Under the Same Roof
684 Words
CHAPTER 2
Under the Same Roof
The mansion didn’t feel real.
Liyana stood frozen at the entrance, her small suitcase beside her, staring up at the towering black gates that slowly opened in front of them. The driveway stretched endlessly, lined with manicured hedges and glowing lights that made the night feel staged—like a scene from a movie she didn’t belong in.
She tightened her grip on the handle.
This was her life now.
The car rolled to a smooth stop, and Ethan stepped out first, effortless and composed as always. He didn’t look back to see if she was following. He never did.
Inside, the house was massive and quiet—too quiet. Marble floors reflected the soft lighting above, and everything smelled faintly of cedar and expensive polish. No warmth. No mess. No signs of life.
“Your room is on the west wing,” Ethan said as they walked down a long hallway. “You’ll have your own bathroom, closet, and balcony.”
Her room.
Not their room.
Liyana nodded. “And yours?”
“East wing.”
Of course.
A polite distance built into the architecture.
They stopped in front of a tall white door. Ethan opened it and gestured inside.
“This is yours.”
Liyana stepped in, her breath catching.
The room was beautiful—large windows, soft neutral tones, a king-sized bed with perfectly arranged pillows. It was the kind of room people dreamed about.
Yet her chest felt tight.
“This is temporary,” she reminded herself quietly.
“Yes,” Ethan replied, his voice firm. “Everything about this arrangement is.”
The door closed behind him, leaving her alone.
Liyana sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands. The silence pressed in again, louder than before.
She was married.
Not in the way stories promised. Not with love or joy or celebration. But still—she was someone’s wife.
She stood and opened her suitcase, placing her clothes carefully in the closet, afraid to leave any trace of herself behind. Like if she stayed small enough, invisible enough, this wouldn’t hurt.
A knock sounded at the door.
Her heart jumped.
“Yes?” she called.
Ethan stepped in, holding a thin folder. “Ground rules,” he said.
She sighed softly. “Of course.”
He handed it to her. “Read them.”
Liyana skimmed the page.
No entering each other’s rooms without permission.
No physical intimacy unless necessary for appearances.
No questions about each other’s pasts.
No emotional attachment.
Her fingers tightened around the paper.
“And if one of us breaks a rule?” she asked.
“Then the contract ends,” he said flatly.
She looked up. “And the money?”
“You forfeit it.”
Her throat tightened.
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is this situation,” Ethan replied, his expression unreadable.
She folded the paper and set it aside. “Fine.”
Silence fell again.
“I didn’t ask for this,” she said suddenly.
His jaw tensed. “Neither did I.”
Their eyes met, something unspoken passing between them—two people standing in the same house, carrying different wounds.
“What happened to you?” she asked quietly before she could stop herself.
Ethan’s gaze hardened instantly. “That’s not part of the deal.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He turned to leave. “Dinner is at eight. Appearances matter.”
When he was gone, Liyana exhaled shakily.
That night, she sat at the long dining table across from a man who barely spoke, who barely looked at her. The space between them felt wider than the table itself.
Later, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, sleep refused to come.
She could hear faint movement on the other side of the house.
He was awake too.
And for the first time, she realized something that scared her more than the contract itself.
They were both lonely.
And loneliness had a way of making people reach for things they weren’t supposed to touch.
- Writer
