His words hung in the air between them; for the briefest time, Arabella felt her heart stop. She blinked, sensing the gravity of the circumstance descend into her chest like a cold, leaden weight.
This marriage, this contract, was a performance not only for paperwork but also for actual life. An event. And she was now its star.
Though the photographers clicked away, recording every moment, Arabella felt herself shrinking beneath the burden of the world she had just consented to inhabit.
She had come here to help Isla, but this world, this man, was suffocating.
Cold on her palm, the engagement ring made her hand into a fist.
Though the room hummed all around her, it felt like a faraway hum, the borders of reality fading.
Arabella lay in the large, antiseptic guest room that night, the gentle hum of the mansion's air conditioning, the only noise shattering the stillness. Her thoughts would not stop. Isla's situation, the contract, and the kiss were a jumble of mixed feelings, anxiety, and doubt.
Lying on her back, she traced the complex marble pattern lines across the high, vaulted ceiling. This palace seemed like a gilded cage, a prison. The walls seemed too thick and the quiet too deafening.
She yearned for the city's din, for the vibrant life that now seemed so far.
The bed under her was too soft, the pillows too fluffy, the linens chilly on her skin. Everything about this location screamed riches, but there was nothing warm about it. Nothing known. Not anything real.
Then she heard it: a soft voice, the murmur of many. Arabella tensed, her body freezing. Her bare feet were chilly on the slick floor as she pushed herself up and out of bed.
Her heart racing in her chest, she tiptoed to the door. The sounds sounded low, like a conversation meant to be overheard from the corridor.
She moved nearer and put her ear to the door. Though muted, the voices were distinct enough for her to grasp conversation fragments.
"She doesn't know who he really is."
Arabella gasped. The phrases were unsettling. Though she hadn't intended to eavesdrop, the quiet, sinister tone made her heart race with terror. She knew the voice; it belonged to one of Grant's acquaintances, a guy she had spotted once or twice around the mansion. He had always appeared off, as though someone knew more than he gave on.
Grasping the doorknob, her hand shook. She had to know more. What was Grant concealing? Was this all included in some perverse scheme?
But a cold shudder shot down her back before she could retreat.
Silent but certain, an unexpected presence behind her caused her to freeze. Her breath caught in her throat as she turned slowly.
Standing in the doorway, Grant's large stature threw a deep shadow across the space. His eyes sparkled with something hazardous, darker than she had ever seen.
"You weren't meant to hear that," he whispered, his voice a deep growl, silky as silk but tinged with a frigidness that sent a shiver down her spine.
His presence was overpowering her like a storm, and Arabella's heart thudded in her chest as he stepped forward. She gulped, her throat tightening with dread.
Still, she couldn't turn away. She didn't know how to handle this guy who was both a stranger and yet so known.
Before he moved back, his countenance opaque, Grant's gaze pierced hers.
"Arabella, go to bed," he murmured coldly. "Rest will be required for tomorrow."
Arabella's heart was still pounding as she remained still. Her head spun with what she had just heard, and she looked at him, the tension palpable. What was he concealing? And why did it seem like she was becoming a pawn in a game far bigger than her knowledge?
That night, sleep came fitfully; the following day, Arabella couldn't get rid of the nagging sense of dread eating at her insides.
Her curiosity was stronger than ever, and that odd feeling of mistrust drew her towards the section of the mansion she had not yet investigated.
Though one door drew her attention, the corridor was large and deserted, and the silence terrible. A door she had not seen previously, it was hidden in the farthest corner.
Arabella instinctively walked towards it, her palm grazing the chilly metal handle. The door was locked.
Once, twice, nothing, she turned the knob. Her fingers, though, ached to know what was behind it.
Footsteps in the distance made her panic, and she hurriedly retreated behind the door into the shadows. A low, strained voice halted her in her tracks just as she was ready to depart.
"Stay out of there."
Arabella gasped.
Grant.
Standing close behind her, he stood there with eyes blazing with an unexpected ferocity. His lips were squeezed into a tiny line, and his jaw was taut.
"Why?" she enquired, her voice almost inaudible.
Grant's voice was unmistakably icy as he moved closer; his attention had briefly shifted to the door. "Your business is none of mine."
Arabella could neither speak nor move. His presence and authority were like a burden on her chest.
"Stay out of there," he said again, this time with no space for debate. His eyes locked into hers, unrelenting, and his rage was almost under control.
Arabella experienced a sinking feeling as he walked away, leaving her with more questions than solutions. Though she had only touched the surface, she now understood that whatever lay behind that door was far darker than anything she had pictured.
Pacing back and forth in the study, Arabella felt the chilly marble floors under her bare feet as the mansion loomed outside the tall windows. Too many questions filled her thoughts concerning the bargain she had signed, Grant's world, and the room she was not meant to have seen. All three shared one thing: Grant Winslow.
Thinking of his frigid stare, how he had stood so motionless, like a statue, as she wrote her name sent a chill down her back. He seemed to expect her to have no option but to follow. Arabella was aware that there was more beyond what he was revealing.
Footsteps in the corridor interrupted her thoughts, and she spun around quickly to watch him enter the room. Grant. His tall frame filled the entrance, jaw set, dark, unfathomable eyes. The thick door clicked shut behind him; for a time, neither of them spoke.
Arabella was at a loss for where to begin. Everything she had just stepped into and signed was pressing down on her chest like a thousand-pound stone. Yet there was something she couldn't overlook more profound.
The sealed room, the horror she felt, the unknown she was being pulled into.
At last, she spoke up. "What's behind that door? Her voice shook, but she calmed herself.
Grant's face remained unchanged. His icy, measured attitude was unsettling, but there was something interesting about him. Even as she dreaded it, something drew her in. His eyes narrowed a little, and his lips pressed into a thin line.
"You don't have to worry about that," he murmured quietly, like the calm before a storm.
Arabella held her ground. "I have to know. Isla is not the only one affected by this. There is more happening here. More than you say," she said, her words harder than she meant but her rage rising inside her, fuelled by the doubt around them.
"Grant, What are you hiding?"
His stance became rigid, and the muscles in his neck showed, and his jaw tightened. Arabella could sense the room's tension rising like a dense fog.
She had gone too far. His body's reaction and the tightness of his stare gave her evidence.
Grant moved closer; Arabella stepped back against her will. Every instinct told her to flee, yet she couldn't help being drawn into his circle.
"I never wanted you to know about that," he added, his voice colder than before. It had an edge, a grittiness that made her spine tingle.
Arabella gulped." So why are you informing me now?"
Grant's eyes sparkled with something darker hiding behind them. "It's part of the cause for your presence."
A heavy stillness developed between them. Arabella could feel her palms beginning to sweat and her heart racing in her chest. She wasn't sure what she hoped for, but it wasn't this.
She had sensed Grant was concealing something, but suddenly, the burden of it was unbearable.
For a long time, neither of them talked. Arabella's thoughts raced, and she could hear her pulse in her ears. At last, Grant ended the quietness.
His voice was quiet as if he were now ready to tell her this truth, "My inheritance is under threat. Hudson, my half-brother, has been attempting to take it all from me. Relentless, he won't stop until he wrecks what I have built."