The Billionaire’s Cursed Bride

Chapter Two – The Cursed Man

Maya’s POV

The car that came for me was as black as the night, its tinted windows hiding me from the world as it carried me away from Manhattan. I pressed my hand against the glass, watching the city’s familiar skyline dissolve into stretches of coastal road. Every mile pulled me farther from the life I had known, closer to the man they called cursed.

I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Not colleagues, not even my best friend, Grace because I know she would have stopped me. And it was better that I stepped into exile.

My father had argued until his voice cracked, until his body gave out and Fred had to help him back to bed. His last words echoed in my ears: You don’t know what you’re doing, Maya. He will destroy you.

Maybe he was right. But as the dark waves crashed against the shore outside, I told myself over and over: This isn’t about me. This is about saving everything we built.

Still, when the driver turned down a long, winding road that seemed to disappear into a forest of pines, unease curled in my stomach. The trees swallowed the car, and soon the only sound was the steady crunch of tires on gravel and the occasional c***k of thunder.

And then, the estate appeared.

It rose out of the darkness like something from a half-forgotten dream. A sprawling stone mansion perched at the cliff’s edge. Lightning illuminated the windows, and for a moment it looked less like a house and more like a beast watching me approach, silent and dangerous.

When the car stopped, I felt like my heart did.

The driver opened the door, and the chill of salt and rain hit me. My heels crunched on the gravel as I stepped out, clutching my coat tighter around me.

The great oak doors loomed above me. As they creaked open, I expected some servant, maybe even Charles Everett, to greet me. But instead, it was him.

Lucien D’Silva.

The man who had haunted headlines and rumors. The man whose touch was whispered to bring death.

He was taller than I imagined, broad-shouldered beneath his dark suit, his posture commanding without effort. His hair was raven-black, slicked back as though not even the storm dared dishevel him. But it was his eyes that trapped me. Cold, piercing gray, like steel forged under pressure. They flicked over me once; assessing, calculating before locking onto mine.

“Miss Sterling.” His voice was deep, smooth, yet carrying a quiet authority that left no room for disobedience. “You are punctual.”

For a moment, my throat refused to work. I forced myself to nod. “I didn’t think it wise to keep you waiting.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Wise.” He stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter.

The foyer swallowed me whole. It was vast, cathedral-like, with arched ceilings and a grand staircase that swept upward. Oil paintings of stern-looking men and women lined the walls, their gazes following me as I passed. A chandelier hung above, its crystals catching the dim light like frozen raindrops.

Everything was beautiful but everything was cold as well.

Lucien closed the doors, and the sound echoed like a lock sealing behind me.

I turned, forcing myself to face him squarely. “So it’s true, then. I am to be your wife.”

He tilted his head, studying me as though I were a puzzle. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you survive long enough.”

The words were delivered without hesitation, without cruelty, simply as fact. My skin prickled, but I held his gaze. “You believe your own curse, then.”

A shadow passed over his face, gone as quickly as it came. “Belief has nothing to do with it. Three women thought they were safe with me. They were wrong. Now is your chance to leave, in case you want to because after now, you won’t get this opportunity again.

“I can’t,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

He stepped closer, the air between us thickening. His presence was overwhelming, like standing too close to a flame that might burn or warm. “Why?”

You know why! The why is the reason you were able to get me here in the first place. “My father. My family’s business. I don’t expect you to understand, but…”

His eyes hardened. “I understand sacrifice. I understand duty. But don’t mistake necessity for courage. You’re walking into a grave, Miss Sterling.”

I swallowed, refusing to flinch. “Then I will walk out alive. I’m not like the others.”

For the first time, his expression cracked. Not much…just a flicker of something in his eyes, surprise perhaps, or maybe amusement. Then it was gone.

“We will see.”

Dinner was served in a long, echoing dining hall, though I noticed no staff moved around us. The table could have seated thirty. Only two places were set.

I tried to focus on the food, but my appetite was gone. My hands curled in my lap, hiding the tremor I didn’t want him to see.

Lucien ate with measured precision, as if every movement was calculated. He didn’t speak until halfway through the meal.

“You’re quieter than I expected.”

I lifted my eyes to his. “And you’re exactly as I expected.”

One dark brow arched. “And how is that?”

“Cold. Detached. Dangerous.”

The corner of his mouth tilted upward, though there was no warmth in it. “Dangerous men don’t warn you before they ruin you.”

“Or perhaps that’s the most dangerous thing of all,” I countered.

For a moment, silence stretched between us, taut and unyielding. Then, almost imperceptibly, he inclined his head, as if acknowledging a worthy opponent.

When dinner ended, he stood. “I will have a room prepared for you in the east wing. You will be safe there, as much as anyone can be.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine.

That night, I lay awake in the grand four-poster bed, the storm raging outside. The room smelled faintly of lavender, the curtains heavy velvet. And yet, unease pressed in from every corner.

I thought of my father, alone in that too-quiet townhouse. I thought of my mother’s smile, gone too soon. I thought of Lucien; of the shadows behind his eyes, of the warning in his voice.

And then I heard it.

A soft creak.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway outside my door. Slow. Measured. Not Lucien…too light, too deliberate.

I sat up, holding my breath. The footsteps paused right outside my room. My heart pounded so loudly I thought it might give me away.

Then, a slip of paper slid under the door.

I scrambled out of bed, my bare feet cold against the floor, and snatched it up. The handwriting was jagged, hurried, the ink smudged as though written in haste.

Leave before the curse claims you next.

The storm outside howled louder, as though echoing the warning. Then, faintly, beneath the roar of wind and rain, I caught it, the scent of smoke, sharp and acrid, seeping through the c***k at the door. Someone had lingered there. Watching. Close enough for me to smell them.

My pulse thundered.

I clutched the note to my chest, and for a moment I thought of running to Lucien. But when I glanced toward the window, lightning flashed and in that brief strobe of white light, I thought I saw a shadow shift at the end of the hall. Tall. Still. Waiting.

My throat went dry.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t dare. Instead, I shoved the note beneath my pillow and crossed the room, every step deliberate, my hand reaching for the doorknob.

If someone wanted me gone, I needed to know who.

And I would not wait for them to come back.