2: A Day After Getting Married

The sun spilled through the tall windows, soft and golden, casting a warm glow over the luxurious master bedroom. Aria stirred under the silk sheets, her lashes fluttering as she slowly woke from a sleep that felt more like a dream—or maybe a blur.

She sat up abruptly.

The other side of the bed was untouched. Crisp. Cold.

Her brows knit together. He’s gone? She scanned the room. There’s no movement. No sound. Just the distant hum of morning outside the estate’s walls.

She slid her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet touching the cool marble floor. A silk robe hung neatly on a nearby chair. She slipped into it as the weight of memory slowly pressed down on her shoulders.

“Married. I’m actually married.” She unbelievably reminds herself.

The memory of yesterday’s event lingers in her mind, heavy and unresolved. No matter how many times she turns over her husband's explanation about the proxy dog at their wedding, it just doesn’t sit right with her—she simply can’t bring herself to accept it.

No one dares to treat her this way—no one. Every man before had shown her respect, handled her with care. But this? This was a slap in the face, and she burned with fury at the audacity.

She’s married to a man she barely knew. A mysterious arrangement designed to protect her family’s fortune. An agreement born of pressure, pride, and secrecy. She hadn't even seen his full face—only a voice on the phone, a signature on a contract, and a promise wrapped in shadow.

And now, not even a note.

She walked to the bathroom, pushing open the frosted glass door. Empty. She glanced at the sink. Not a single toothbrush out of place. Her heart beat a little faster.

“Maybe he’s already up,” she whispered to herself, trying to shake the chill creeping up her spine.

The hallway was long and silent. She opened door after door: the study, the guest room, the sitting room. Nothing. Her voice echoed slightly in the emptiness as she called, “Hello? Are you here?” No answer.

Each room was pristine, untouched—as if no one else had stepped foot in them. As if she were alone in this grand estate.

And then... something stopped her in her tracks.

A scent—rich and inviting—wraps around her like a warm embrace. It's mouthwatering, irresistible, the kind of aroma that stirs something deep and delicious inside, making it utterly impossible to ignore.

Butter. Garlic. Freshly baked bread. The scent curled around her like a soft whisper, awakening a deep, aching hunger in her belly—and with it, a question she couldn’t quite shake.

She turned and followed the scent.

Down the sweeping staircase, across the open foyer, and into a corridor she hadn't explored last night. Her bare feet padded softly against the wood as the aroma grew stronger, more specific.

Cinnamon. Roasted tomatoes. Truffle oil. Honey. Chamomile.

Her favorites.

She turned the corner and gasped.

The kitchen was a masterpiece of stainless steel and marble, brightened by the morning light streaming through high windows. But it was the island at the center of the room that stole her breath.

A feast.

Her golden waffles stacked high, topped with fresh berries and drizzled honey. A warm tray of croissants from Le Papillon, the little Parisian bakery she adored. A steaming plate of truffle-scrambled eggs, sprinkled with herbs just the way she liked. Beside them, a delicate porcelain teacup filled with her favorite chamomile-lavender tea.

Aria stepped forward in awe. The scent was overwhelming—in the best way. Nostalgic. Familiar. Intimate.

She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it.

Someone had been here. Someone who knew her. Someone who cared enough to remember every detail.

But where were they?

Then, she noticed the folded card resting neatly by the teacup.

She hesitated only a second before picking it up.

Welcome home, Aria. Your mornings should feel like this—warm, safe, and loved. Enjoy breakfast. We’ll speak soon.

– Your Husband

P.S. You might want to meet your companion first.

She stared at the words, her fingers tightening around the paper. Her husband? He had prepared all this? Or arranged it?

Her confusion deepened. Why leave this and disappear?

Then, a soft sound behind her made her turn.

A bark.

Gentle, short, and perfectly timed.

Standing in the doorway was a small golden puppy. Its coat gleamed in the sunlight, ears perked, tail wagging slowly like it was greeting an old friend.

Aria blinked. “What...?”

The puppy trotted forward confidently, as if it owned the place—or perhaps as if it had been instructed to.

A navy velvet collar hugged its neck, with a tiny gold tag catching the light. She crouched down, still processing, and the pup licked her hand like it had been waiting for her.

She turned the tag.

Name: Luca. Proxy to Mr. Thorne.

Trained. Loyal. Knows your tea order. 🐾

She let out a stunned laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Luca barked again, then padded over to one of the kitchen chairs and sat obediently, waiting as if expecting her to take her place at the table.

Aria stood there, frozen in some strange mix of shock and delight. A dog. A handwritten note. Her favorite breakfast laid out like a memory from a life she hadn’t lived yet.

She looked down at the pup. “He really sent you in his place?”

Luca tilted his head.

She sighed, still smiling in disbelief, and finally took a seat. The tea was warm, the aroma calming. Her first sip brought a comfort that felt almost personal.

He knows too much about me for this to be coincidence.

And yet—he was nowhere to be seen. No footsteps. No voice. Just silence, scent, and a dog with secrets in his eyes.

As she slowly picked up a fork, she whispered to herself, “Alright, Mr. Thorne… let’s play your game.”

Luca barked once, approvingly.