Storm Warning
1277 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
Rain lashed against the windows the next morning, turning the sky a bruised gray. Thunder rolled in the distance, a slow, angry growl that made the mansion feel even more like a fortress.
Eliana stood at the edge of her suite’s balcony, the glass doors cracked just enough to let in the sound. She liked the storm. It mirrored everything inside her—restless, loud, unpredictable.
This house might have been built with millions, but it had no soul. Every corner was clean, precise, untouchable. Just like the man who owned it.
She hadn’t seen Desmond since the tension-filled dinner the night before. Not a word. Not even a knock. And yet, she felt him. Not in a romantic way—there was nothing soft between them. But his presence hung over everything, like gravity itself answered to his name.
A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.
Nora.
Again.
“Eliana,” the house manager called gently, “Mr. Valtiéri is requesting your presence in the lounge downstairs.”
She didn’t respond at first.
“Now?”
“He said immediately.”
Of course he did.
Eliana stepped back inside, brushing her hair into a loose bun. She didn’t bother changing out of her fitted black sweater and leggings. Let him be the one uncomfortable this time.
---
The lounge was warm and low-lit, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a fireplace crackling behind glass. It should have felt cozy. It didn’t.
Desmond stood near the fire, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something amber. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms. No jacket. Just crisp control and the kind of stillness that made people uneasy.
“You’re late,” he said without turning.
“You said immediately,” she replied coolly. “Not urgently.”
He finally looked at her. “Sit.”
She didn’t.
He sighed, gesturing to a black leather chair near the fire. “Please.”
That word felt strange coming from him. She sat, legs crossed, back straight.
He didn’t sit. He paced slowly behind her.
“I had a call this morning from a shareholder,” he said. “They heard a rumor that I got married.”
“Not much of a rumor,” she murmured. “It’s legal.”
“Yes, but no one was supposed to know. Not yet.”
She looked up at him. “And you think I told someone?”
“I think you’re the only variable I can’t control.”
“Well, get used to it.”
His jaw clenched. “There’s going to be a dinner party tomorrow night. Three board members. Their wives. It’s an informal thing. But I want you there.”
Eliana’s heart skipped.
A party?
He was bringing her out already?
“Let me guess,” she said. “I’m supposed to smile, look expensive, and stay quiet.”
“You’re supposed to play the role of my wife.”
“You mean your prize.”
“I mean my partner,” he said firmly.
That surprised her.
She studied his face, searching for sarcasm, but found none.
“Why?” she asked softly. “Why do you want them to see me?”
“Because if they think I’ve changed,” he said, walking toward the window, “they’ll stop waiting for me to fail.”
Eliana stayed silent. She could see it then just a flicker the pressure he carried.
Not just power.
Expectation.
Legacy.
Failure wasn’t an option in his world, and marriage was his checkmate.
“I’ll go,” she said finally.
He turned, brows raised.
“But,” she added, “if I’m going to play the part, you’re going to treat me like more than a trophy.”
His eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“No orders. No snapping. No ignoring me in public. If I’m playing the wife, then you better learn how to act the husband.”
The room fell quiet.
The fire crackled.
And then he nodded once.
“Agreed.”
She stood. “Then I’ll need a dress.”
He blinked.
“Your assistant can send options,” she continued. “Size four. I prefer deep colors. And heels not taller than three inches.”
There was a spark in her now. A new one. A glimmer of pride and control. And Desmond saw it.
He watched her walk toward the door.
“Eliana.”
She paused.
“You really think you can handle this world?”
She looked over her shoulder, eyes steady. “I survived yours. The rest can’t be worse.”
By the afternoon, packages began arriving. Boxes lined with silk and tissue paper, each containing a dress more luxurious than the last. Deep emerald. Crimson velvet. Sleek black with a slit up the thigh.
Eliana tried each one on, surprised by how perfectly they fit. Someone either Desmond or his assistant had done their research.
But in the end, she chose a dark blue gown with an open back and soft shimmer. It was powerful, but elegant. Feminine, but not fragile.
Just like she wanted to be.
Dinner that night was served in silence.
Desmond sat across from her, reading something on his phone. She didn’t bother with small talk. Neither did he.
But then he surprised her again.
“Tomorrow, I’ll introduce you as my wife of one week. I’ve told them we kept it quiet. A private ceremony.”
She nodded.
“And if they ask how we met?”
He looked up. “That’s up to you.”
Her brows rose.
“I trust you to lie convincingly.”
A slow smirk tugged at her lips. “So I’m allowed to lie now?”
“To them,” he said. “Not to me.”
“And what if I do anyway?”
“You won’t.”
There was no threat in his voice. Just certainty.
And she hated that he was right.
That night, a storm broke over Lagos. The wind howled against the windows. Thunder shook the walls. Rain fell in sheets, drumming against the roof like a warning.
Eliana sat in bed, unable to sleep.
Her thoughts raced.
About the dinner party.
About the game she was now playing.
About Desmond.
And then… a crash echoed through the mansion. A loud, sudden bang followed by silence.
She sat up straight.
Another sound closer. A door? Furniture?
Something was off.
She slipped out of bed and stepped barefoot into the hallway.
The lights flickered.
The silence was worse than any sound.
Then she heard it—low, muffled voices. One of them was Desmond’s.
She followed the sound down the stairs, heart pounding. The hallway was dark except for the faint glow under the study door.
It was slightly ajar.
She moved closer, careful not to make a sound.
Inside, Desmond stood with a man in a suit, his back to her. They spoke in hushed tones, too fast to catch all of it.
“…can’t delay the transfer…”
“…your uncle won’t back down…”
“…the girl—she’s not ready.”
Then the man left.
Eliana ducked behind a column, heart racing.
Desmond stepped into the hallway and paused sensing something.
She held her breath.
But he didn’t see her.
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the dark.
She waited a moment before stepping out and heading back to her room.
The storm inside her was louder than the one outside.
The contract. The marriage. The lies.
It wasn’t just a game.
It was war.
And she had just seen the first piece of the truth.
- Writer
