One space for two

Once inside the villa, Halle's breath hitched.

The interior was a breathtaking display of wealth. High vaulted ceilings towered above them, bathed in soft golden hue of the chandelier that hung like a piece of captured starlight. Deep shades of charcoal, mahogany and muted gold defined the villa's aesthetic, casting an aura of sofistication mixed with shadows. It wasn't cold, exactly...distant. Like the kind of place that did not expect warmth, nor entertain the concept of comfort in emotional sense.

She stood frozen in the marble- floored foyer, momentarily forgetting her situation. The walls bore expensive, minimalist artwork. A grand staircase curved to the left like something out of royal estate. Thick velvet curtains, drawn to the sides of tall arched windows, let in just enough light to amplify the richness of it all.

She heard Raphael close the door behind them. His presence, tall and enigmatic in that pitch black enigmatic designer suit, filled the space even more than the decor did. Every step he took was silent but firm, the type of man who did not need to speak to command a room.

He barely gave her time to breathe.

"Come on," he said. His voice low and emotionless. "Let me lead you to our room so that you can unpack."

Halle turned slowly to face him, her brows knitting in confusion. "Our room?" She asked. "But you said this marriage is only on paper. Shouldn't I have my own room then?"

He tilted his head slightly, regarding her like she was missing something obvious. His black eyes, so deep and unreadable, narrowed just the slightest bit.

"No," He said plainly. Then with a half- laugh that didn't quit reach his lips, he added, "I don't do split arrangements. My name is on the papers. My rules. And there's no way my wife will be sleeping in another room. Whether this marriage means anything to you or not, is irrelevant. I don't share my house with strangers, and I don't scatter my space just to satisfy someone else's fleeting sense of comfort."

His tone was not harsh. It was factual, laced with the kind of certainty only a narcissist would carry. He didn't ask, didn't leave room for a reply. It was how things were_ and he expected no debate.

But halle was not made of paper either.

She took a deep breath, holding his stare. "If you didn't want a wife, you shouldn't have gone shopping for one like a suit, Raphael. You made this arrangement, not me. You don't get to claim control over everything just because you married me."

Something flickered behind his expression, but it varnished too quickly before she could notice it. He exhaled through his nose, almost amused, though she didn't know what it was."

He stepped past her without another word, but not before throwing a final comment over his shoulder. "The room is upstairs. Last one in the left. When you are done exploring."

Without any other word, he left and headed upstairs.

She was left standing alone again, in the echoing silence of a palace that she would now be living in. The sound of his footsteps faded with each second, but the pressure he left in the space did not.

For a moment, Halle didn't move. She simply stood there, her eyes flickering around the empty corridor. It wasn't just the house that felt strange. It was the weight of her situation

settling against her chest.

Was this going to be her life? Where her opinions mattered less than a grain of salt in the ocean?

More to it, she would be living with a person she knew nothing about in a house that felt like a gilded cage.

Still, she straightened her spine and took a hesitant step forward, exploring the space. Each footstep echoed as she walked past the pristine dining hall with its twelve-seater table and a tall cabinet full of untouched crystalware. She peeked into a side lounge, marveling at the antique fireplace and walls lined with books. There was a music room—because of course there was—and a private indoor garden under glass panels.

She'd grown up comfortable, not extravagant. Her biological father had money, yes, but it was never spent on her. After his remarriage, it all belonged to Miriam, her calculating stepmother, and Maribel—her venomous stepsister who thought beauty entitled her to everything. Halle had known no privilege, but never affection either . No luxury, no warmth.

Here, she was surrounded by beauty. But the emptiness was louder than any comfort it might have offered.

Eventually, she climbed the staircase, the carved wooden rail cool beneath her fingers. There were doors on both sides of the long hallway. She walked slowly to the end, where the corridor turned a corner, and found the room—the last one on the left.

The door was already slightly ajar.

Pushing it open, she gasped.

The room was palatial. Dark navy walls paired with golden accents and soft cream drapes. A chandelier hung above the king-sized bed with thick, navy-blue covers, more elegant than anything she'd ever laid eyes on. The carpet was thick and soft beneath her feet, the windows large and covered in silk curtains. There was a sitting area near the far side, a vanity, and a closet that looked like a boutique.

Her luggage had already been placed neatly near the dresser.

Halle hovered by the door.

This was her room. Their room.

And somehow, it still didn't feel like hers.

Crossing the threshold, she walked in slowly, placing her hand on the dresser as if to confirm this was real. It was beautiful.

Walking back to where her suitcase was, she picked it up and walked towards the bed.

She placed her bags on the bed and sat beside them, staring at the walls. Her thoughts spun. What did Raphael want from her? Why did he do this? Why pick her—quiet, ordinary Halle, over a dozen society women who would've given anything to be with him.

She pressed her palms together tightly. If this was a game, she didn't know the rules.

While still buried in her thoughts, the bathroom door opened and a half naked Raphael appeared with a towel wrapped around his waist..