MARRIED TO THE COLD HEARTED BILLIONAIRE

THE MANSION AND THE MASK

Liana stepped into Darius Blackwood’s house—and forgot how to breathe.

It wasn’t a home. It was a fortress made of glass and silence.

Tall windows. Clean lines. Cold marble floors that echoed under her worn-out sneakers. Everything looked like it belonged in a luxury magazine—and nothing like anything she’d ever called home.

“This way,” the housekeeper said politely, leading her down a hallway that felt like it stretched into a museum. “Mr. Blackwood had the guest wing prepared.”

Guest wing?

When they stopped at the door, Liana expected a decent bedroom.

What she got was a suite. King-sized bed. Walk-in closet. A private bathroom bigger than her old apartment.

She placed her duffel bag on the edge of the bed—her only bag. It looked embarrassingly out of place.

The housekeeper smiled kindly. “Dinner is at seven. Mr. Blackwood prefers punctuality.”

Of course he does.

Liana nodded and thanked her, then collapsed onto the bed the moment the door shut.

Her phone buzzed. A text from her roommate:

“Did you seriously get married?! WTH?”

She stared at the screen. She couldn’t even explain it to herself, let alone someone else.

Instead of replying, she tossed the phone aside and let herself close her eyes. Just for a minute.

⸻

At exactly 6:58, she made her way to the dining room. She’d changed into a simple black dress she found in one of the shopping bags delivered earlier—tags still on, courtesy of Darius’s assistant.

He was already seated when she walked in.

Of course.

“Sit,” he said without looking up from his tablet.

She took her place across the long table. So long, in fact, it felt like a negotiation chamber.

Dinner was served in courses. Quiet, polished, perfect.

Liana cleared her throat. “So… what happens now? Are we just supposed to act like this is normal?”

“This is normal,” Darius said. “For the next twelve months, at least.”

“And when people ask how we met?”

“We’ll tell them a version of the truth.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. So was I. Call it fate. Or misfortune.”

She leaned back in her chair, trying to read him. “You really don’t believe in love at all, do you?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then he looked at her—really looked—and said, “Love is leverage. And I don’t offer mine.”

Liana swallowed the lump in her throat. She should’ve expected that. But it still stung.

“I’m not a threat, you know,” she said quietly.

He looked back down at his tablet. “Everyone is. Eventually.”