8

Hennessey’s POV

The drive back to Kellen’s estate was even colder than the first. I wanted to mention my bags still stranded at the airport, but I didn’t have the energy. My mind kept circling back to the woman I’d seen at the registrar’s office. Her face was familiar, though I couldn’t place where I’d seen her before—or why she looked like she’d kill me if given the chance. Had I already made an enemy after barely a day of marriage to Masssles Country’s former most eligible bachelor?

The unanswered questions lingered, gnawing at me until the car slowed to a stop. I stared in awe at the sprawling white mansion in front of us. The golden cupid fountain in the driveway gleamed under the sunlight, surrounded by meticulously trimmed greenery. The estate exuded grandeur, but the heavy presence of security guards gave it an unsettling air, more fortress than home. It was beautiful, far grander than the mansion my father had always cherished.

“Do you plan on sleeping in the car?” Kellen’s sarcastic voice jolted me from my thoughts. His face appeared in the window, one brow arched in impatience.

I frowned, opened the door, and stepped out, glancing again at the imposing mansion. A sigh escaped before I could stop it, and I rubbed my forehead. “Do I really have to live with you?”

He didn’t bother to answer. Without a word, he turned and strode toward the entrance, leaving me standing under the glaring sun.

“You ass—” I muttered, stomping my foot before following after him. I wasn’t paying attention and collided right into him at the entrance. If this were a cheesy romance movie, it might’ve been a cute, awkward moment. Instead, it was real life, and Kellen didn’t care in the slightest. He watched with detached amusement as I lost my footing and landed on the marble floor with a dull thud. His gaze, cold and aloof, bore down on me like a god observing an unworthy subject.

“When you’re done with this little performance,” he said coolly, “read this.” He tossed a booklet into my lap.

I snatched it up and shot him a glare. “What’s this?”

Kellen crouched to my level, his expression impassive, though I caught a glimmer of something cruel behind his eyes. He reached out to stroke my hair, and I batted his hand away. “Rules, my dear wife,” he murmured, voice dripping with mockery. “Rules you are expected to follow.”

“More rules?” I asked, incredulous. My fingers flipped open the booklet, and I skimmed the first page, already dreading what I’d find. My head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “This has to be a joke.”

Kellen’s smile widened, cruel and devoid of warmth, the scar on his face pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Jail is a joke to you, too, right?”

“This is absurd!” I protested, voice rising.

“Absurd?” His eyes sparkled with sinister amusement. “Like every slave contract ever written.”

I glared, shaking my head in disbelief. “I can’t cook,” I shot back, desperate to undermine his ridiculous demands.

“I don’t care,” he said without hesitation. “But my food better taste as good as I do.”

My jaw dropped, words failing me. I skimmed through the booklet again, flipping to the last page. When I read the final rule, I scoffed. “I’d rather rot in jail than become a housewife, Mr. Kellen Powers.”

His smile vanished, replaced by a calculating look. He stood, adjusting the cuffs of his suit with cold precision. “Suit yourself.” Turning toward the door, he called out, “Security!”

The guards stationed outside burst into the room, their heavy boots pounding on the polished floors. I scrambled to my feet, instinctively backing away.

“Arrest her,” Kellen ordered, his tone calm and chilling. “And make sure the ESSS is informed to collect her sister.”

I froze, heart pounding. Panic surged through me. There was no winning against this psycho was there?

With I finally conceded. “I hate you,” I hissed, shoving past him. I bolted up the spiral staircase, taking two steps at a time, desperate to escape his grasp.

Behind me, Kellen’s laughter echoed, dark and victorious.

I didn’t even know which hallway to follow, my blood boiling by the second. A middle-aged maid stood at the top of the staircase, her face serene as she bowed slightly. “This way, ma’am,” she said quietly, motioning toward the right hallway. She led me to a door, opened it with practiced grace, and bowed again before leaving without a word.

I slammed the door shut behind me, my breath coming in angry gasps. The oppressive silence of the room closed in around me, drowning out the echo of Kellen’s infuriating voice. He hadn’t followed—or so I thought.

The room was as cold and pristine as the man himself. White walls, glass furniture, and not a single thing out of place. It was beautiful in a sterile, lifeless way, like a gallery devoid of soul. Kicking off my sneakers, I collapsed onto the bed, the cool sheets soothing the heat of my rage.

But the memory of his threat clung to me like a second skin. Was he really going to monitor every single step I took in this twisted excuse for a relationship? Or should I call it a slave contract?

My answer came when the door creaked open behind me. Kellen. Again. My anger surged, hotter than before. “Don’t you have the decency to knock?”

He didn’t bother with an apology. Instead, he strolled in, hands tucked casually into his pockets, an infuriating smirk curling his lips. His immaculate suit was wrinkle-free, though his indoor slippers clashed with his otherwise perfect image. “I see you’ve settled in nicely,” he said, his voice as smooth and smug as ever.

I scowled, turning my face into the bed and muffling my voice. “Thank your stars I’m a good actress.”

He ignored the jab, his tone turning colder. “We’re having dinner with my family tonight, and we will act like the perfect couple my father expects. Is that clear?”

I rolled my eyes, refusing to lift my head. The thought of pretending for his family made my chest tighten, and tears stung the corners of my eyes. My career… my art… my life had all been ripped away from me. That was the real punishment in all of this.

And Kellen knew it.