surroundings. The floor was polished marble, the walls adorned with priceless art—landscapes of war, portraits of dead kings. Everything screamed wealth, power… and danger.
A row of bodyguards lined the corridors, each one armed, their gazes indifferent.
Celeste felt like a lamb being led into the lion's den.
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The Contract – A Marriage in Name Only
Vincent led her into a study—dark wood, a fireplace crackling in the corner, the scent of whiskey and old books filling the air.
A single sheet of paper lay on the desk.
"Read it," he said, motioning for her to sit.
Celeste hesitated before stepping forward, picking up the document.
Her eyes scanned the words.
Marriage Contract
Clause 1: The marriage is to be upheld in public for a minimum of three years.
Clause 2: The wife shall not interfere in the husband's business matters.
Clause 3: The husband and wife are not obligated to share a bed unless mutually agreed upon.
Clause 4: Any attempt by the wife to flee, betray, or act against the husband will result in immediate consequences.
Celeste's hands tightened around the paper.
"What is this?"
Vincent leaned against the desk, watching her. "A guarantee."
Her throat felt dry. "So this is just a business arrangement to you?"
He smirked. "Did you think it was love?"
Celeste bit her lip. She wasn't naive, but seeing it laid out so coldly still stung.
She set the paper down, lifting her chin. "And what happens after three years?"
Vincent's smirk faded. "We'll see."
His vagueness unsettled her, but she refused to ask further.
With a deep breath, she picked up the pen and signed her name.
---
The Bedroom – A Dangerous Game
Vincent led her up a grand staircase, stopping in front of an ornate set of double doors.
"This is your room," he said, pushing them open.
Celeste stepped inside, her breath catching.
It was beautiful—far too beautiful for a prisoner. A massive canopy bed sat in the center, silk sheets cascading like a waterfall. The walls were lined with bookshelves, a balcony overlooking the estate gardens.
She turned to face him. "And yours?"
Vincent stepped closer, his presence an unspoken threat.
"My bedroom is across the hall. But make no mistake, Celeste—this house, this life… it all belongs to me. Including you."
Her pulse quickened. "You may own my name, but you don't own me."
Vincent chuckled, tilting his head. "We'll see about that."
He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. His fingers were cold, yet his touch burned.
She wanted to recoil, but she held her ground.
His smirk deepened. "Good girl."
With that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Celeste let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.
She had survived the wedding.
But the real battle had only just begun.