Bound by Vows, Torn by Secrets

Dinner

The car ride to his—our—home was silent.

The Whitmore estate was everything I expected: vast, breathtaking, and utterly devoid of warmth. A mansion built to intimidate, to impress, but never to feel like home.

The staff greeted me with polite nods.

They already knew who I was, what role I had to play.

The temporary Mrs. Whitmore.

The housekeeper, a woman in her late fifties with kind eyes, led me to my room.

Third floor, far from where Nathaniel would be. The room was stunning—too perfect, too carefully curated, as if someone had read about my preferences in a report rather than asking me directly.

"Is there anything else you need, ma'am?" the housekeeper asked.

I shook my head. "No, thank you."

She smiled. "Dinner will be served at seven. Mr. Whitmore has requested that you join him."

I blinked. "He did?"

She nodded, then excused herself, leaving me alone in my perfectly arranged life.

I wasn't sure what I expected when I walked into the dining room that evening.

Nathaniel sat at the head of the long, polished table, flipping through documents on a sleek tablet.

He didn't look up when I entered, but the moment I pulled out a chair, he spoke.

"You're late."

I stiffened. "I didn't realise we were on a schedule."

His lips twitched slightly, almost amused. "We aren't. But you still took longer than expected."

I slid into my seat, my fingers brushing against the smooth wood of the table. "Is this part of the contract too? Mandatory dinners?"

"No." He finally set his tablet aside, lifting his gaze to meet mine. "But I thought you might prefer a meal over spending the evening alone."

I hesitated.

He made it sound so... reasonable.

As if this wasn't the same man who had coldly laid out the terms of our arrangement just hours ago.

"That's surprisingly thoughtful of you," I muttered.

He picked up his wine glass, swirling the deep red liquid inside. "I can be, when I choose to be."

That, I had a hard time believing.

Still, I ate. The silence between us stretched, neither of us knowing how to fill it.

It wasn't uncomfortable. Just... strange.

Halfway through the meal, I reached for the water pitcher at the same time he did. Our fingers brushed, just barely, but it was enough to make me freeze.

His touch was warm, steady. Not at all like the cold exterior he projected.

I pulled my hand back quickly. "Sorry."

His gaze lingered on me for a fraction of a second before he simply poured the water into my glass, unbothered. "No need to apologise."

I swallowed, looking away.

My heart was beating too fast for something that wasn't supposed to mean anything.

I had married a stranger.

But somehow, I was beginning to suspect that Nathaniel Whitmore was far more dangerous than I had imagined.