A SILENT AGREEMENT

The car ride was suffocatingly silent. Calla sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed on the blur of city lights outside the window. Damian didn’t speak, his focus entirely on the road ahead. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of fabric as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

She stole glances at him occasionally, trying to read his expression, but his face was unreadable. His sharp jawline was set, his dark eyes focused, and his hands gripped the steering wheel with a quiet intensity. She wondered what he was thinking. Did he regret this? Did he see her as nothing more than a burden, a repayment for a debt? Or was there something else, something deeper, that she couldn’t yet understand?

They pulled up to a hotel, its grand facade illuminated by soft golden lights. Damian parked the car and finally broke the silence.

“What happened to you?” he asked, his voice low but firm. “How did you get the scar? Did you really try to kill yourself?”

Calla’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to ask, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. But there was something in his tone—something that made her feel, for the first time, that he might actually care about her. She hesitated, then spoke softly.

“No, whatever they said to you about me isn't true. I didn’t try to kill myself,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “The scar… it’s from my stepbrother. He tried to hurt me, but I defended myself.”

Damian didn’t respond immediately. His expression remained stoic, but she thought she saw a flicker of something—anger, perhaps, or disgust—cross his face. He nodded once, as if filing the information away, and then opened his car door.

“Get out,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Calla obeyed, stepping out of the car and following him into the hotel. The lobby was elegant, with marble floors and crystal chandeliers, but she barely noticed. Her mind was racing, her heart pounding in her chest. What was going to happen now? What did he want from her?

They approached the reception desk, and Damian spoke briefly with the attendant, his voice calm and authoritative. A keycard was handed to him, and he turned to Calla, gesturing for her to follow him to the elevator.

The ride up was just as silent as the car ride had been. Calla stood awkwardly in the corner, her arms wrapped around herself, while Damian leaned against the opposite wall, his hands in his pockets. When the elevator doors opened, he led her down a long hallway to a suite at the end.

He opened the door and stepped aside, allowing her to enter first. The room was spacious and luxurious, with a large bed, a sitting area, and a view of the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. Calla hesitated, unsure of what to do.

“Help yourself to anything you need,” Damian said, his voice calm but distant. “Some people will be here tomorrow to help you prepare for the wedding. I’ll pick you up afterward, and we’ll go to the courthouse.”

Calla nodded, her mind still reeling. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a small flicker of relief. He wasn’t demanding anything from her—not yet, at least. He was giving her space, and for now, that was enough.

---

The next morning, Calla woke to a knock on the door. She opened it to find a small team of people waiting outside—makeup artists, hairstylists, and a woman holding a simple yet elegant wedding gown. They filed into the room, their energy bright and cheerful, a stark contrast to the heaviness she had been carrying.

Calla allowed herself to be swept up in their preparations. They styled her hair into soft waves, applied makeup that accentuated her features without overpowering them, and helped her into the gown. It was a simple design, with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt, but it suited her perfectly.

When they were finished, Calla stood in front of the mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at her. She looked… beautiful. It was a strange feeling, one she hadn’t experienced in a long time. For a moment, she allowed herself to smile.

There was another knock on the door, and this time, it was Damian. He was dressed in a tailored suit, his dark hair neatly styled, his expression as unreadable as ever. He extended his arm to her, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it.

They left the hotel and drove to the courthouse in silence. The ceremony was quick and impersonal, just a few words exchanged in front of a judge. Calla barely registered what was happening. It all felt surreal, like she was watching someone else’s life unfold.

When it was over, Damian drove her to his home—a large, modern house on the outskirts of the city. He led her inside, showing her to a room on the second floor.

“This is your room,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “You don’t need to do anything. Maids will come and go to take care of the house. Just… live here.”

Calla frowned, confusion flickering across her face. “What do you mean? What about… us?”

Damian’s expression hardened, and he turned to face her fully. “What about us?” he repeated her questions. “Do you think I married you because I was in desperate need for a wife? Or do you think I was desperate for marriage? Don't deceive yourself into thinking this is something more than it is.” He said harshly.

“Don’t expect anything from me as a husband, or anything as a couple” he said bluntly. “I married you because your family couldn’t pay their debt. That’s all this is.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Calla standing alone in the doorway of her new room. She felt a mix of emotions—relief, confusion, and a strange sense of emptiness. She had escaped her family, but what had she stepped into? And what did the future hold for her now?

DING-DONG.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden. Her head snapped towards the entrance, her heart pounding in her chest.

Her stepmother’s smile widened. "That must be him."

Her father walked toward the door, each step echoing in the silence. She felt like she was drowning, her chest tightening with every second.

When the door opened, she froze.