When neither side feels secure in their stance, a certain calm falls over them. It's significant, nearly tangible, and might be cut with a knife. That was the kind of silence that had recently settled between Williams and me. It was a matter of something far more baffling than hostility. Whenever I looked at him, something made my heart quicken and my thoughts swirl.
I couldn't exactly explain it, but the more time I spent with him, the more I began to doubt all of my preconceived notions about this marriage contract. Initially, it was simple. It had a certain clarity, a tidy little box that I could file away in my mind and declare, "This is what it is, no more, no less." A deal. A win-win situation. I was never meant to fall in love with the man beneath the aloof, businesslike exterior. His faint grins and the fleeting moments when his eyes softened as he regarded me across the room were never meant to matter to me. Nevertheless, I found myself looking at him more than I wanted to acknowledge, looking for excuses to be close to him, and attempting to unravel the mysteries that seemed to float behind his eyes. It was annoying. When I walked into the workplace that morning, I was tense since I could only hear the faint acknowledgement of staff voices in the background. I had grown accustomed to people speaking quietly around me, either out of fear or a lack of knowledge about how to handle the "new Mrs. Harrington." Williams was standing at the windows, facing away from me, gazing out over the city as I had just shut the door to my office. His stiff stance suggested that he was bearing a burden that only he could sense. I tried to speak steadily as I said, "Good morning," even though my heart was beating faster than usual. With that unreadable expression on his face, he turned and nodded simply. "Good morning." He moved to his desk, and I sat down at mine, staring at him. We were more tense than usual in our quiet. I couldn't help but wonder whether he was considering the same thing I was, or whether he had also started to notice the flaws in our arrangement. His voice was coarser than usual, and it took a few moments before he finally spoke. "Freda, please exercise caution." I blinked, taken aback by his tone's abrupt gravity. "What are you worried about?" Instead of responding immediately, he simply looked at me for a while, his eyes darting between mine as if he were attempting to read me. At last, he remarked in a calm but forceful voice, "About everything." "You don't realise how many people are watching you right now. Those who will not think twice about using your past against you." A cold sensation ran down my back. "What do you mean?" His gaze grew gloomy. "Freda, you remain an outsider. Even though you are married to me, you won't be accepted by everyone here." My hands clenched around the papers on my desk as I gulped. His statements' implication bothered me. They exposed me, as though I were merely a piece in an incomprehensible game. I tried to seem more assured than I actually was when I answered, "I can handle myself." Williams, however, didn't seem persuaded. For a brief period, his gaze softened as he stepped closer to me. "I'm merely attempting to keep you safe." My heart skipped a beat because of the way he said it—quietly, but with a hint of something deeper. I wanted to say something, but I was unable to find the right words. Rather, I simply nodded while attempting to suppress the unexpected flutter in my chest. Later on, in the evening, we went to a charity gala, the type where showy grins and lavish attire were the norm. By this point, it had become the norm—another occasion, another chance for the Harrington name to be highlighted. However, I couldn't get rid of the weight that was in the air between Williams and me tonight. As the sparkling crowd swirled about me, I tried to look casual while enjoying a drink of champagne at the refreshment table. Nearby socialites were debating something that seemed significant, but I wasn't paying much attention. I couldn't take my eyes off Williams, who was across the room chatting with some of his business associates. Although he was completely focused on them, occasionally his gaze would stray to me as if he wanted to make sure I was still there. That peculiar tug, that wordless link, was becoming more powerful. Then I sensed it—an additional presence. A calculating, icy stare stared at me from the other side of the room. Marcel was leaning casually against the doorway with a tumbler of whisky in his hand when I looked up, gasping. His lips formed an enraged smirk, and his eyes were narrowed. "I take it you're still here?" He called in a smooth yet sarcastic voice. "I assumed you would have fled by now." I kept my eyes on him, trying not to betray the discomfort he caused. "You're also still here. How unexpected." He laughed and glanced at Williams, who was standing there talking to someone else. Marcel remarked, "I'm just here to watch things." "This family needs someone to keep it together, doesn't it?" I spoke more sharply than I intended when I said, "I'm not falling apart." Marcel smiled broadly as he answered, "Oh, I know." "Let's see how long you endure, though. Freda, the truth about you will soon be revealed. Masks may only be worn for so long." The back of my neck froze, but I refused to back down. "You're not correct." His voice was low and menacing as he leaned slightly closer. "Am I? Or are you simply deceiving yourself into believing that this is all true? A public image and a marriage of convenience. Is that all there is to it, in your opinion?" Williams was at my side, his presence like a shield, before I could reply. Marcel stood up straight, his grin turning to a chilly expression. Williams' voice was dangerously calm as he replied, "I suggest you leave, Marcel." "Or what?" Marcel enquired, his tone brimming with disdain. "Will you discard me as you always do? I've observed how things operate here." Williams's eyes grew gloomy. "Go now." After examining him for a while and glancing back and forth between us, Marcel shrugged. "All right. Don't claim I didn't warn you, though." I looked to Williams as Marcel left, feeling both thankful and uneasy. "Thank you." He took a while to reply. Rather, his gaze remained fixed on me, as though he was looking for something. For a brief minute, I worried if he was beginning to doubt his own emotions since I could feel the weight of his gaze and the intensity of his concentration. In an instant, however, his face hardened and he retreated. He gestured to the group of visitors who were waiting for us and mumbled, "Let's get this over with." The remainder of the evening flew by. I made small talk with people I hardly knew, smiled when I should have, and tried not to think about what Marcel had said. However, they persisted, eating away at the corners of my mind. While waiting for Williams to finish his talk at the door, I heard a faint, nearly inaudible, but distinct whisper. Two women were having a conversation, and I could hear all they were saying. "I was aware of the rumours. Simply put, she is a gold digger. If it weren't for the family ties, the Harringtons would never marry her." My gut gave a lurch. I was unaware of the vast number of people who viewed me as only a tool, an asset to be utilised anyway they saw fit. It wasn't the worst part, though. The worst thing was that I wasn't positive they were mistaken for the first time. --- Doubt weighed heavily on my shoulders as I left the gala with Williams at my side. Was it all a front? A match? Was I merely a pawn in an incomprehensible power struggle? I had lost my knowledge. What's the worst? I was beginning to doubt my interest. Williams halted in his tracks, however, and grasped my hand in a way that felt more possessive than consoling before I could process it. "Freda..." He spoke in a quiet, almost uncertain voice. "There's something you must understand." With my heart racing, I turned to face him, but before he could say anything more, we were both distracted by the sound of shuffling feet. And my entire world froze when I looked up. Marcel was standing there grinning once more, but he had something in his hand this time. A picture. And it was everything but innocent based on the expression on his face.The photograph Marcel held out was like a ticking bomb. Even from a distance, I could see it wasn’t just any picture—it was a weapon. His smirk deepened as he moved closer, the glossy image catching the faint light of the hallway outside the gala. “What is that?” I questioned, my voice firm despite the anger growing inside me. Marcel chuckled, slow and deliberate. “Ah, Freda. Always so curious. This little gem might answer a few of your burning questions—or maybe spark a few more.” Williams stood in front of me, his big form obstructing Marcel’s path. His voice could have broken glass. "Marcel, what are you up to?" Marcel cocked an innocent-looking head. “I'm merely attempting to assist dear Freda in discovering the truth. That's why you married her, isn't it? to conceal from her the *true* history of the family?” My chest roared with my heart. Marcel waved the picture tauntingly, as if the room were closing in on me. I stepped around Williams and demanded, "Let me see it."
The Harrington Estate was a gilded maze with expansive marble floors, glistening chandeliers, and an air of riches that seemed to emanate from every nook and cranny. I felt like an imposter wearing someone else's flesh as I stood at the base of the grand staircase and looked up at the hundreds of faces that had arrived for tonight's soirée. Williams said next to me, his hand grazing mine, "Just breathe." Despite his apparent comforting presence, the issue just became more pressing. I muttered, "I don't belong here," as I adjusted the diamond bracelet that was a tad too dazzling on my wrist. He reminded me, "You're Mrs. Williams Harrington now." "You do, then." However, his statements seemed vacuous. As we walked into the room, I could feel the looks and the murmurs that followed. I was a stranger who had suddenly become the centre of attention in their elite world, and to them, I was nothing. A flurry of small conversation and introductions characterised the evening. William
The tension in the air was oppressive, but the Harrington mansion was surprisingly silent. I sensed it as soon as we entered the expansive foyer, with Williams taking deliberate steps in front of me. I had learnt to identify the harsh glint in his eyes and his set jaw as the quiet before the storm. "Remain here," he remarked in a hurried tone. "Why? What is happening?” He answered, "It's family business," but his refusal to let me alone was evident from the way his fingers lingered on my arm. I started to protest, but he had already left, vanishing into the opulent study at the end of the hallway. Behind him, the big oak doors slammed, and soon after, the muffled sound of heated voices came. After a brief moment of hesitation, I walked down the hall and pressed my ear to the door. "You're allowing her to sabotage everything!" Anger was evident in Marcel's piercing voice. With a dangerously low tone, Williams retorted, "Freda has nothing to do with this." "Marcel, this is
The Harrington Estate Library was an architectural masterpiece, featuring towering shelves that appeared to stretch infinitely upward, filled with books so ancient they seemed poised to crumble into dust. A solitary, flickering light on the large wooden desk at the center of the room provided the sole source of light. I glanced at my watch. 11:58 PM The enigmatic message of the note echoed in my mind constantly, burning in my pocket. *The truth will set you free.* Whose truth, though? Why now, too? I encircled myself with my arms in an attempt to stay warm as the room's coldness crept into my body. At the exact moment of midnight, a shadow appeared in the doorway. "Who is there?" My voice was sharper than I meant when I cried out. A wiry man in his sixties with a severely creased face and grey hair slicked back emerged as the person moved into the light. He exuded a sense of authority that seemed strangely familiar. "Ms. Freda," he uttered softly. "I've known about you for a
The magnificent Harrington estate was a flurry of activity, a never-ending procession of wealth, influence, and power. Every look felt like a chess play in a game I was only starting to grasp, and every area appeared to hold mysteries. That morning, as I came down the grand staircase, Marcel and Sophia were already sitting in the bright parlour, speaking softly but firmly. As soon as I walked in, their laughter stopped and was replaced by rehearsed smiles that stopped short of their eyes. "Freda," Sophia remarked with ease, pointing to a vacant chair. Come along with us. I was just talking to Marcel about the charity gala that is coming up. I paused, my gut telling me that this was a test, not an invitation. I sat down, maintaining a neutral expression while forcing a courteous grin. "Good morning. How about the gala?” Marcel reclined on his seat, evaluating me with his keen eyes. “It's among the year's most significant occasions. As Williams' spouse, you must be... ready. You
I never thought I would be in the spotlight myself. In this setting, privacy became a luxury, and I no longer possessed it, despite my constant preference for the silence, distant from the limelight. The reporters were persistent, their cameras snapping as they pressed me with inquiries I wasn't prepared to answer. It began rather casually. A headline here, a picture there. They had first only been interested in my abrupt arrival at Williams' side and had questioned the terms of our "contract" marriage. But the rumours became stronger as the days passed. The journalists sucked up every tidbit of rumours they could find. That morning, as I sat at the library trying to piece together the missing pieces of my life, I heard my phone ring. I knew the area code—it was the press office—but the number was unknown. I sighed and swiped the screen to respond."Freda, we have a small issue," the voice was saying. "What issue?" Trying to speak in a neutral tone, I asked.The voice went on, "A t
After Marcel's appearance at the press conference, the days that followed were a haze of whirling media, constant interrogation, and increasing pressure from all sides. The Harrington name weighed heavily on me in a way I never would have thought possible. The stakes were much higher than I had imagined, and what had begun as an apparently simple contract marriage had quickly turned into a full-scale conflict.Although his tactics were frequently a convoluted combination of well-considered choices and covert intentions, Williams appeared committed to protecting me despite his icy and aloof manner. But despite his constant assurances, I couldn't shake the sensation that I was being drawn more into the vicious web of the Harrington family and that they were playing a game I didn't comprehend.I received another summons to the estate that morning. By this point, the scene was recognisable: a car waiting outside, the driver dutifully obeying commands without ever questioning them. My thou
The gloom was oppressive. I was having trouble breathing. There was a strong, metallic smell in the air that I couldn't quite identify. I stood motionless as my chest constricted and my heart roared in my ears. I didn't know what was going on or where I was. I felt as though the world was spinning around me, confused and disoriented.I felt my fingers on the moist, chilly surface of what I knew to be a concrete wall. As I extended my hand further, searching for a window or door—anything that might provide me with a hint as to my location—a shiver went down my spine.I compelled myself to relax. No, I was unable to panic. Not right now. I needed to understand what was happening and what Williams was attempting to shield me from.Then I recalled—the black-clad man. The man with the mask who had suddenly materialised and left me unconscious. He had come for me, but why? What was going on? I wasn't sure if I was prepared for the answers to all of my enquiries.Long shadows extended across
"Freda." I was startled out of my reverie by Williams's voice. His eyes met mine, and his voice became more urgent. "You are no longer the only focus of this. This is about the business and the legacy of my family. Additionally, your family is currently under attack. Since trust is currently a luxury we cannot afford, we must know who we can trust.With a dry throat, I nodded. Every inch of my skin felt as though it were being studied, every thought I had clouded with mistrust. This was not merely a warning message. It was a proclamation. Too much was known by someone. My past was known to someone. And that changed everything, as Williams had stated.I had anticipated issues from my relationship with the Harringtons. However, this was something for which I was unprepared. There had always been layers of mystery around my birth family, keeping the truth hidden. My adopted parents, the family that had forster me, and the individuals I had believed I could trust were now at the centre of
Williams and I were in a suffocating quiet. There was a strange, uneasy silence that crept into our common area like an intruder. The man I'd been living with for months was a ruthless, cunning businessman with a polished façade and a dominating presence, and I'd thought I knew him. But until tonight, I had never seen him like this. Not after what he found out about me.Williams was someone I had grown to know as being extremely protective of his feelings, as though they were money he couldn't afford to waste. However, he had changed into a man I couldn't read in the silent years following the discovery of my true identity. His jaw was so tense that I feared it could crack, his eyes had darkened, and everything he did seemed to be planned out with icy accuracy. Even though it was brittle, the trust we had developed over the previous few months now rested on the thinnest of threads."How could you not tell me?" At last, in a low voice tinged with something I couldn't quite identify—bet
The gloom was oppressive. I was having trouble breathing. There was a strong, metallic smell in the air that I couldn't quite identify. I stood motionless as my chest constricted and my heart roared in my ears. I didn't know what was going on or where I was. I felt as though the world was spinning around me, confused and disoriented.I felt my fingers on the moist, chilly surface of what I knew to be a concrete wall. As I extended my hand further, searching for a window or door—anything that might provide me with a hint as to my location—a shiver went down my spine.I compelled myself to relax. No, I was unable to panic. Not right now. I needed to understand what was happening and what Williams was attempting to shield me from.Then I recalled—the black-clad man. The man with the mask who had suddenly materialised and left me unconscious. He had come for me, but why? What was going on? I wasn't sure if I was prepared for the answers to all of my enquiries.Long shadows extended across
After Marcel's appearance at the press conference, the days that followed were a haze of whirling media, constant interrogation, and increasing pressure from all sides. The Harrington name weighed heavily on me in a way I never would have thought possible. The stakes were much higher than I had imagined, and what had begun as an apparently simple contract marriage had quickly turned into a full-scale conflict.Although his tactics were frequently a convoluted combination of well-considered choices and covert intentions, Williams appeared committed to protecting me despite his icy and aloof manner. But despite his constant assurances, I couldn't shake the sensation that I was being drawn more into the vicious web of the Harrington family and that they were playing a game I didn't comprehend.I received another summons to the estate that morning. By this point, the scene was recognisable: a car waiting outside, the driver dutifully obeying commands without ever questioning them. My thou
I never thought I would be in the spotlight myself. In this setting, privacy became a luxury, and I no longer possessed it, despite my constant preference for the silence, distant from the limelight. The reporters were persistent, their cameras snapping as they pressed me with inquiries I wasn't prepared to answer. It began rather casually. A headline here, a picture there. They had first only been interested in my abrupt arrival at Williams' side and had questioned the terms of our "contract" marriage. But the rumours became stronger as the days passed. The journalists sucked up every tidbit of rumours they could find. That morning, as I sat at the library trying to piece together the missing pieces of my life, I heard my phone ring. I knew the area code—it was the press office—but the number was unknown. I sighed and swiped the screen to respond."Freda, we have a small issue," the voice was saying. "What issue?" Trying to speak in a neutral tone, I asked.The voice went on, "A t
The magnificent Harrington estate was a flurry of activity, a never-ending procession of wealth, influence, and power. Every look felt like a chess play in a game I was only starting to grasp, and every area appeared to hold mysteries. That morning, as I came down the grand staircase, Marcel and Sophia were already sitting in the bright parlour, speaking softly but firmly. As soon as I walked in, their laughter stopped and was replaced by rehearsed smiles that stopped short of their eyes. "Freda," Sophia remarked with ease, pointing to a vacant chair. Come along with us. I was just talking to Marcel about the charity gala that is coming up. I paused, my gut telling me that this was a test, not an invitation. I sat down, maintaining a neutral expression while forcing a courteous grin. "Good morning. How about the gala?” Marcel reclined on his seat, evaluating me with his keen eyes. “It's among the year's most significant occasions. As Williams' spouse, you must be... ready. You
The Harrington Estate Library was an architectural masterpiece, featuring towering shelves that appeared to stretch infinitely upward, filled with books so ancient they seemed poised to crumble into dust. A solitary, flickering light on the large wooden desk at the center of the room provided the sole source of light. I glanced at my watch. 11:58 PM The enigmatic message of the note echoed in my mind constantly, burning in my pocket. *The truth will set you free.* Whose truth, though? Why now, too? I encircled myself with my arms in an attempt to stay warm as the room's coldness crept into my body. At the exact moment of midnight, a shadow appeared in the doorway. "Who is there?" My voice was sharper than I meant when I cried out. A wiry man in his sixties with a severely creased face and grey hair slicked back emerged as the person moved into the light. He exuded a sense of authority that seemed strangely familiar. "Ms. Freda," he uttered softly. "I've known about you for a
The tension in the air was oppressive, but the Harrington mansion was surprisingly silent. I sensed it as soon as we entered the expansive foyer, with Williams taking deliberate steps in front of me. I had learnt to identify the harsh glint in his eyes and his set jaw as the quiet before the storm. "Remain here," he remarked in a hurried tone. "Why? What is happening?” He answered, "It's family business," but his refusal to let me alone was evident from the way his fingers lingered on my arm. I started to protest, but he had already left, vanishing into the opulent study at the end of the hallway. Behind him, the big oak doors slammed, and soon after, the muffled sound of heated voices came. After a brief moment of hesitation, I walked down the hall and pressed my ear to the door. "You're allowing her to sabotage everything!" Anger was evident in Marcel's piercing voice. With a dangerously low tone, Williams retorted, "Freda has nothing to do with this." "Marcel, this is
The Harrington Estate was a gilded maze with expansive marble floors, glistening chandeliers, and an air of riches that seemed to emanate from every nook and cranny. I felt like an imposter wearing someone else's flesh as I stood at the base of the grand staircase and looked up at the hundreds of faces that had arrived for tonight's soirée. Williams said next to me, his hand grazing mine, "Just breathe." Despite his apparent comforting presence, the issue just became more pressing. I muttered, "I don't belong here," as I adjusted the diamond bracelet that was a tad too dazzling on my wrist. He reminded me, "You're Mrs. Williams Harrington now." "You do, then." However, his statements seemed vacuous. As we walked into the room, I could feel the looks and the murmurs that followed. I was a stranger who had suddenly become the centre of attention in their elite world, and to them, I was nothing. A flurry of small conversation and introductions characterised the evening. William