Chapter 11
1046 Words
~Aria's POV~
I felt a spark of anger at his words, but I kept my tone even. "I don't plan to, Mr. Sterling. I know what this is."
Kaden's gaze lingered on me, his expression unreadable. "See that you remember it. I do not do... entanglements. And I do not tolerate breaches of contract. Your compliance will ensure your family's debts are cleared. Fail me, and you'll regret it."
The message was unmistated, this was business, and he held all the power. I nodded, my voice cool. "I understand."
Kaden picked up his cutlery again, his attention returning to his food. "Eat. We will discuss the schedule of appearances and rules of conduct later. For now, rest. You will need it."
The meal continued in an oppressive silence, the weight of the contractual marriage hanging over us like a shadow. I ate mechanically, aware that I was a tool in Kaden's game and I had to play my part carefully.
The clatter of silverware faded as the last course was cleared. Kaden's eyes flicked to the sleek device on the table beside his plate—a soft vibration announcing an incoming call.
He lifted the phone, his expression hardening for a fraction of a second before he turned the screen toward the wall, shielding it from me.
"Excuse me," he said, voice flat. "I need to take this. We'll finish our discussion later."
He rose without waiting for a reply, the chair scraping against the marble floor. I watched him stride toward the grand doorway, his coat trailing behind him. The heavy doors swung shut with a muted thud, leaving me alone in the echoing dining hall.
I stared at the empty space where he had stood, a frown creasing my brow. The silence pressed in, broken only by the distant hum of the house's ventilation system. A soft rustle announced a maid, her uniform immaculate, head slightly bowed.
"Miss Aria," she whispered, voice barely audible. "If you would follow me, I'll show you to your quarters."
I pushed my chair back, the legs scraping the polished floor, and rose. She led me through a series of corridors lined with oil paintings and ornate tapestries; the scent of fresh roses grew stronger with each step. Thick rugs muffled our footsteps, and somewhere deeper in the mansion a fountain murmured.
At the end of a long hallway she opened a door to reveal a spacious bedroom. A navy canopy draped over a king‑size bed, French windows opening onto a balcony that overlooked the manicured gardens below. A wardrobe stood open, already filled with elegant dresses, shoes, and accessories.
"Your things have been placed here," the maid said, gesturing to the wardrobe. "If you need anything—clothes, toiletries, or anything else—please ring the bell by the bedside. Dinner will be served at seven. Mr. Sterling will join you then."
I stepped inside, feeling the cool marble under my feet. My hand brushed the smooth wood of the nightstand, and the weight of the day settled into a dull ache.
"Thank you," I murmured, more to myself than to her. She bowed once more before slipping out, closing the door softly behind her.
Alone, I sank onto the edge of the bed, the silk canopy brushing my cheek. The room was beautiful, but it felt like a gasket—luxurious yet confining. I stared at the ceiling, replaying Kaden's words, his cold smile, the way he dismissed me without a second glance.
I pulled my phone from my pocket; the screen was dark. No messages, no calls—just the echo of his departure. With a sigh, I slipped the device back into my bag, resolved to wait for the evening when the house would come alive again. Perhaps, in the quiet moments between, I could find a sliver of the person I had been before this contract bound me to a man of ice.
The sudden wave hit me without warning. One moment I was staring at my own tired eyes in the mirror, the next my stomach twisted into a knot and I was sprinting toward the bathroom, the marble floor cold beneath my bare feet.
I slammed the door behind me, barely making it to the porcelain throne before the first violent surge forced its way up. My throat burned, my eyes watered, and the taste of bile clenched my throat as I heaved until there was nothing left but dry, ragged breaths. I clenched the edge of the sink, feeling the cool porcelain against my palms, and waited for the tremors to subside.
When the nausea finally eased, I pushed myself upright, wiping a thin line of saliva from my chin. My reflection stared back at me from the polished mirror—pale skin, dark circles under bloodshot eyes, hair clinging to my damp forehead. I turned the faucet on, letting the cold water run over my hands, then cupped it to splash my face. The shock of the water made me gasp, but it also felt like a small, grounding moment.
I stared at the woman in the mirror, searching for an answer in the lines of my own face. Was it the salmon? I wondered, recalling the delicate fish on my plate. Or the pressure of this place? The thought lingered, half‑formed, as a faint tremor of anxiety fluttered in my chest. I pressed my fingertips to my temples, trying to steady the lingering dizziness.
Maybe it was just the stress of the day catching up with me, or perhaps my body was reacting to something more than a rich lunch. I didn't have the luxury of figuring it out right now. I turned off the faucet, dried my hands on a soft towel, and took a deep breath, forcing the unease back into the corners of my mind.
"Okay," I whispered to my reflection, "let's get through this evening." The mirror showed a woman with a determined set to her jaw, even if her eyes still flickered with uncertainty.
I squared my shoulders, smoothed the front of my dress, and was about to step back into the hallway when my legs froze and the realization dawned on me.
Wait a damn minute! I'm I preg…?
- Writer
