Falling for The Enemy's Daughter

Chapter 4

Leila's POV

The car was black and shiny, the windows tinted so dark I couldn’t see out. When I opened the door, cold air spilled over me, carrying the faint scent of leather and something sharper I couldn’t name.

The driver didn’t speak. He just nodded toward the back seat.

The building they took me to was nicer than anywhere I’d ever been. Glass doors, marble floors, walls so white they almost hurt my eyes.

A woman in a black dress met me in the lobby. “Miss Carter?”

I nodded, my throat too dry to speak.

“This way.”

She led me to a quiet room with mirrors on every wall.

The makeup artist barely spoke. She pressed brushes against my skin, dabbed at my lips, pinned my hair back so tightly it made my scalp sting.

“Almost done,” she said once.

When she stepped back, I barely recognized myself. The girl in the mirror had smooth skin, dark lashes, lips painted soft rose. Her hair curled over one shoulder, perfect and controlled.

“You look beautiful” she spoke again. I gave her a small smile in return “Thank you”.

The dress was white, simple but expensive. Smooth fabric that felt heavy on my shoulders.

The same woman handed me a small silver clutch. “Everything you need is inside,” she said, already turning away.

At the courthouse, everything blurred. The marble floor. The judge in dark robes. A few men in suits standing off to the side—Adrian’s people, I guessed.

He stood waiting at the front, tall and cold in a charcoal suit. His eyes barely flicked over me before going back to the judge.

When I got close, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t offer his arm. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, as if this was nothing more than a meeting he had to get through.

The vows were short. The judge asked us to repeat words that didn’t sound real. My voice shook when I spoke. Adrian’s didn’t. His was steady, bored, almost annoyed.

Then came the rings. His hand brushed mine for half a second, cold and heavy.

And that was it. We were married.

In the car after, I kept staring at my hands. The ring felt wrong on my finger, like it belonged to someone else.

For a while, no one spoke. The hum of the tires on the road felt louder than breathing.

“Do your parents know?” I heard myself ask suddenly. My voice sounded small, almost like a child’s.

His jaw tightened. “They’re dead.”

“Oh.” The world fell into the silence.

I wanted to ask more—how, when, what happened—but the look on his face stopped me. Stone, cold and sharp, like nothing lived behind it.

We drove the rest of the way in silence. Outside, tall buildings flashed past, then smaller ones, then back to glass and steel.

The penthouse was everything I thought it would be and nothing I could feel. Marble floors, walls of glass, furniture that looked like it had never been touched.

He walked ahead without looking back. “This way.”

His shoes made soft clicks on the marble. Mine barely made a sound.

He opened a door near the end of a long hallway. “This is your room.”

It was bigger than the apartment I grew up in. Big bed, soft cream sheets, tall windows. A wardrobe already filled with clothes I’d never seen before.

“I’ll expect you downstairs at eight,” he said, voice still flat. “Don’t be late.”

Then he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a minute, I just stood there, staring at the closed door. My shoulders felt so heavy I thought they’d pull me to the floor

I changed out of the dress, folding it carefully and placing it on the bed. As I breathed in, the sweet aroma of lavender enveloped me, and I felt my worries slowly unravel.

I looked around then spotted the contract on the desk, I guess someone put it there.

For the first time, I really read it. Word by word.

Breakfast at seven. Lunch delivered to his office, even if I had to wait. Dinner at eight, no excuses. Clothes approved by him. No visitors. Answer his calls immediately.

The words blurred for a second. My hands clenched so hard the paper crumpled at the edges.

Property. That’s what it meant. Every rule was another lock.

I pressed my palms against my eyes until it turned red. Then I took a shaky breath, stood up, and opened the door.

He was in a room that looked like an office, standing by the window with his back to me.

“You tricked me,” I said, slightly raising my voice. “You hid all this.”

He didn’t turn around at first. “It was all there. You chose not to read it.”

“That’s not fair,”

Finally, he faced me. His eyes were cold, distant. “Fair?” he repeated softly, almost like it was a foreign word. “This isn’t about fair.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought it might bruise my ribs. “Why do this?”

His gaze didn’t soften. “Because I can.”

For a moment, silence stretched so long I thought it might break something in the air.

Then he turned back to the window. “Dinner is at eight,” he said without looking at me. “Don’t be late.”

I stood there, chest heaving, but he didn’t speak again.

Finally, I turned and walked out, my steps echoing in the too-big hallway.

I went back to my room and closed the door behind me.

For a second, I stood there, heart still beating fast. Then, instead of crying, I felt something else rise up in my chest.

Anger.

Why would he do this? Why set all those rules? Breakfast at six, no guests, having to wait outside his office like a lost dog.

Did he really think that would break me?

I sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the contract in my hands. My eyes burned, but no tears came. I won’t let him win.

I wouldn’t let this make me small. I had to stay standing, for Mom. For Eva. For myself.

I picked up my phone and typed a quick message:

I’m okay. It’s done. Don’t worry about me.

Mom wrote back almost right away: I love you.

I stared at those words until the screen dimmed, holding onto them like a rope.

At 7:45, I opened the wardrobe, trying to find something that looked like “dinner clothes.” I didn’t really have anything fancy to wear

In the end, I pulled on a soft gray sweater and dark jeans. Simple. Comfortable. It would have to do.

At eight sharp, I walked slowly to the dining area.

Adrian was already there, standing by the stove. He wore a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His movements were quick, practiced. I wouldn’t have guessed he could even boil water.

For a minute, I just watched him, surprised.

Then he turned and saw me. His eyes flicked over my clothes, but he didn’t say anything.

Dinner was simple: pasta with a rich sauce, and bread that smelled warm. I sat down carefully.

“You cooked?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“For tonight,” he said, voice flat. “Tomorrow you’ll follow the schedule.”

I nodded, trying to hide the spark of annoyance that rose in my chest.

We ate mostly in silence. The food tasted better than I expected. Warm, rich, comforting in a way that made my chest tighten.

After a few bites, I glanced up. “Where did you learn to cook?”

His fork paused for just a second. “I lived alone for years,” he said. “You pick things up.”

I waited, hoping for more, but he didn’t offer it.

When we finished, I stood. “I’ll clean the plates,” I said quietly.

For a moment, he looked like he might argue. Then he just nodded once and stepped aside.

I carried the dishes to the sink. Warm water, a soft cloth, and for a minute, it felt almost normal. Like something I’d done a thousand times at home.

When I dried my hands, I turned back to him. His expression hadn’t changed, still guarded and cold.

“I’ll go to bed now,” I said softly.

“Breakfast at seven,” he reminded me.

“I know.”

Back in my room, I sat on the bed, contract still in my hand.

The rules were still there, heavy as iron. But tonight, they didn’t crush me. They lit something small and stubborn inside me.

I won’t let this break me.

Whatever he thought, I wasn’t just paper he could fold.