Chapter Five- Moving In

(Helena’s POV)

"This is a mistake."

Eleanor didn’t look up as she neatly folded another dress into my suitcase. "That’s an understatement."

I sighed, watching her move around my room like she was preparing evidence for a trial. Which, knowing Eleanor, wasn’t far from how she saw this situation.

"This isn’t forever,it’s just two years." I muttered, more to myself than to her.

She let out a sharp laugh, shoving a pair of heels into the suitcase with unnecessary force. "No? You married Adrian Cavendish, Helena. If he has his way, this will be forever."

A chill crept over my skin, unwelcome and lingering. No. He wouldn’t keep me, this was temporary.

Nothing more.

I pulled my sweater tighter around me, my gaze drifting to the half-packed suitcase on the bed. One suitcase was all I had left.

My home—had been stripped bare piece by piece. The designer gowns, the jewelry, the art Daniel had collected over the years, all sold to cover his debts. Now, all my life fit into a bag.

Eleanor zipped the suitcase closed with a sharp tug and turned to face me, arms crossed. "You still have time to run, you know."

I let out a dry laugh. "And go where?"

She softened, just a little. "I don’t trust him, Helena. You know that, right?"

"Yes."

"I mean it." She stepped closer, gripping my shoulders. "He never does anything without a reason. And if you think this marriage is just about saving you, you’re deluding yourself."

I exhaled, pulling away from her touch. "I don’t have a choice, Eleanor."

"There’s always a choice. "She replied, pulling me in for a hug.

A sharp blare of a car horn cut through the thick silence.

Eleanor’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a grimace. "And speaking of the devil…"

We both turned to the window, and there he was, Adrian leaning against a sleek black car, with power and control. The sharp cut of his suit, the way the city lights reflected in his dark hair—it was infuriating how effortless he made it look.

He wasn’t in a rush, he stood there like he had all the time in the world, one hand in his pocket, the other tapping lazily against the roof of the car.

His gaze was locked on me and a shiver ran down my spine.

"I hate how handsome he is," Eleanor muttered.

I swallowed hard. "I hadn’t noticed."

She shot me a flat look. "Sure, sweetheart. And I’m the Queen of England."

With an exaggerated sigh, she grabbed my suitcase and marched toward the door. I followed, my stomach twisting tighter with every step.

Adrian watched us approach, his smirk lazy and knowing.

"Eleanor," he greeted smoothly.

She smiled too sweetly. "Mr. Cavendish."

He opened the car door, ignoring her pointed glare and facing me. "I assume you’ve packed everything?"

Before I could answer Eleanor shoved the suitcase at him with unnecessary force. "She’s all yours."

Adrian caught the bag easily, the muscles in his forearm flexing beneath his sleeve. His lips twitched, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Oh, I know."

I stiffened, heat creeping up my neck. Possessive bastard.

Eleanor turned to me, sarcasm gone, replaced by something heavier. She grabbed my hand, squeezing tight. "Be careful,I am here for you," she murmured, just low enough that Adrian couldn’t hear.

I nodded, unable to say anything past the lump in my throat.

Then, without another word, I slid into the car.

The silence stretched between us.

Adrian drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift. Everything about him was controlled, composed—like this was just another business transaction, not the first night of our marriage.

Meanwhile, I sat rigid in the passenger seat, arms crossed, watching the city blur past in streaks of gold and red, but something felt… off.

Frowning, I glanced out the window. The streets were unfamiliar, the skyline shifting into something less recognizable. This wasn’t the way to his penthouse.

I turned sharply to him. "Where are we going?"

Adrian didn’t glance at me. "Home."

"But your penthouse isn’t in this direction."

His grip on the wheel tightened slightly,"That’s because we’re not going there."

I stiffened. "Adrian?"

His jaw twitched. "I bought a new place."

The words landed heavily between us, heavier than they should have.

I blinked. "You—what?"

He exhaled through his nose, like he had expected this reaction. "The penthouse wasn’t enough space. I thought you’d be more comfortable in a home."

A home.

My stomach twisted.

I turned back to the window, the city slipping away, replaced by quieter streets. The farther we drove, the larger the houses became.

I forced a laugh—sharp, brittle. "You think a house changes anything?"

His eyes flicked toward me, unreadable. "I think comfort matters."

I scoffed. "To who? Because it’s certainly not for me."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "You think I bought this house for myself?"

I shook my head, fingers curling into my arms. " And you expect me to just accept it?"

His lips pressed into a firm line. "I expect you to trust me."

I let out a hollow laugh. "That’s funny, Adrian. Really. Trust? In this marriage?" I turned to him fully, voice quieter now. "You didn’t ask me what I wanted."

The car slowed slightly as we approached a long, gated driveway. Adrian didn’t answer. Not right away.

And then, finally—"I didn’t ask because I knew you’d fight me on it."

I sucked in a breath, my pulse thrumming at the cool certainty in his voice.

He was right, I would have fought, I would have refused, I didn't want his charity..

But now, staring ahead at the looming house beyond the iron gates, it was too late to fight at all.

I looked back at him, ignoring the uneasy flicker in my chest. "Don’t expect me to be grateful," I muttered, turning away.

His lips curled slightly. "I never did."

The iron gates groaned open as we drove through, revealing a long driveway lined with neatly trimmed hedges and towering oaks. The house—no, the estate—loomed ahead, bathed in golden light.

It was breathtaking.

Not in the way my old house had been, warm and filled with memories. No, this was bigger, too much. A house meant to be admired, not lived in.

I exhaled sharply as the car rolled to a stop in front of the grand entrance. Stone columns framed the massive double doors, and beyond them, floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the night like dark mirrors.

I turned to Adrian, my voice laced with disbelief. "This place is enormous."

He shifted in his seat, gaze flicking to me. "I only want the best."

Of course, he did.

Then Adrian stepped out first and opened my door before I could respond, then held out a hand.

I didn’t take it.

His lips quirked, but he said nothing as I climbed out on my own.

The front doors swung open, revealing an immaculate foyer—white marble floors, a winding staircase, an enormous chandelier dripping with crystal. It looked like a hotel lobby.

Not a home.

Adrian stepped inside first, then turned back to me. "After you."

I hesitated, then walked through, my worn out heels clicking softly against the marble.

A woman in a black dress and pressed apron approached us, her expression composed but kind. Mid-forties, dark hair pulled into a neat bun, the type of person who noticed everything.

"Mr. Cavendish," she greeted with a polite nod before turning to me. "Mrs. Cavendish, welcome."

Mrs. Cavendish, I resisted the urge to shiver.

The woman smiled gently. "I’m Margaret. I oversee the household staff. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask."

I swallowed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. I had expected Adrian to have housekeepers, but… the way Margaret spoke, the way she studied me—it was different.

Like I actually belonged here.

I forced a polite nod. "Thank you, Margaret. It’s, uh… a beautiful house."

Her smile warmed slightly. "I’ll have tea brought to your room to help you settle in."

Adrian gestured toward the stairs. "Your room is this way." I felt relief.

He led me up the wide staircase, past rooms that felt untouched, eventually, we stopped in front of a set of double doors. Adrian pushed one open.

Inside, a spacious bedroom, all deep blues and soft golds. Elegant, and personal.

"I’m keeping to the terms, like we agreed." he reminded me, his voice low, unreadable. "You’ll have your own space."

I stepped inside, my fingers grazing the silk bedsheets. "Glad you understand that we're are nothing."

His blue eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface. "You’re my wife." A pause. "But you don’t belong in my bed."

Heat curled low in my stomach at the way he said it.

I turned, forcing a smirk. "Disappointed?"

His gaze sharpened to something dark and consuming lurking beneath it.

"Careful, Helena."

Then he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in silence.

Or so I thought, because the second the door clicked shut, I heard it.

A quiet exhale like he was holding himself back.

A slow, almost tortured chuckle vibrated through the door, sending a sharp shiver down my spine.

And then his voice, so low I barely caught it—"You have no idea how much I want to."

I swallowed hard, my breath unsteady.

I wasn’t sure if he meant the bed.

Or breaking me apart.