KIER

Three days later

The Blackwood Estate

"Y-young master," Richard, the butler, called out just as I was leaving for work.

I froze with my hand on the car handle. I had bigger fish to fry than whatever petty problem he was bringing to my doorstep.

Not only was I forced into a shotgun marriage with some random woman, but now I had to step into my father's firm and learn to "take charge" of a business I already knew inside out. I went to business school for this, for God’s sake. I didn’t need a babysitter.

I shot him a sharp look. "What is it?"

Richard fidgeted, wiping his sweaty brow. He looked like he'd just run a marathon. "It's about your wife," he stammered.

My jaw tightened. My wife? The woman I'd been hitched to for days and still hadn't bothered to meet? Why was Richard dragging this to my attention?

I blew out a harsh breath. "What about her?"

He hesitated, dropping his voice to a strained whisper. "She hasn't... she hasn't left her room since she got here. The staff and I are worried, sir."

I blinked, chewing on his words. A wave of raw annoyance hit me. What do you want me to do about it, Richard?

"So?" I clipped, biting back my temper. "She locked herself away. That's her choice. Is she eating?"

"Well, yes... but she eats like a bird. We leave the food tray every day, and she picks at it. She doesn't speak, doesn't react at all."

I raked a hand through my hair. My patience was wearing thin. "She can't speak, Richard. She's mute. So that’s not a problem. As long as she’s swallowing food, I don't see the issue."

I yanked the car door open. "It’s not my problem if she wants to play hermit. I’ve got real work to do."

Richard looked like he wanted to argue, but I was already sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door. Through the tinted glass, I watched him stand there, totally lost, probably trying to figure out how to handle the new lady of the house. I couldn't care less. This forced marriage was a bad joke, and I sure as hell wasn't playing the doting husband.

The commute was short, but it dragged on forever. My brain churned through the endless list of tasks. Meetings, reports, and pointless introductions—mostly just corporate fluff that didn't take a brain cell to handle. My old man would probably preach about his high expectations and how I needed to “step up” and “take charge.”

I hated how everything felt like a cheap performance. Every move was a calculated step in a circus I never auditioned for.

When I rolled up to the headquarters, the staff was lined up in neat rows like they were welcoming royalty. I barely spared them a glance as I blew past, ignoring their plastic smiles. My father stood in the grand lobby with his arms crossed and a grim scowl on his face.

"Good, you're punctual," he barked, tapping his gold watch like I hadn’t just spent twenty minutes fighting gridlocked traffic.

"Right," I muttered under my breath, tailing him toward the main boardroom. I ghosted past the brown-nosing executives. He launched into his usual spiel about the day’s agenda, introducing me to a sea of blank faces I’d forget the second I dropped their hands. Ironically, the only thing stuck in my head was the nagging thought of my ghost wife, locked away in her bedroom.

Why was she doing this? Was it pure spite? Did she really hate my guts that much? Or was she just hiding from a raw deal she never asked for? I didn't have a clue, considering we hadn't exchanged a single word since the altar.

I should be the pissed-off one, right? I never signed up for this mess. The damn ring was forced on my finger. Yet she was the one hiding away like a bratty toddler throwing a tantrum. Not that it mattered. I had my own shit to handle. Still, a tiny part of me kept wondering why she was acting like a cornered animal.

“Pay attention, Kier,” my father snapped. His sharp voice sliced through my thoughts like a blade. I snapped to attention to find him glaring at me with sheer annoyance. "This is important business."

I sat up straight, plastering on a fake smile. "Of course, Father," I lied, though my brain kept drifting back to the weird situation at home.

The hours dragged. By clock-out time, I was mentally fried. As I walked out of the glass building and slid into my car, my mind wandered straight back to the estate. Would she still be holed up in her room? Probably. Would I even give a damn? Probably not.

But when I pulled up to the grand mansion and saw Richard hovering near the front door with the same worried frown, something shifted in my gut. He had that exact look from this morning—the one screaming that something was dead wrong. As his anxious eyes flicked toward the grand staircase, I found myself speaking before I could bite my tongue. “Still hasn’t come out?”

Richard shook his bald head slowly, looking totally sick to his stomach.

I let out a heavy sigh, my shoulders sagging under the sheer weight of an obligation I never asked for. “Fine. I’ll check on her.”

I took the stairs slowly. Each heavy footstep echoed through the dead silence of the house. The long hallway felt darker tonight. When I hit her bedroom door, I froze. What the hell was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to handle this drama? Was this even my problem?

I knocked softly. “It’s Kier. Open up.”

Crickets.

I pounded harder, feeling my hot temper flare. “I don’t know what your problem is, but this is my house. If you’re going to lock yourself away, at least eat some real food.”

Still dead quiet.

Pissed off, I grabbed the brass doorknob and twisted. It clicked open without a hitch.

I pushed inside. The weird smell hit me instantly. It was faint at the door, but the deeper I stepped into the dark room, the more it punched me in the gut—foul and thick. My nose crinkled in disgust. What the fuck was that?

I flipped the light switch, and the horrific sight made my stomach drop into my shoes.

What the hell?