Chapter 3: The Quiet Cage
The morning sun spilled through the silk curtains, bathing the room in soft gold—but Aria felt none of its warmth.
She sat on the edge of the bed, still in the satin robe provided by the staff, her fingers wrapped around a porcelain teacup that had long gone cold. Her suitcase remained half-open on the armchair, clothes untouched. She hadn't unpacked.
Maybe because she wasn't sure if she was staying—or simply surviving.
It had been twelve hours since she entered the Xian estate as Elias's bride. Twelve hours in a mansion that could fit her family's apartment ten times over. Twelve hours of silence.
Not a single word from him.
The knock on the door was light, almost hesitant.
"Madam Xian," came a voice—soft, careful, trained. The maid who had greeted her last night. "Breakfast is served in the garden."
Madam Xian. She still wasn't used to it. The title didn't feel like hers. It felt like a costume someone had slipped over her shoulders while she wasn't looking.
"Thank you," she said, standing slowly.
She followed the hallway, her steps soundless on the marble. The estate was too clean. Too quiet. As though someone had designed it for beauty, not for living.
The garden was straight out of a painting—sculpted hedges, a koi pond glimmering in the sun, and a white table draped in pale pink linen, set for one.
Aria sat down, staring at the untouched plate and delicate silverware.
So this was her new life.
Elegant, expensive… empty.
She was picking at her napkin when the sound of footsteps behind her made her turn.
"You're early."
Her breath caught.
Elias.
Even dressed casually in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, he looked composed. Polished. Like someone who didn't know how to look unkempt.
"I thought you were flying out," she said quietly.
"I am. In two hours. There was a meeting I couldn't move." He poured himself coffee without asking if she wanted any. It was as if the table was his, and she was simply borrowing space.
She watched him, trying to understand how someone could look so human and yet feel so far away.
"Am I expected to accompany you to events while you're gone?" she asked, trying to sound neutral. "Or should I wait for instructions?"
He glanced up. "You're not expected to do anything."
The words stung more than they should have.
"So just silence?" she said before she could stop herself.
His eyes met hers—cool, unreadable. Then something flickered. Amusement? Annoyance? She couldn't tell.
"Silence and discretion," he replied. "This is a contract, Aria. Not a romance. Don't confuse the two."
She lowered her gaze to her plate. "I never have."
He stood, checking his watch. Every movement was efficient. Controlled. As if he didn't waste energy on anything that wasn't business.
"I'll have Nathaniel send you a schedule if there are public events. You're free to explore the house. But don't leave the estate without clearance."
"And if I get lonely?" she asked quietly, surprising even herself.
He paused mid-step.
The silence stretched.
"Then remind yourself why you're here," he said.
He left without another glance.
Only the faint scent of his cologne remained.
Aria sat still long after he was gone. Her hands curled into her lap, her spine rigid. She didn't cry. She hadn't cried in years—not when her father's business began to collapse, not when her mother stopped sleeping, not when they started whispering about marrying her off.
But something inside her was starting to crack.
She stared at the empty seat across from her and whispered, more to herself than to anyone else:
"So I don't forget."