CHAPTER FOUR

HEAVEN

The transition from the somber, almost grave-like atmosphere of the car ride to our new residence was abrupt, the serene, ominous silence giving way to a scene of somewhat orchestrated chaos as the vehicle rolled to a gentle stop.

Adrian hadn’t so much as spared me a glance, his eyes and attention fixated on his phone as he typed away on the device throughout the whole drive. Clearly, I wasn’t worth a whit of his attention.

My heart constricted, sighs eluded my mouth at intervals, as I fondled with my perfectly manicured fingers, my gaze floundering everywhere but him.

I darted my eyes to the windows, staring at the intricately designed structure that stood tall, right in the middle of the space. Despite the elegance of the vast structure that towered before us, it was impossible not to feel its walls already closing in, a luxury prison designed with an aesthetic charm that felt more like a taunt to my inner turmoil. This was my prison for—God knows how long. As if on cue, a flurry of maids dashed from the mansion's entrance,all in black and white uniforms, like the ones we saw on television, their movements precise, a clear indication of their training and perhaps fear of their employer.

Adrian's voice sliced through the tension, cold, imbued with an entitlement that had my skin crawling.

“Get out of the car," he commanded, his gaze never meeting mine, each word dripping with an unearned superiority. His tone was both rude and offensive. Cold as ice and screaming authority. I wanted so bad to give him a taste of his medicine. To snap back at him and tell him he didn't have the right to talk to me in that manner. Yet, for the sake of peace and whatever shreds of dignity I hoped to maintain, I swallowed the retort that danced on the tip of my tongue and complied. My exit from the vehicle was met with the immediate escort of three maids, guiding me towards what was designated as my 'new bedroom', a shared space with Adrian, a notion that did little to quell the unease that knotted my stomach.

"Arrogant bastard. Thinks he can just command me when he pleases." I grumbled as I took of my heels and tossed them at a corner of the bedroom.

As I mumbled under my breath about Adrian's lack of decency, the absurdity of my current reality—married yet so profoundly disconnected from the man I now called a husband—weighed heavily on me. Stepping out of the cumbersome wedding dress felt like shedding a layer of an ill-fitting identity, the cool air a brief respite as I made my way to the big and luxurious bathroom. I had brushed my teeth a second time when I noticed my stuffs were already placed in his bathroom. My toothbrush, my shampoo....

The warmth of the shower was a soothing balm to my frayed nerves, a fleeting escape from the reality that awaited beyond its steam-covered walls. Changing into a night dress, I chose one that straddled the line between appealing and modesty. It was soft, the fabric gentle against my skin, a pale color that glowed in the dim lighting of the room. The design was simple yet elegant, suggestive enough to acknowledge the unspoken expectations of a wedding night, yet conservative enough to maintain a semblance of control over my own body. It stopped a few inches before my knees, the back made with net, and the front made with silk. I didn't wear a bra underneath but thankfully, the night dress had bra pads—like the designer had some other thoughts in mind whilst making it.

With my hair still damp, I began to brush through it, the strokes a monotonous rhythm that helped center my scattered thoughts. The click of the door announced his presence before I saw him—Adrian, shrugging off his blazer with an ease that spoke of long-held wealth and privilege. His cologne engulfed the room, mixing with the cool air produced by the AC. I narrowed my eyes at his back through the mirror, remembering how he had acted outside a few moments ago. As he turned to face me, I averted my gaze and continued to brush my hair, getting rid of the knots between them, and pretending I wasn't staring at him a second ago.

He made no pretense of courtesy, making himself comfortable on his, our, bed, and watching me with an unsettling intensity. His eyes moved up and down my body, like he was drinking me in, sultry swimming in his eyes. It was as if his gaze sought to undress me, to uncover the vulnerabilities I desperately clung to. I met his eyes in the mirror, trying to mask my discomfort with indifference. I did not let my gaze falter as I held his gaze, refusing to look bothered by his intense stares.

Then, with a single word, he shattered the fragile peace I had woven around myself.

"Strip."

The word was a command, spoken with an expectation of obedience. It reverberated through me, a visceral challenge to my autonomy.

I stared at him through the mirror, my initial shock giving way to a rising tide of anger and defiance....and confusion.

But, wasn't Adrian Miller disabled? I mean, he couldn't perform in bed, right? Wasn't that what those women at the restroom meant? Why was he asking me to take off my clothes?

My eyes widened in horror. Did that mean we were going to be intimate tonight, afterall? Were those women spewing nonsense? Baseless gossips?

Oh goodness.

"I do not like repeating myself." He said to me, an eyebrow arched up. I swallowed hard, averting my gaze and fiddling with my hands.

My heart raced, not from desire, but from the adrenaline of confrontation. I stood, our eyes locked in a silent battle, as I contemplated my next move.

“And I most certainly do not like my time being wasted. Time is money,” he added, taking off his wristwatch and neck tie.

My gaze never leaving his, I found my voice, each word laced with an edge of defiance and a plea for understanding.

"I'm not... I can't just be what you want me to be," I began, my voice trembling slightly.

“Look,” I exhaled, turning around to face him"I still have feelings for, uh, someone, okay? I love Kyle. Today... today was overwhelming. Everything happened so fast, and I wasn't in control of any of it. I was just... just a back-up, a second choice for you. And I hadn’t really recovered from the trauma of my sister’s betrayal, then,” I drawled. “I was was forced to take her place at the altar today at the last minute, and now I’m just supposed to strip because you said so?—

Give me a break, Adrian.”

Adrian's response was a smirk that didn't quite reach his cold eyes, an action that caused my brows to crease in slight confusion. He moved languidly, confidently, as if the world bent to his will alone. Circling around me to approach the closet, he rendered my heartfelt confession insignificant with his silence.

"I'm really not ready for that, is what I'm saying. You have to understand-"

My words faded into nothingness as he returned, not with compassion or understanding, but with a stack of papers which he slapped down in front of me on the dressing table.

I eyed the documents warily, my heart sinking as realization dawned. He wasn't just ignoring my words; he was blatantly dismissing them.

What was this man playing at?

"I don't want a wife," Adrian stated, matter-of-factly. "I need an heir. That's all this is about. Once you've given me that, you'll be compensated handsomely, and you can have your divorce."

A storm of anger hit me, my head Hoyas I turned to gave him abruptly. “Really!?” I queried, an humorless chuckle eluding my lips.

“What am I? A toy? One that everybody has fucking taken turns in playing with today?” I threw my hands in the air in exasperation.

“Drop that tone when you speak to me.” His words were like a cold shower, stark and chilling in their bluntness, having an edge to it as his grey orbs that seemed to have darkened pierced into mine—a silent threat.

“Now, listen. Drop all that pity story about you being a toy and something. Your dignity was stripped off you the moment you put on your sister’s wedding dress and stood there on the altar in her place.” He was very blunt, his words tearing through me, sharp as knives, faster than the speed of light. But he wasn’t lying, though.

“Weigh your damned options, Mrs Miller. You are already married to me, what other choices do you have?” He spoke with way too much assertiveness than I’d like, his tone holding a hint of mockery, the sky smirk never leaving his face.

My mind raced, my initial repulsion at the thought battling with the harsh realities of my situation.

An heir.

That would mean we'd have to be intimate. He'd get to see me in my most vulnerable state. He'd put a baby in me.

Was I ready for that?

Goodness, I had just been lamenting about how miserable my life had become recently. How unhappy I was about this marriage and everything that led to the marriage. I was giving no choice in who I was to marry, and now this? A child with this man?

Voices swiveled around in deafening echoes in my head, some saying to tell him to go fuck himself that he and I would never do anything of such sorts together, and the others saying that I should take the deal, and It was just a child afterall.

Couldn't I just do that? I'd get my freedom afterwards, I'd get the money I lost from my trustfund as well. What could possibly go wrong? It was just sex.

Just sex.

Oh Goodness.

The promise of freedom and financial security was tempting, seductive even in its simplicity. I hesitated, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"Why would you think I'd agree to something like that?" My voice was barely above a whisper, laced with disbelief.

Adrian's eyes met mine once more, his gaze unyielding. "Don't you need the money, Heaven? And don't you want to be free of me as much as I do you?"

Dang. I did. I really did need this.

The truth in his words stung, a harsh reminder of the desperation that had led me here in the first place. Silence stretched between us, a gulf filled with unspoken words and unrealized dreams. Finally, I reached a decision, the weight of my resignation tangible in the air.

"Give me the pen," I said quietly, my voice resigned. Adrian smirked, seemingly satisfied, as he pulled out a pen from one of the drawers, handing it to me.

I read through and realized it was a contract. It stated exactly what he had told me, except, all in written form. I was to give him a child, an heir, and after the child would be conceived I was free to leave, ask for a divorce and basically get paid off.

As I signed away a part of myself with each stroke of the pen, a sense of irrevocable loss enveloped me. The papers were a stark reminder of the transactional nature of what my life had become. I was selling a part of myself for freedom and security, a choice that felt both empowering and devastating.

Today was a devastatingly horrific day for me. First, forced into shackles disguised as a wedding dress to save my family’s face, being the savior I believed I was born to be, having to watch my ex-boyfriend and my betraying-ass sister huddle over each other as I got married to a man I barely knew, holding back the tears of anguish that threatened to spill from my eyes as I said two words that sealed my ill fate with a shiny golden lid when I said those two words; ‘I do’, and now, like a damned puta, I have to sell my body and produce an heir to a man who only knows my name and nothing more.

And yeah, I’m very well interested to see how worse things can really get.