Chapter Three: 3 Months Of Silence

The reception was held in the estate’s grand ballroom. Crystal chandeliers. Imported marble.

She smiled until her face hurt. Danced with men whose names she immediately forgot. Accepted congratulations from women who looked at her with a mixture of pity and envy.

Pity because they knew what being married to a man like Elio meant.

Envy because of the power that came with the Vieira name.

Elio barely spoke to her.

He was always across the room. Deep in conversation with other men. Conducting business at their wedding reception like she was just another detail that had been handled.

When he did approach, it was to introduce her to someone important.

His hand proprietarily at her waist. His smile not reaching his eyes.

“My wife,” he would say.

And the word sounded foreign in his mouth.

Geneva. Not my beautiful wife. Not the woman I love.

Just her name stated as fact. Devoid of emotion.

As midnight approached, Lena found her on the terrace. Staring out at the city lights that stretched to the horizon.

“You look miserable,” she said bluntly. Pressing a glass of actual champagne into Geneva’s hand.

“I am miserable.”

“Did something happen?”

Geneva told her everything. Every cold word. Every dismissive comment.

By the time she finished, Lena’s expression had shifted from concern to fury.

“That bastard. I should tell my father to pull out of the shipping deal. See how Elio likes losing the Mediterranean routes.”

“Don’t.” Geneva gripped her arm. “It’ll only make things worse for me. He’ll blame me for costing him business.”

“So what are you going to do? Spend the rest of your life being treated like a broodmare?”

The question hung between them. Heavy with implications.

What could she do?

Divorce wasn’t an option in their world. Running would get her killed. Probably get her family killed too.

This was her life now. For better or worse.

Mostly worse.

“I’m going to survive,” she said finally. Echoing the mantra her mother had whispered to her countless times.

“You deserve better than survival, Jenny.” Lena’s voice cracked. “You deserve love. Respect. Partnership. Not this.”

“Well, I’m not going to get it from him.”

Geneva drained her champagne. Welcoming the burn.

“So I’ll take what I can get. Security. Wealth. Protection. Maybe that’s enough.”

Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

It would never be enough.

But it was all she had.

The night ended with Elio and her being escorted to the master suite. A gaggle of drunk relatives making crude jokes about wedding nights and heir production.

Geneva kept her smile fixed in place.

Let them believe whatever they wanted.

And finally—finally—the door closed behind them.

Alone with her husband for the first time.

Elio immediately went to the bar. Poured himself three fingers of scotch. Downed it in one swallow.

Then poured another and turned to face her.

“You can take the guest room if you’d prefer.” His tone made it clear he hoped she would. “Or stay here. Your choice.”

So this was it.

The moment where he would do his duty. Nothing more.

The moment where she would become truly his in the only way that mattered to men like him.

She thought about refusing. About demanding the guest room and whatever dignity she could salvage.

But then she thought about the overheard conversation. His dismissive assessment of her as nothing more than a strategic asset.

Something stubborn and reckless rose in her chest.

“I’ll stay,” she said. Meeting his gaze directly. “After all, you need an heir within the year, don’t you?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. The first real reaction she’d gotten from him all day.

“You heard that.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I heard everything.”

She turned her back to him. Reaching for the zipper of her dress.

“I heard how you don’t want me. How I’m just a sheltered girl who doesn’t understand this life. How you plan to do your duty and nothing more.”

The zipper stuck halfway down.

She struggled with it for a moment. Frustration and humiliation burning through her in equal measure.

Then Elio was there.

His fingers brushing hers aside. His touch surprisingly gentle as he worked the zipper free.

His breath was warm against her neck. His body close enough that she could feel his heat.

“You shouldn’t have heard that,” he said quietly.

“But I did.”

She stepped away as soon as the dress was loose. Clutching it to her chest.

“So let’s not pretend this is anything other than what it is. A transaction. An alliance. A means to an end.”

She walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

Leaned against it as she finally—finally—let the tears fall.

Three months of marriage passed like that.

Elio in the west wing. Geneva in the east.

They took meals separately. Appeared together only when business or social obligations demanded it. Spoke with the distant courtesy of acquaintances rather than spouses.

The wedding night had been exactly what he’d promised. Duty fulfilled. Nothing more.

He’d been efficient. Almost clinical. And hadn’t touched her since.

She told herself she didn’t care.

Told herself the relief she felt at his absence was preference, not rejection.

Told herself that building a life around charity work and art collecting was enough.

She was lying to herself. And she knew it.

But self-deception was better than acknowledging the hollow ache in her chest every time she saw him across a room. Surrounded by men who would die for him. Commanding respect and fear with equal ease.

Better than admitting that somewhere in those three months, she’d started noticing things.

The way his rare smiles transformed his face.

How his hands moved with controlled grace.

The flash of something almost vulnerable in his eyes when he thought no one was watching.

She was falling for a man who didn’t want her.

And it was pathetic.

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