The Billionaire Who Married Me In Silence

CHAPTER 4: MOVING INTO HIS MANSION

**Lina's POV**

The next morning, as the automobile drives past the high iron gates, I remember his remarks from the previous evening and my heart is stuck with emotions.

They open silently, as though the home is aware of my approach and is unconcerned. Ahead of me, the mansion rises, perfect, vast, and pale. Too ideal.

I looked beyond and I saw a beautiful lady standing beside a black SUV jeep and she's putting on a red colored shirt and a jean trouser with striking red lips.

She looks so confident and her present seems so scary.

There isn't any laughter coming from the windows. There is no warmth at the door. The vehicle comes to a stop. The door is opened by a man in a black suit who bows slightly.

Welcome home, Mrs. Andrew. The word *home* seems confusing.

The lady came closer to Andrew and gave him a hug, then talked for a few minutes in private.

She glanced at me for a few seconds, without saying a word. She got into the SUV jeep and drove out, while Andrew kept staring at her till she drove out of the gate.

I noticed something strange between them but I remained silent and pretended not to see them.

The floor within gleams like a mirror. As I take a step forward, my heels make an echoing sound that is too loud and lonely. A wait list of employees includes housekeepers, butlers, and maids.

They're all grinning. They all don't appear interested. or joyful. In almost perfect harmony, they say, "Good afternoon, ma'am." I give a nod.

"Good afternoon." The moment is already over when their eyes pass me. The housekeeper comes forward, a woman in her fifties with well-groomed hair and keen eyes.

"Your room is ready. You can tell me immediately if you need anything. I inquired, "What's your name?”

A pause occurs. A glimmer of astonishment. Mrs. Hale is her response. "I'm grateful, Mrs. Hale." She gives a single, rigid nod. "In this manner."

Her heels click against the marble as she turns. I follow the distance between us carefully, measured.

“How long have you worked here?” I ask. “Eight years, ma’am.” “That’s a long time.” “Yes.” She replied

“You must know him well.” Her shoulders stiffen almost invisibly. “I know my duties.” “And beyond that?” “There’s nothing like beyond, you have to be careful.”

“Who is she?” I ask “Who are you talking about?”

“The lady at the gate.” She paused for a moment and looked at me, “ Her name is Jennifer Raymond. And that's all I can say about her for now ma’am.”

Though! Her response and the look make me scared, but it tells me something deep about Jennifer, that I am yet to understand, though I passive fear in her eyes.

We passed a tall window. My reflection moves beside hers—new, uncertain. Hers remains composed. “Does he like it quiet?” I press. “Mr. Andrew values order.”

“Is that what this is?” I gesture lightly at the endless hallway. Her gaze flicks toward me, then forward again. “This house runs smoothly.”

“Smooth isn’t the same as happiness.” She stops at the foot of a staircase. “Happiness is not a requirement here.” The words settle heavily between us.

I try to commit the area to memory as we walk, but everything blends together: big doors, white walls, and paintings that are more expensive than the house I grew up in. Soulless beauty.

Mrs. Hale opens the double doors and declares, "This is your bedroom." My breath catches. The space is enormous. larger than the whole house my family owns.

Unaltered, a bed rests in the middle like it belongs in a hotel. The drapes are pulled back. The air has a fresh scent. empty.

As though it were a meaningless addition, she says, "Mr. Andrew 's room is across the hall." "Is that where he sleeps?" I inquire. One more pause. "On occasion."

She doesn't bother me. I press my palms into the plush fabric as I sit on the edge of the bed. I was signing documents yesterday. I'm living in a stranger's stillness right now.

There was a dinner that night that I was unaware of. When Mrs. Hale knocks, I learn. At eight o'clock, Mr. Andrew will eat dinner. You are anticipated.

Anticipated. I put on a basic outfit now. Not too daring. Not much hope. At night, the dining room seems even bigger. An extended table. A pair of plates. Too much distance separates them.

He gets there precisely on schedule. He doesn't initially look at me. He says, "Sit," and pulls out his chair. I do. The meal is served. Course following course. pricey.

Lack of taste. "Are you settled in?" he says at last. "I came," I answered. He raises his gaze. A tiny curl grazes his lips, disappearing as quickly as it arrives.

"You will receive care from the staff." "They already do," I responded. “Very courteously.” He observes me. "They'll get warmer." "They don't have to," I responded.

“You don’t either.” I'll give that a serious look. He asks, "Do you think that?" "You must have taught this house how to be quiet.”

The silence lengthens once more. This time, thicker. He says, "You don't like it here." "That's not what I said." "You're not required to." He puts down his fork.

"Give it some time." I whisper, "I've been giving my entire life." "Not much has changed." He clenches his jaw. "You chose to be here, so here you are."

I look him in the eye. "I decided to survive." Behind his eyes, something changes. Feeling sorry? Feeling guilty? He stands up suddenly. He says, "Eat." "I have a job."

Before I can respond, he departs. I explored the halls that night. I'm not sure what I'm searching for—perhaps evidence of life. I pause in front of a door that is ajar just a little. His research. I shouldn't enter. In any case, I do.

The fragrance of coffee and leather fills the room. Stacks of papers neatly. A picture frame, face down, on the desk. I turned it over. It's him. younger. Grinning.

His arm encircled an unfamiliar woman. My chest gets constricted. I mumble, "So that's how you look when you're happy." "I had no idea you enjoyed trespassing."

I make a quick turn. With his sleeves rolled up and his jacket off, he stands in the doorway. "I was just—" "Interesting?" he concludes. "The majority of people are." "I wasn't trying to pry." "You did that already.”

I carefully placed the picture down. "Who is she?" He takes a while to respond. He turns the frame back down as he passes me. "No one," he replies.

"That isn't accurate." His face is unreadable as he faces me. "This marriage does not include her." "I'm not either," I answer. The air gets heavier. Slowly, he continues,

"You're my wife." "On paper." "I'm still my wife." He's speaking softer now. Nearer. I don't back off when he comes near. I ought to. I don't. I mumble,

"You warned me not to fall in love with you." "You didn't say you wouldn't make it difficult, though.”

I feel his breath on my cheek. "I told you." "Why?" I inquire. "If you're still clinging to someone else, why marry me?" His eyes grow gloomy.

"Because I required command." I'm amazed by the honesty. "And now?" I inquire. "And now," he adds, raising his hand as though to touch my face before halting in mid-stride, "I don't know."

We share the same air and stand too near for a moment. The house seems smaller. warmer. Then the hall echoes with footsteps. The voice of Mrs. Hale: "Sir? A call has come in.

He leaves as if it had never happened. "I must accept this," he declares. "Obviously," I answered.

At the door, he stops. "If you don't claim this place, it will never feel like home." "Will you, too?" I inquire. He doesn't respond. The door shuts.

I take one final glance around the study. at the rejected picture. I don't know the man I married. My phone vibrates and I walk away. A call from an unidentified number.

*He kept the truth about that marriage from you.* My heart is thumping. I get another message before I can respond. *Ask him about the contract's expiration date and what will happen after.