The Gold I Married

Chapter One

Anna stood in the doorway of the grand, silent mansion, a flicker of triumph lighting her dark eyes. After years of scheming, playing the roles expected of her, and perfecting every smile and lie, she had finally done it. She had married Alexander Volkov, the wealthiest man in the city. But love had nothing to do with it, her heart belonged to the promise of power, to the cold comfort of money that would never betray her.

The dining room was immaculate, the long table adorned with elegant china and silverware. She had spent hours ensuring every detail was perfect. A roast chicken sat in the center, surrounded by dishes carefully plated to impress. This was the image she wanted to present to the world: a devoted wife, a gracious hostess.

But not everything about her life could be controlled.

“Victor!” she snapped, her sharp voice cutting through the air like glass. The boy, Alexander’s seventeen-year-old son, had wandered into the dining room and was reaching for a piece of bread.

He froze, startled by her tone. His dark hair was messy, his school uniform slightly wrinkled. He had Alexander’s sharp features but none of his father’s steel.

“Get out of here!” she barked. “This is for your father. Go upstairs or… or anywhere else!”

Victor’s hand recoiled as if burned. He glared at her but said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line. Without a word, he turned and left the room, his footsteps heavy on the marble floor.

Anna’s heart pounded in her chest. She hated that boy, hated the way his presence reminded her that she would never have Alexander all to herself. Not that she wanted his affection, no, she wanted control, influence, everything that came with being Mrs. Volkov. But Victor was a complication, a loose thread she couldn’t tie down.

The sound of the front door opening made her straighten, smoothing her dress and forcing a practiced smile onto her face. Alexander had finally returned.

He entered the kitchen moments later, his tall frame looming in the doorway. His tailored suit looked impeccable despite the late hour, and his piercing gaze landed on her with a mixture of exhaustion and disdain.

“I made dinner for you,” Anna said, her voice soft and sweet, the perfect imitation of a loving wife. She gestured to the table.

Alexander didn’t even glance at the food. Instead, he walked past her, his shoulders tense.

“Get out of my way,” he muttered.

Anna’s smile faltered. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping closer. “I thought..”

“You thought what?” He turned to her, his eyes cold and unyielding. “You married me for money. I’ve given you everything you ever wanted. So why can’t you let me be? Why do you insist on pretending this is something it’s not?”

His words stung, but she refused to let her facade crack. “Alexander, I..”

“Enough,” he interrupted, brushing past her again. “Leave me alone, Anna.”

She stood frozen as he strode out of the kitchen, heading upstairs to the master bedroom. Her carefully constructed world felt precariously close to unraveling, but she clenched her fists and lifted her chin.

Here’s how I’d continue the scene:

Anna stared at the dining table, the once-perfect spread mocking her. Her lips tightened as she let out a bitter laugh.

“Ah,” she muttered, “all my efforts are wasted again.”

Her first instinct was to throw everything into the trash, like she usually did. But tonight, something stopped her. Maybe it was the silence of the house, the suffocating weight of her loneliness, or perhaps the memory of Victor’s retreating figure.

She sighed and grabbed a tray, carefully dishing out some of the food. The rest would go to the house staff, she decided. At least someone should eat it. Balancing the tray, she made her way upstairs, stopping in front of Victor’s room.

For a moment, she hesitated, her hand hovering over the door. What am I doing? She thought. But then she knocked.

The door opened almost immediately, revealing Victor. His expression shifted from irritation to confusion, surprise clear in his sharp eyes.

“Miss Anna?” he asked, his voice tentative. “How can I help you?”

Anna held up the tray. “Here.”

Victor blinked at the food. “I’m sorry, but I’m not hungry anymore.”

She gave him a pointed look, her voice firm. “Take it.”

He hesitated, clearly debating whether to refuse again. But something in her tone made him falter. He said reluctantly, accepting the tray. His gaze lingered on her, wary and searching.

Noticing his suspicion, she scoffed. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing in it. If I wanted to kill you, I’d have to kill myself first, wouldn’t I?

Victor’s lips twitched into a slight smile, but his eyes never left hers. Stepping back and closing the door with a soft click.

Anna stared at the closed door for a moment before shaking her head. “Ungrateful brat,” she murmured under her breath.

Turning away, she called the housekeeper. When the woman arrived, Anna gestured to the dining table. “Take the rest of this and share it with the staff.”

The housekeeper blinked, clearly startled by the gesture, but recovered quickly. “Thank you, Madam.”

Anna waved her off without a word and returned to her room.