Chapter 1 – New Home, Stranger Man
969 Words
Michelle didn’t know what suffocated her more at the moment—the heavy wedding dress she was wearing or the fact that she was sitting next to a stranger who had just become her husband.
The black limousine moved smoothly under the darkening sky. Light rain drizzled against the windows, as if the heavens were mourning her fate too.
Zavier Clare sat beside her, silent and cold like a marble statue. Since they had left the altar, he hadn’t spoken a single word to her. No congratulations, no small talk. Just a blank stare ahead, as if he didn’t want this marriage any more than she did.
"Are we going straight to your house?" Michelle finally asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
Zavier didn’t turn to her. "Our house," he corrected flatly. "And yes. It’s time you saw your new home."
His tone sounded more like a command... or a warning.
And when they arrived at the said house, it turned out to be more than just a house—it looked like a modern castle on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by high fences, security cameras, and a chilling atmosphere that swallowed the air around it. As the iron gates opened, Michelle felt like a bird stepping into a golden cage.
Zavier didn’t wait for her to get out of the car. He simply stepped out first, leaving Michelle to decide whether she should follow or stay put.
"Do you always treat your wife like this?" she asked, trying to hold onto what little courage she had left. Michelle cursed herself for speaking without thinking.
Zavier stopped at the front door, then turned to her with a faint smile that sent chills down her spine.
"This is my first time having a wife. So, let's say... I'm learning how to live with a woman other than the maids in my house," he said, then opened the door and walked inside.
Michelle gaped. "Is he saying I'm just like his maids?"
She quickly followed him, her steps heavy, her mind full of questions. But what truly made her skin crawl wasn’t Zavier’s words—it was the middle-aged man standing in the living room, wearing a gray suit and staring at her like he was inspecting merchandise.
"Michelle," Zavier said without looking at her, "this is Dante. My right-hand man. He’ll make sure everything runs the way I want it."
Michelle felt a sudden chill run down her spine. There was something in Dante’s gaze she instinctively didn’t trust.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Clare," Dante grinned, his voice too friendly to be genuine.
Michelle answered with a stiff nod. She didn’t know who this man really was, but his gaze—full of secrets, as if he knew more about her than he should—made it hard for her to breathe.
'Is this what they call jumping out of the frying pan into the fire?' she asked herself.
***
Michelle stood alone in the wedding suite, which felt too big and too quiet for her to bear. Zavier didn’t enter the room. He had disappeared somewhere since dinner—which was tense and silent.
On the table, a small box wrapped in red velvet waited for her.
Hesitantly, Michelle opened it. Inside was an emerald pendant necklace—beautiful, expensive, but heavy in her hand. Beside the jewelry was a small note that read:
'Start learning your new life, Michelle. This world isn’t what you think it is.'
—Zavier.
Her hands trembled as she placed the necklace back down. She didn’t fully understand what Zavier meant, but a bad feeling began to grow inside her.
"What kind of world is he talking about? Why does this note feel more like a warning?" she whispered to herself.
Michelle closed her eyes for a moment, then stared again at the necklace. She clenched her fists tightly, especially as memories of her stepmother’s cruelty flooded her mind.
"Hang in there, Michelle. At least... living here can't be worse than living with Isabella. Yes... That’s right... You have to survive, Michelle. For Ken," she muttered softly.
Meanwhile, downstairs, Zavier stood alone in his study, staring at a photograph in his hand. A photo of a young woman—almost identical to Michelle.
Not long after, Dante entered quietly.
"Are you sure she’s the one you’ve been looking for?" Dante asked in a low voice.
Zavier didn’t answer immediately. He just stared longer at the photo, then said, "I don’t need to be sure. I just need time... and she won’t leave until I find out the truth."
Dante watched him for a moment, then said almost inaudibly, "If she really is the one... you know who will come looking for her, Zavier."
His tone wasn’t just a warning—it carried a hidden fear behind his calm expression.
Zavier slowly turned, his gaze cold enough to freeze the air. He placed the photo on the table and reached for a glass of red wine.
One sip. Then silence.
"Let them come," he finally said, his voice calm but dangerous. "I won’t lose everything again."
Dante frowned. "They don’t play like they used to, Zavier. This time... they'll bring more than just threats. You know who's backing them now."
Zavier stared at the fire in the fireplace, as if trying to erase shadows from his past. "And I’m not the same man I used to be."
He turned to Dante, and for a split second, sadness flickered in his eyes—before it hardened again into a cold determination.
"If Michelle is the key to all this... then she stays here. Under my watch. I don’t care who I have to fight," he murmured. "Because one thing’s for sure, Dante—I won’t lose everything again."
***
- Writer
