Forced to marry my husband's killer

Chapter Seven

The dinner had been a grueling affair, and Elena felt a wave of relief when it was finally over. As the family slowly dispersed from the dining hall, she noticed Victor lingering behind, his expression unreadable as ever. She couldn’t help but feel a mix of curiosity and apprehension. What was he thinking? Did he regret marrying her, or was he just as cold and calculating as his family seemed to be?

Victor turned to her, his face set in its usual stern mask. “Come,” he said curtly. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Elena nodded, following him silently through the dimly lit corridors of the mansion. The walls were lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors, their eyes seeming to follow her every move. She could feel the weight of their judgment, as if they too disapproved of her presence here.

They walked in silence, the only sound the soft tread of their footsteps on the plush carpet. Elena felt a knot of tension in her stomach, the weight of the evening pressing down on her. She had expected the family to be unwelcoming, but the open hostility had caught her off guard. And then there was Victor—aloof, distant, and utterly unreadable. What kind of man was he? Why had he agreed to this marriage in the first place?

They reached a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall. Victor pushed it open, revealing a spacious bedroom with a large four-poster bed draped in rich, dark fabrics. The room was elegant, but it felt cold, uninviting. There was a single chair by the window and a small writing desk against the far wall.

Elena stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room. “Is this… our room?” she asked cautiously.

Victor nodded. “Yes,” he said simply, his tone clipped. “But I’ll be staying in my study for now. It’s just across the hall.” He gestured vaguely to a door on the opposite side of the corridor.

Elena felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. She had no desire to share a bed with a man she barely knew, a man she wasn’t even sure she could trust. And yet, his decision to stay elsewhere felt like a rejection, a clear sign that he wanted nothing to do with her. “I see,” she said quietly, trying to mask her feelings.

Victor turned to leave, but Elena found herself speaking before she could stop herself. “Victor,” she said, her voice firmer than she expected. “Why did you marry me?”

He paused, his back still to her. For a moment, she thought he might ignore her question, but then he turned slowly, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice cool.

“You could have collected the debt in a thousand different ways,” Elena continued, stepping closer to him. “You could have taken everything I owned, everything Daniel left behind. But instead, you chose this… marriage. Why?”

Victor’s expression hardened. “I thought that was obvious,” he said, his tone icy. “Your husband owed me a considerable sum of money. Marrying you was the easiest way to settle that debt without involving the courts.”

Elena shook her head, frustration bubbling up inside her. “No, it doesn’t make sense,” she insisted. “If it was just about the money, there were other ways. Why go through the trouble of marrying me?”

Victor’s eyes flashed with a hint of annoyance. “What exactly are you implying, Elena?” he asked sharply. “That I have some ulterior motive? Some hidden agenda?”

“Do you?” she challenged, her heart pounding in her chest. “Because it feels like there’s more to this than you’re letting on. And then there’s Lily…”

Victor’s expression darkened at the mention of his daughter. “What about Lily?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Elena hesitated, but she pressed on. “She’s afraid of you, Victor. I saw it tonight. She barely spoke a word, and when she did, it was like she was walking on eggshells around you. Why is that?”

Victor’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Elena thought he might shout at her. But instead, he took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Lily is my daughter,” he said slowly, each word carefully measured. “And she is none of your concern.”

“She’s a child,” Elena argued, her voice rising. “A scared, lonely child. She deserves more than this… this cold, unfeeling environment.”

Victor’s face hardened further, his expression becoming almost stony. “You think you understand this family? You think you know what’s best for my daughter?” he snapped, his voice laced with anger. “You know nothing, Elena. Nothing about me, nothing about Lily, and certainly nothing about this family.”

Elena felt her own anger rising to meet his. “Then why don’t you enlighten me?” she shot back. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re so determined to keep everyone at arm’s length? Why you’re so afraid to let anyone get close?”

Victor’s eyes blazed with fury, and for a moment, Elena thought she had pushed him too far. But then, just as quickly, his expression cooled, his face returning to its usual mask of indifference. “This conversation is over,” he said coldly.

Elena opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a sharp gesture. “I said it’s over,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Goodnight, Elena.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Elena stared after him, her chest heaving with frustration and confusion. What was he hiding? Why was he so determined to keep her at a distance?

She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her mind racing. She had so many questions, so many doubts. She had been thrust into this marriage, this life, without any choice or preparation. But one thing was clear: she would not be pushed aside, dismissed as if she were nothing more than a pawn in some game she didn’t understand.

She had vowed to uncover the truth about Victor, about Daniel’s death, and about whatever secrets this family was hiding. And she would. She would find a way to break through Victor’s icy exterior, to learn what lay beneath his cold, distant facade.

But tonight, she was alone. Alone in a strange room, in a house filled with secrets and shadows. She glanced around the room, taking in the cold, impersonal decor, the dark, heavy drapes that blocked out the moonlight. She felt a shiver run down her spine.

She lay back on the bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling. She had survived so much already—Daniel’s betrayal, his death, the loss of everything she had known. She could survive this too. She had to.

As she closed her eyes, she heard a soft sound from the hallway—the creak of a door opening, the quiet shuffle of footsteps. She turned her head, straining to listen, but the sound faded away, swallowed up by the silence of the night.

She lay there for a long time, her mind racing, her heart heavy with uncertainty. She didn’t know what the future held, but she knew one thing for certain: she was not giving up. Not now, not ever.