His Terms, Her Boundaries

Elena stared at the document in front of her. The room, as cold and sterile as her new husband's gaze, was silent save for the ticking of the grandfather clock by the window.

"These are your terms?" she asked, her voice barely steady.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, eyes unreadable. "They're our terms. Legal and binding. Nothing more than what's necessary."

Elena skimmed through the printed lines, her heart hammering. Clause after clause detailed their arrangement: no public affection, no interference in each other's personal matters, zero emotional involvement. A marriage in name only, designed for appearances and corporate gain.

"And this?" she pointed at the line that mentioned 'cohabitation expectations.'

"You'll live here," he said. "In the East Wing. My quarters are off-limits unless necessary. Dinners twice a week—for public appearance. Beyond that, we are strangers."

Strangers.

The word echoed in her mind like a bell. They already were. She thought back to the headlines: Cold-Hearted Heir Marries Fallen Heiress. She should've known better. This wasn't love. It wasn't even like. It was war—dressed in Armani.

"And if I don't sign?"

Sebastian stood, moving with a predator's grace to her side. He didn't touch her, but his proximity alone made her spine stiffen. "You're free to walk. But don't expect the Hendersons to save you. You'll have no claim to this house, no stake in the company, and your family's remaining shares will go to my board."

He said it so calmly, so cruelly. Elena blinked hard. Of course. This was about power. About his control. About keeping her in her place while he ruled the empire built on both their surnames.

"Fine." Her fingers curled around the pen. She signed it—each letter a quiet scream.

When she finished, she slid the document across the table. Sebastian didn't look pleased. He didn't even look relieved. He just nodded once and left the room.

Elena exhaled shakily and glanced around. This house—his house—felt like a cage. The walls, though polished and lined with art, pressed against her like silent watchers. She would never belong here. Not really.

She went upstairs to the East Wing and entered the bedroom that would now be hers. It was beautiful—lavish, spacious, with tall windows and a soft ivory bed that seemed too perfect to lie in. But it wasn't home.

She sat on the edge and finally let herself feel the burn behind her eyes.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from Mia:"Are you okay? The wedding pictures just went live. You look... beautiful, but I can tell something's wrong."

Elena bit her lip and replied,"It's all for show, Mia. Every second."

Seconds turned into hours. She changed into more comfortable clothes and headed downstairs to the main dining hall, where dinner was supposed to be served. She wasn't hungry, but she wanted to follow the rules—at least for now.

Sebastian was already seated, wine glass in hand, watching her silently as she entered.

"You're late," he said.

"I didn't know there was a schedule," she replied.

"You'll learn."

The chef appeared a moment later, delivering two plates with delicate precision. Elena forced herself to take small bites, the tension between them thick enough to cut through.

"You used to smile more," he said suddenly.

She glanced up. His voice wasn't mocking—it was observational.

"You used to be human," she shot back.

A pause.

"I guess we both changed," he muttered.

That caught her off guard. For a moment, she saw something flicker in his eyes—regret? Memory? It vanished as quickly as it came.

"I'll be hosting a corporate gala next Friday," he said. "You're expected to attend."

"Of course. I'll bring my best fake smile."

His lips twitched slightly—amused, maybe. But no softness followed.

When dinner ended, she stood, preparing to leave, but paused. "Is this how you envisioned your life? A marriage built on signatures and silence?"

He stared at his glass for a long time before replying. "No. But expectations and reality rarely meet, Elena."

She left the room without another word.

The days passed in chilly indifference.

Elena kept herself busy. She explored the grounds, found the library, and took long walks in the garden when the staff wasn't watching. The staff—discreet and disciplined—treated her politely but distantly. She was the new 'Mrs. Blackwood', but they had served Sebastian for years. Their loyalty was with him.

Every evening at precisely six, a knock would sound at her door. A reminder from the housekeeper: dinner in ten minutes. And every evening, she would sit across from Sebastian, exchanging meaningless words, dissecting flavorless meals, and building walls instead of bridges.

Until Wednesday night.

He didn't show up.

Instead, a message arrived:"Busy. Eat without me." —Sebastian.

Elena stared at the text and laughed. A bitter, tired laugh.

Screw the rules.

She left the dining hall, found the garage, and took one of the sleek black sedans out. The city lights welcomed her like an old friend. She didn't know where she was going—she just needed to breathe.

Eventually, she stopped at a small rooftop bar downtown, one she used to frequent with Mia and Kayla. She ordered a drink and sat at the farthest table, overlooking the skyline.

"You look like someone who just escaped a crime scene," a voice joked beside her.

She turned. A man stood there, easy smile, warm eyes. Handsome, but not threatening.

"More like a funeral," she replied, dryly.

"Mind if I join?"

"Suit yourself."

He slid into the seat. "Name's Adrian. You?"

"Elena," she said, after a beat of hesitation.

"Elena...?" he raised a brow.

"No last names tonight," she smiled faintly.

"Got it. No interrogations. Just two strangers in the city."

They talked. About meaningless things. Movies. Books. Favorite travel spots. It felt normal. Light. Human.

For the first time in days, Elena felt seen—not as a wife, not as a pawn, but as a person.

Until her phone buzzed again.

1 New Message — Sebastian:"You left."

Another followed:"Come home. Now."

She stared at it. Then at Adrian.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just... reality calling."

She stood. "Thanks for the company, Adrian."

"Will I see you again?" he asked, hopeful.

"Probably not. But thanks anyway."

She left the bar, heart pounding. Not because of Adrian. But because of the man waiting for her at home.

When she returned, Sebastian was standing by the front door, arms crossed, jaw tight.

"Where the hell were you?"

"Out," she said, brushing past him.

"You broke the rules."

"You broke them first."

"That's not the point, Elena!"

"Then what is the point, Sebastian? That I stay locked in this mansion like your well-dressed prisoner? You don't get to treat me like a ghost and then act shocked when I leave to feel alive."

"You're my wife."

"And you treat me like a business deal. What do you want from me?"

They were inches apart now, voices rising.

"Obedience," he growled.

"And I want freedom," she snapped.

For a moment, neither moved. The air crackled.

Then, suddenly, he stepped back.

"Fine. Do whatever you want," he said coldly. "Just remember, Elena, no matter where you go... you wear my name now."

And with that, he disappeared into the shadows of the hall.

Leaving Elena alone again—with his name on her finger, but none of his heart.