Chapter 3 The Locked Door

• The silence in the mansion was suffocating.
• The staffs had scurried away like frightened mice, leaving me alone in this enormous, echoing palace. My wedding gown still clung to me, heavy and suffocating, and the jewels around my neck felt less like adornments and more like chains.
• I stood at the window of the bedroom Dominic had shown me, staring down at the city lights. They glittered, alive and somehow, they mocked me. Out there, the world kept spinning. People were laughing in bars, kissing on sidewalks, eating late-night pizza. Out there, girls my age were falling in love, not being handed over like bargaining chips.
• I pressed my forehead to the glass and whispered to no one, “This isn’t real. It can’t be real.”
• But it was.
• Every moment of today replayed in my mind—the vows forced from my lips, Dominic’s brutal kiss, the way he had left me at the table without a word. The cold dismissal: Any questions you have, ask the staff. Not me.
• I hugged my arms around myself, trying to hold in the hurt, the confusion.
• And then I heard it.
• The low, measured sound of footsteps in the hall.
• My heart leapt before I could stop it. Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he would come for me now, like a real husband was supposed to. Maybe he would open the door, speak to me, explain why he was so cold, why he was shutting me out.
• Against my better judgment, I moved. Slowly, nervously, I slipped out of my room and into the hall. The floor was cool under my bare feet, my skirts whispering as I padded toward the sound.
• He was there.
• Dominic.
• Tall, imposing, his shoulders tense under his black shirt, his hair slightly mussed as though he had pulled a hand through it. He was moving toward another set of double doors at the far end of the corridor—his bedroom, I realized.
• “Dominic,” I whispered, my voice shaking in the cavernous silence.
• He stilled. His head turned slightly, just enough to let me know he had heard me. My pulse hammered in my throat as I stepped closer.
• “I just—” I hesitated, twisting the fabric of my gown in my fingers. “I just wanted to ask… to understand…”
• He faced me fully then, and the sheer force of his stare made me falter. His brown eyes were darker tonight, shadows swirling in them.
• I swallowed hard. “Why marry me if you hate me this much?”
• For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker there—pain, maybe, or anger. But then it was gone, shuttered away.
• His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You’ll learn soon enough.”
• He turned, grasped the handle of the double doors, and opened them. I caught a glimpse inside—a vast room of polished wood, leather chairs, a massive bed draped in black. My heart pounded.
• “Wait,” I said quickly, stepping forward. I didn’t know what I was begging for. Connection. A word. Anything.
• But Dominic didn’t wait.
• He stepped inside, and before I could cross the threshold, the doors slammed shut in my face.
• The lock clicked.
• I stood frozen, staring at the wood grain inches from my nose, humiliation crashing over me like a wave. My husband had locked me out on our wedding night.
• I pressed my palm to the cold door, my throat thick. “Dominic, please,” I whispered, so quietly I wasn’t sure if I even wanted him to hear me. “I just wanted to talk.”
• There was no answer.
• Only silence.
• Finally, I pulled my hand away. My legs trembled as I walked back down the hall, each step heavier than the last. By the time I reached my room again, I was shaking so hard I had to grip the doorframe just to stay upright.
• Inside, I sank onto the bed, the lace of my gown crumpling beneath me. Tears blurred my vision, hot and angry.
• What kind of man did this?
• What kind of man took a wife only to treat her like a stranger, a servant, an inconvenience?
• The cruelest part was how my heart betrayed me. How some part of me still longed for the warmth of his hand, for the fire in his eyes, for the possibility—however small—that beneath all that ice, he might care.
• I hated myself for it.
• Hours passed. The fire in the grate burned low. My tears dried on my cheeks, leaving salty streaks. I told myself over and over: Don’t hope. Don’t expect. Don’t fall.
• Eventually, exhaustion claimed me.
• When I woke the next morning, the sunlight streaming through the curtains, I half expected to find a note slipped under the door, or for Dominic to appear and explain, to offer some scrap of kindness.
• But there was nothing.
• Only silence.
• A knock came, and when I opened the door, it wasn’t Dominic. It was a maid, head bowed.
• “Mrs. Kane,” she murmured. The title sliced into me. “Breakfast is served in the dining room. Mr. Kane requests your presence.”
• Requests.
• The word tasted bitter.
• I wanted to slam the door, to refuse. But I didn’t. Because I already understood the truth: in this house, in this marriage, refusal wasn’t an option.
• I was a bride, yes. But not in any way that mattered.
• I was a caged bird, wings clipped, voice silenced, existing at the mercy of the man who had locked me out on my wedding night.
• And I swore to myself as I stared into the mirror, at the pale girl with swollen eyes and trembling lips:
• I would survive this.
• Somehow, I would survive.