Chapter 3: Living With a Stranger
816 Words
Morning came too quickly.
Amara woke to silence—thick, unfamiliar silence that reminded her she was no longer in her old life. The bed beneath her was too soft, the room too large, the air too cold. Everything smelled expensive and impersonal.
She sat up slowly, her fingers brushing the wedding ring on her hand.
Married.
The word still felt unreal.
After dressing in a modest blue dress she found neatly laid out for her, Amara stepped into the hallway. The mansion was already awake, staff moving quietly like shadows. She felt out of place, like a guest who had overstayed her welcome.
Downstairs, Adrian was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through his tablet as he drank coffee.
He didn’t look up immediately.
“Good morning,” Amara said softly.
“Morning,” he replied, finally lifting his eyes. His gaze flicked briefly to her ring, then away. “Sit.”
She obeyed, folding her hands on her lap.
Breakfast was served—more food than she could eat. She picked at it nervously, the clinking of cutlery the only sound between them.
“We have a dinner tonight,” Adrian said, breaking the silence. “A charity event.”
Amara looked up. “Tonight?”
“Yes. You’ll be there.”
She nodded. “What do I need to know?”
He studied her for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. “Smile. Stay close to me. Answer questions simply. You’re my wife. Nothing more.”
Nothing more.
“I understand,” she said, though something in her chest tightened.
“There will be media,” he added. “So no mistakes.”
Her fingers curled slightly. “I won’t embarrass you.”
“I know,” he replied, calmly—but not reassuringly.
After breakfast, Adrian stood. “I’m heading to the office. You’ll stay here today. Get familiar with the house.”
With that, he left.
Just like that.
Hours passed slowly.
Amara wandered through the mansion, her footsteps echoing off polished floors. Every room was beautiful—and empty. She found herself missing the noise of her old home, the chaos, the warmth.
By afternoon, she ended up in the garden, sitting beneath a tall tree. The breeze was gentle, but her thoughts were anything but.
She wondered what kind of woman Adrian truly was beneath the cold exterior. Was he always this distant? Or was this his way of protecting himself?
She didn’t know.
And that scared her.
That evening, stylists arrived.
They dressed her, styled her hair, applied makeup that made her barely recognize herself. When she looked in the mirror, the woman staring back looked like she belonged beside Adrian Blackwood.
But inside, she still felt like an imposter.
Adrian entered the room as she was adjusting her earrings.
For a moment, he froze.
His eyes traveled over her slowly—not in desire, but in quiet assessment. Still, something unreadable flickered across his face.
“You look… appropriate,” he said.
That was the closest thing to a compliment she expected.
“Thank you,” she replied.
They arrived at the event arm in arm. Cameras flashed instantly, voices calling Adrian’s name. He placed a hand lightly on her back, guiding her forward.
The touch sent an unexpected shiver through her.
“Relax,” he murmured. “Just follow my lead.”
She nodded.
Inside, people stared openly—curious, judgmental, intrigued. Whispers followed them.
“That’s his wife?”
“When did he get married?”
“She’s younger than I expected…”
Amara kept her smile in place, though her heart pounded.
A woman approached them, eyes sharp with interest. “Adrian, you didn’t tell us you’d married.”
Adrian’s arm tightened around Amara slightly. “It was private.”
The woman turned to Amara. “You’re very lucky.”
Amara smiled politely. “Thank you.”
Adrian leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “Good.”
Her breath caught.
For a moment, the act felt dangerously real.
As the night went on, Adrian never strayed far. He refilled her glass, introduced her to powerful people, corrected anyone who addressed her incorrectly.
At one point, another man spoke to her for too long.
Adrian appeared instantly at her side.
“We were just talking,” Amara said softly.
“I know,” he replied, his tone cool—but his gaze sharp. “It’s time to go.”
In the car, silence fell again.
“That wasn’t part of the act,” she said quietly.
“What wasn’t?”
“Your jealousy.”
He stiffened. “Don’t read into things.”
She turned to the window, hiding her smile.
Living with a stranger was harder than she imagined.
But for the first time since signing the contract, Amara wondered—
What if this stranger was already becoming something more?
- Writer
