TRAPPED IN A MARRIAGE WITH THE BILLIONAIRE

Chapter Five: The House That silence Built

I tried to get a proper look at him.

But before he could step any closer, Kristy's voice cut through the hallway.

"Ann. This way, you can freshen up first."

I hesitated, then turned to follow her. But just before I did, I glanced back.

Kristy was looking at him.

There was something in that look I couldn't name. It wasn't casual. It wasn't warm. It sat somewhere between familiarity and caution, and it unsettled me in a way I couldn't explain.

I filed it away and kept walking.

My room stopped me at the door.

This time, I took a clear look around the room.

I had grown up in small spaces; a shared bedroom at my grandmother's, then a single room with Ivy where the bed touched two walls at once. I knew what it felt like to make a small space feel like enough.

This was something else entirely.

The ceiling was high, the curtains floor-length and heavy, the bed dressed in white linen so crisp it looked untouched. Everything matched. Everything was deliberate. A wardrobe that took up an entire wall. Soft lighting that made the room feel warm without trying.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

It was the kind of softness that made you feel guilty for sinking into it.

I stood back up.

In the bathroom, everything was arranged with the same quiet precision, products lined neatly, towels folded with sharp edges, the shower spotless. I turned on the water and stepped in, telling myself to relax.

My mind had other ideas.

Is this real?

In twenty-five years, I had never stood in a room like this, never felt water pressure like this, never been somewhere that felt so completely, unsettling perfect. And that was exactly the problem.

Nothing this comfortable ever comes free.

What exactly did I sign?

I cut the shower short and dressed quickly in something casual. I didn't want to think. The best way to stop thinking was to move.

I went straight back to Ivy's room.

I was still trying to get her dressed when a knock came at the door. A servant, soft-voiced and polite, let me know dinner was ready downstairs.

"We'll be down shortly," I said.

I turned back to Ivy, who was watching me with that particular look she had patiently on the surface, questions underneath.

"Mummy," she said quietly. "This place is very big. I don't know anyone here."

I crouched to her level.

"Do you like it though?"

She thought about it. "I do… but how did we just come here? Just like that?"

The question caught me somewhere soft.

"It's a friend's place," I said carefully. "We're staying here for a little while."

She studied my face. She always looked for the part of the answer I wasn't saying out loud. I smiled before she could find it.

"Come on," I said, taking her hand. "Let's go eat."

The dining room was exactly what I had come to expect from this house, everything arranged without a single thing out of place. We sat, and the servants moved around us with quiet efficiency, setting plates down without being asked twice.

What stopped me was Ivy's food.

It was prepared exactly the way the doctor had instructed; the right portions, the right textures, nothing on the restricted list. I hadn't told Kristy any of that. I hadn't told anyone.

I let it go. Overthinking it wouldn't change anything.

Ivy ate well, which was enough.

After dinner, we went back upstairs. Medication, a little play, and before long, she was ready for bed. I sat beside her until her breathing evened out, then stayed a moment longer just because I could.

The house was very quiet at night. Not peaceful, quiet, the other kind. The kind that felt like everyone in it had been trained not to make a sound.

A knock at the door pulled me back.

Kristy stood in the doorway, and beside her was a woman I hadn't seen before.

Older, probably mid-fifties, dressed differently from the other staff. There was a steadiness about her, something settled in the way she held herself.

"Hi Kristy," I said, and I didn't bother softening my tone. "I haven't seen you since this afternoon."

She smiled and stepped inside. "This is Rebecca. She'll be Ivy's nanny."

I shook my head immediately. "That won't be necessary. I'm here. I'll take care of my daughter."

"Ann," Kristy's voice was patient in a way that meant the conversation was already decided. "You're here with Ivy, no one will take that from you. But there will be times when you're occupied. Rebecca is here to help, not replace you."

I looked at Rebecca.

She met my eyes and smiled, not the rehearsed kind, something genuine in it.

"I'll treat her like my own," she said simply. "You have my word."

I didn't argue further, especially with Ivy nearby. I just nodded.

After Ivy fell asleep, I said goodnight to Rebecca and made my way back down the hallway toward my room.

I saw a man in the hallway again, but his build is different from the one I saw earlier today.

This time, casually dressed, no jacket, collar open, leaning against the wall as if he lived here without having to prove it.

Something about his ease caught my attention.

I slowed down. Then, before I could think better of it, I walked toward him.

He turned, and the words I had been forming dissolved.

He was strikingly handsome, the kind of face that didn't need effort: a sharp jaw, easy smile, the type of person who probably never had to introduce himself twice.

I realized I had made a sound. Something between a breath and a gasp.

His smile widened.

"Finally," he said, eyes moving over my face with open amusement. "Miss Ann Nickolas."

“Who are you?” My fingers trembled as I held onto the hem of my dress. “How did you know my name?”

"Damian."

One word: tight and low.

I turned.

And there he was.

The man from the photograph is standing at the far end of the hallway, his eyes not on Damian but on me. Tall, broad-shouldered, his jaw set in a hard line. He was dressed simply, but everything about him was sharp. Controlled. The kind of man who didn't raise his voice because he never needed to.

He looked at Damian.

"What are you doing?"

Damian's smile didn't disappear, but it changed into something smaller, more careful.

I stood between them, not sure where to look.

Because the man at the end of that hallway was still watching me now, an expression completely unreadable was the man I was going to marry.

And he looked absolutely nothing like someone who wanted a wife.