Married to the cold billionaire

The Cold Beginning

The car ride to Damon’s penthouse was suffocating.

Eliana sat stiffly beside him in the backseat of the sleek black limousine, the chill between them almost tangible. Damon stared out the window, his profile sharp against the city lights, saying nothing.

She clutched her bouquet tighter, the delicate white flowers crushed under her trembling fingers. In her mind, the words of the officiant replayed: husband and wife.

But nothing about this night felt like the beginning of a marriage. It felt like the beginning of a war she had already lost.

When they finally pulled up to Blackwood Tower, Damon stepped out first without sparing her a glance.

A valet rushed to open her door, but Eliana hesitated, her heart hammering.

This was her new home.

Her new prison.

Gathering what little courage she had left, she stepped out and followed Damon inside.

The lobby was grand and modern — all glass and marble — but it felt cold, empty. Just like him.

The elevator ride was silent. Damon stood beside her, a looming presence she couldn’t ignore.

She caught her reflection in the polished steel walls: a bride who looked more like a ghost.

When the elevator dinged, they stepped into a private foyer leading to the penthouse. Damon opened the door with a swipe of his keycard and motioned for her to enter.

The penthouse was breathtaking — floor-to-ceiling windows, glittering chandeliers, sleek designer furniture.

It screamed wealth. Power.

But it didn’t feel like home.

“You’ll find everything you need in the guest bedroom,” Damon said, his voice clipped. “Your things were moved earlier.”

Eliana blinked.

“Guest bedroom?” she repeated, her voice cracking slightly.

Damon turned to face her fully for the first time since the ceremony. His blue-gray eyes were ice.

“This is a business arrangement, Eliana. You didn’t think we’d be sharing a bed, did you?”

Heat flared in her cheeks — from embarrassment, from anger, she didn’t know.

“No,” she lied, lifting her chin. “Of course not.”

For a brief moment, something almost human flickered across Damon’s face.

Pity.

But it vanished as quickly as it came.

“There are rules,” he continued. “You will attend public events with me when required. You will act the part of a loving wife. In private, we live separate lives. Understand?”

Eliana’s hands balled into fists at her sides.

“Crystal clear.”

Without another word, Damon turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving her standing alone in her wedding dress in the center of his cold, perfect world.

Her throat tightened painfully.

Was this what she had fought so hard for?

Was this the life she had sacrificed herself to save her family for?

Moving numbly, she made her way to the guest room.

It was beautiful, of course — tasteful and elegant. But it wasn’t hers. Nothing in this place belonged to her.

Collapsing onto the bed, Eliana stared up at the ceiling, the weight of reality pressing down on her until it became hard to breathe.

This was her life now.

A wife in name only.

A stranger in her own skin.

But if Damon Blackwood thought she would break easily, he was wrong.

She might have signed away her heart, but she hadn’t signed away her spirit.

Not yet.