Chapter 2 - THE COLD RADIANCE OF THE ASHFORD MANSION
The wedding was a blur of white silk,
and cold champagne.
There were no flowers from friends,
only bouquets chosen by a professional designer.
My father sat in the front row,
looking frail but hopeful,
unaware that his life was the price of the ring on my finger.
Saurin kissed my cheek for the cameras,
his skin was warm,
but his heart felt miles away.
We moved into his mansion that evening,
a place of glass,
steel,
and silence.
My bedroom was connected to his by a dressing room,
but the door was always locked.
I became a ghost in a palace,
learning the rules of a world I didn't belong to.
I learned that the servants spoke in whispers,
and that Saurin never ate breakfast.
I learned that his work was his only mistress,
until it wasn't.
For the first six months,
I was grateful.
My father’s color returned,
the doctors moved him to a private facility,
and the lymphoma began to retreat.
I spent my days at the piano,
playing the pieces my father taught me,
filling the empty halls with Schumann and Bach.
Sometimes,
I would catch Saurin watching me from the doorway,
his expression unreadable,
his hands tucked into his pockets.
"You play with too much emotion,"
he said one night,
leaning against the doorframe.
"In this house,
emotion is a waste of energy."
"Is that why you bought me,
Saurin?"
I asked,
my fingers pausing on the keys.
"Because you wanted someone who wouldn't feel?"
He didn't answer,
he just turned away and retreated into his study.
But as the months went by,
the coldness began to change.
He stayed for dinner more often,
he asked about my father's progress,
and he bought me a blue coat,
just like the one my father told me to wear.
I started to wonder,
if there was a man beneath the ice.
I started to look for him,
in the way he adjusted his tie,
or the way he sighed when he thought I wasn't listening.
I was a fool,
I was beginning to fall for my captor,
forgetting that the contract was the only thing holding us together.
Then came the nights when he didn't come home,
and the smell of a perfume that wasn't mine,
wafting from his suit jackets.
The reality of our arrangement began to sting,
reminding me that I was an employee,
not a wife.
I was a means to an end,
May you like
a mask for his reputation,
while he lived the life he truly wanted.
