Zara's POV

The Martins mansion was beautiful in daylight, but at night, it became something else entirely. Shadows seemed to stretch longer in the hallways, as though the house itself carried the weight of secrets whispered within its walls. I pulled my robe tighter around my body, my steps soundless against the marble as I padded through the corridor.

I hadn't meant to leave my room. But sleep had become impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Leon's words echoing in my mind: "She won't last the year."

The memory wrapped around my chest like a vice. What did he mean? Did he intend to annul our marriage? Or... something worse?

My eyes flicked to the west wing as I passed. I had been warned twice not to enter it, but the carved wooden doors seemed to breathe with a life of their own, almost daring me to step closer. The air here felt heavier, colder, as though the mansion itself wanted me gone.

A faint sound, like a door clicking shut, snapped my thoughts.

I froze, my heart hammering.

Slowly, I turned toward the sound. The corridor was empty, but I caught the faint glimmer of light spilling from under a door at the far end. A study, perhaps? Curiosity overpowered fear, and before I could stop myself, I crept forward.

I pressed my ear to the door. Voices. Low, muffled, unmistakably male.

"...if she finds out-"

"She won't. She's just a girl. Keep her distracted."

"And Leon?"

"Leon knows his role. Don't forget what's at stake."

My blood ran cold. They were talking about me.

The doorknob twisted suddenly from the inside. I jerked back, nearly tripping over the hem of my robe. I darted around the corner and pressed myself into the shadows, barely breathing as the door opened.

Two men emerged, dressed in suits, their conversation hushed. I recognized neither of them, but the glint of a cufflink caught my eye-engraved with the same initials I had seen before: A.M.

My chest tightened. Who was A.M.?

When they disappeared down the hallway, I dared to exhale. I backed away, ready to retreat to my room, when a voice behind me cut through the silence.

"You shouldn't be wandering around at night."

I spun, my hand flying to my chest. Leon stood there, his dark eyes unreadable, his posture casual but laced with steel.

"I... ...couldn't sleep," I stammered.

His gaze flicked toward the corridor where the men had gone, then back to me. "Curiosity is dangerous here, Zara." His voice was low, measured, the kind of tone that sent shivers racing down my spine.

"Then tell me," I whispered, summoning courage I didn't know I had. "What's in this house that I'm not supposed to see?"

For the briefest moment, his mask slipped. Something raw, almost painful, flickered in his expression. Then it was gone.

"You married me to pay your family's debt," he said coldly. "Not to ask questions. Remember that."

He stepped closer, close enough that I caught the faint scent of his cologne-woodsy, expensive, intoxicating. His nearness set my pulse racing, though I hated myself for it.

"You don't frighten me," I whispered, though my voice trembled.

He leaned in, his lips so close to my ear... I felt the heat of his breath. "You should."

My knees nearly buckled, torn between fear and something else I dared not name. Before I could reply, he brushed past me, his shoulder grazing mine in a deliberate, electrifying touch.

I remained rooted in place long after he was gone, my heart a wild drum in my chest.

He was hiding something. The entire mansion was. And I would find out what... even if it meant tearing open the very secret that bound us together.

Zara's POV

Sleep was a stranger that night.

The Martins' mansion felt wrong in the dark-too pristine, too polished, as though its silence was carefully staged. It wasn't the kind of quiet that comforted. It was the kind that listened.

I turned in bed for what felt like the hundredth time, my body restless, my mind louder than the night itself. The memory of Leon's hand still lingered on my skin, a phantom touch I couldn't shake. Protective. Possessive. Calculated. I knew better than to mistake it for affection... Leon Martins wasn't built for tenderness. But there had been a flicker in his eyes, a fleeting second where I felt seen.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

I couldn't stay in the bed another moment. Sliding out, I padded barefoot across the marble, my robe trailing like a whisper behind me. The chill that kissed my skin wasn't from the air but from the house itself, as though the walls exhaled secrets.

Since the wedding, unease had been growing inside me like a thorned vine.

Leon's warning about the west wing.

His voice on the phone.

She won't last the year.

The words replayed in my head, sharp and merciless. Last. Gone. Forgotten.

They wouldn't let me rest.

The hallway stretched ahead, drenched in muted gold from the chandeliers. Shadows clung to every corner, stretching long and dark as if they wanted to swallow me whole. My pulse quickened with each step, but my feet carried me forward anyway, curiosity stronger than fear.

The west wing came into view like a forbidden forest. Its double doors were heavier, darker, carved with strange, curling patterns that looked less like decoration and more like warnings. I pressed my ear to the wood. Silence.

That silence dared me.

And I pushed it open.

The air that met me was colder, tinged with cedar and something metallic that clung to the back of my throat. The hallway beyond stretched endlessly, lined with portraits. But they weren't of the Martins family. These were strangers-men in suits, women veiled, children with hollow eyes. Some faces had blurred with age, but others had been deliberately ruined, the eyes scratched out as though someone had tried to erase them from existence.

A shiver crawled down my spine.

Then I heard it. A soft click. Footsteps.

I froze.

Leon's voice cut through the silence, low, controlled, lethal in its calm. He was on the phone.

"...No, it's handled. The senator is in no position to fight back. His daughter is nothing but leverage. A cover."

Leverage. Cover.

My father.

Me.

The words hit me like ice water, chilling me from the inside out. I clamped a hand over my mouth before the sound of my breath betrayed me. This marriage wasn't just cold. It was calculated. I wasn't a wife. I was a pawn.

My body trembled as I slipped behind a column, hidden in shadow. Every instinct screamed at me to run back, to pretend I hadn't heard. But another part of me-reckless, furious-wanted to step out, to confront him, to demand the truth.

The footsteps grew closer.

"Who's there?"

His voice was sharper now, dangerous. The kind of voice that could end things with a word.

I didn't move. Didn't breathe.

The phone buzzed again. After a long pause, Leon cursed under his breath and answered, his tone clipped, shifting back into command. His footsteps receded, swallowed by the hall.

Only when the silence returned did I let myself collapse against the wall, my chest heaving. My world tilted, spinning out of control. Leon hadn't just married me to bury a secret. He was the secret.

And I had just stumbled into the center of it.

I slipped back toward my room, silent as the shadows, my mind racing with everything I'd heard.

Leon Martins wasn't hiding only a west wing.

He was hiding the truth behind my family's destruction.

And if I wasn't careful, he would bury me with it.

Zara's POV

Morning in the Martins' mansion was a spectacle. Golden light spilled through high arched windows, maids moved like clockwork, and silence was treated like luxury.

I sat at the breakfast table, my untouched croissant crumbling under nervous fingers. I hadn't slept. Not after what I'd overheard. Leon's words replayed in my head like a curse: "His daughter is nothing but leverage. A cover."

I should hate him.

I wanted to hate him.

But when Leon walked into the dining hall, sleeves rolled up, tie loose, dark hair slightly mussed like he hadn't slept either - hate was the last thing my body remembered.

He didn't sit immediately. He stood across the table, his gaze steady on me. Not cold. Not warm. Just unreadable.

"You didn't eat." His voice was softer than usual, but still carried weight.

I swallowed. "I wasn't hungry."

A flicker of something passed his face, then was gone. He reached for the coffee pot, poured into his cup, and then, without asking, into mine. Steam curled between us like a secret language.

"You'll need your strength," he said simply.

My heart thudded. Strength for what? To be his pawn? His cover? Or... something else?

I lifted the cup, but my hands betrayed me. They shook. Leon noticed. His eyes dropped to my fingers, then rose to meet mine.

"Fear doesn't suit you," he murmured.

The words shouldn't have made me shiver, but they did.

Their silence stretched, heavy with tension neither of them named. Finally, he moved, pulling out the chair beside me instead of the one across. My breath caught. Leon Martins never sat close.

"You..." I forced the words out, my voice low. "You don't even like me. Why pretend to care if I eat?"

His lips twitched, almost a smile but darker. "Care is a dangerous word, my love." He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing my ear. "But appearances... appearances keep us alive."

I should have pulled away. Instead, my pulse betrayed me, racing like I was prey caught in a hunter's gaze.

Leon's hand brushed mine, when he reached for the butter knife. A spark shot up my arm, sharp and consuming. I stiffened, but didn't pull back. Neither did he.

The butler entered with more dishes, breaking the moment. Leon straightened, his mask of detachment snapping back into place.

But I knew. I saw it. The flicker. The hesitation. The way his eyes lingered on me, a heartbeat too long before he rose to leave.

"Eat something," he said again, his voice low, almost rough. Then he walked away.

I sat frozen, my fingers still tingling where his had grazed them.

I hated myself for it, but beneath the anger and betrayal boiling in my chest, another truth was clawing its way out.

I was falling for Leon Martins.

And I was terrified he knew.