Bella stood at the edge of the balcony, staring out over the twinkling city below. The lights of New York flickered like stars trapped beneath glass, cold and distant. The wind whispered against her skin, but she didn't shiver. Her body had grown used to the chill, just as her heart was learning to survive the frost surrounding Alexander Volkov.
It had been weeks since they married. Weeks of silence and careful movements. The mansion was vast, echoing, and empty of warmth. Alex passed her in the halls like a shadow, a presence felt but never truly seen. He was gone before sunrise and returned well past dusk. And when he did come home, he locked himself in his office or collapsed into bed without a word.
Bella tried. She cooked for him, left little notes, even placed fresh flowers in his study. Nothing worked. He never acknowledged her efforts. His eyes remained distant, fixed on something she could not see.
Tonight, she had decided to stop waiting.
She turned from the balcony, stepping back into her studio, her one refuge in the mansion. Here, she painted. Her hands moved across the canvas, dragging color from her soul, spilling her pain into shapes and light. Her current piece was nearly finished, a swirl of fire and ice locked in a dance. A story only she understood.
There was a soft knock at the door. Her brush froze mid-stroke.
It opened before she could respond. Alex stood in the doorway, his suit slightly rumpled, tie loose around his neck. His eyes landed on the painting, then shifted to her.
I didn't know you were still awake.
She blinked. His voice was calm, but tired. He rarely spoke to her unless it was about schedules or arrangements. The unexpectedness of his presence left her momentarily speechless.
I couldn't sleep. she said softly, placing the brush down.
He stepped into the room, eyes scanning the artwork. You painted this?
Yes.
It's angry.
It's honest.
He nodded slowly. I like it.
That surprised her.
Thank you.
There was an uncomfortable pause. He shifted on his feet, glancing toward the balcony, then back at her.
Are you alright here?
It's quiet.
Do you want something different?
Do you mean a different wing of the mansion or a different life?
She hadn't meant to say it aloud. But it slipped out, and once it did, she couldn't take it back. His eyes flickered with something unreadable.
I meant more comfort.
She looked at him, really looked at him. He appeared tired. Not just from work, but from everything. For the first time, she wondered if he ever truly rested. If the weight he carried was heavier than he showed.
Why did you marry me?
His jaw clenched. To repay a debt.
That's the reason you gave me. What's the truth?
His silence was deafening. Then, without answering, he turned away. The door closed quietly behind him.
Bella exhaled sharply, sinking into the stool by her easel. Her chest felt tight. It wasn't just about the coldness anymore. It was the secrets. The things left unsaid. The way he looked at her sometimes, like he wanted to reach out but didn't know how.
She couldn't keep doing this. Not if it meant erasing herself just to exist in his world.
The next morning, Liam called.
Are you okay? You sound tired.
Just a rough night.
You can leave, you know. I'll help you. We'll figure it out together.
She smiled faintly. He always offered. Always cared.
Thank you. I don't know yet.
You're more than this situation. Don't forget that.
Later that day, Bella wandered into the library. She rarely went there, but something drew her in. The scent of old books. The quiet. She pulled a volume from the shelf, but something fell from inside. A photo.
Her mother, younger, smiling. Beside her was a man. Not her father. It was Alex's father.
Her breath caught. The same eyes. The same serious expression.
She turned the photo over. Written in fading ink was one word.
Forgiveness.
Her head spun. The connection. The debt. It wasn't random. Alex had known her family. Or at least, his father had. Maybe Alex had been trying to make up for a mistake that wasn't even his own. Maybe this contract marriage had deeper roots than she imagined.
She confronted him that evening. He was in his study, paperwork spread out like armor.
We need to talk.
His eyes rose to meet hers. They were guarded.
Where did you get that photo?
In the library. Why didn't you tell me our families were connected?
Because it doesn't matter anymore.
It matters to me.
He stood, tension radiating from him.
What do you want to hear? That I watched your family fall apart and felt responsible? That I offered marriage because guilt kept me awake for years?
You should have told me.
And what would you have done? Said no?
Maybe. But at least I would have known the truth.
He rubbed his temple. I didn't want your pity. Or your hate.
She stepped closer. I don't hate you. But I can't love someone who hides behind walls.
He looked at her then, really looked. And in that moment, she saw not the billionaire, but the man. Flawed. Afraid. And possibly trying.
She turned to leave.
Bella.
She paused.
You're not invisible. I see you. Every day. And it scares me.
She didn't respond. Her heart ached. It wasn't a declaration, but it was a beginning.
And sometimes, that was enough.