Tears, Warnings and cold eyes

They drove for hours before finally reaching a massive, palace-like house—grand yet oddly familiar, like a place Iris had known in a distant dream. It felt both homely and heartbreakingly lonely. A man dressed in a maid’s uniform stood at the front of the ornately carved door.

Kyle stopped the car and turned to Iris, whose heart was pounding in her chest.

“Don’t be scared—we won’t bite,” he said with a soft laugh as he stepped out and gently opened the car door for her.

She stepped out cautiously, immediately greeted by the man.

“Good evening, Miss Rowland. I am Mr. Smith. I hope you had a comfortable ride.”

Iris forced a smile and gave a small nod.

They entered the house, and Iris was instantly captivated by its beauty. The interior was stunning—elegant, regal—but the silence clinging to its corners made her uneasy. Mr. Smith showed her to her room and left her to rest. Kyle reassured her gently that she would be safe here, then excused himself, leaving Iris alone in the large, cold room that echoed with unfamiliar stillness.

She pulled out her phone and called home.

“Mom, I’ve reached,” she said softly.

“Princess,” came her father’s voice.

“Dad? Where’s Mom?”

“She’s... not doing well. She’s a bit upset about you leaving, so she can’t talk right now. Let’s give her some time to rest.”

“Please take care of her.”

“Of course.”

“Dad... why am I even here? What is this wedding all about? Are you selling me off because the company’s failing?”

“No, Iris. The company is fine. And we’re not selling you. Your mother and I will be joining you shortly. I promise I’ll explain everything. Just be patient, okay? I’m so sorry for everything.”

“Okay, Dad. I’ll wait for you both.”

She hung up and changed into something comfortable. As she began unpacking and arranging her clothes, memories of home came flooding in—her mother’s gentle voice, her father’s proud smile, and Zoey, her best friend who had always been by her side.

A knock startled her.

Mr. Smith entered, holding a white gown—vintage, elegant, and old-fashioned.

“Miss Rowland, this is your wedding gown for tonight. My Lord has waited a long time for you. We’re glad you’re finally here. If you need anything, please let me know. I’m at your service.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith.”

“Your parents will arrive by 11 p.m. The ceremony begins at midnight,” he added, then turned and quietly exited the room.

Tears welled in Iris’s eyes. It was really happening. She was getting married—at eighteen.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I need to run away. But I can’t risk my parents being hurt because of me.”

Taking a shaky breath, she stepped out of her room to explore the mansion. Every corridor felt strangely familiar, like pieces of a past she couldn’t recall. Her steps eventually brought her to a room she couldn’t ignore. The moment her fingers touched the doorknob, it creaked open as if welcoming her.

She entered slowly. A large bed dominated the room, and just above it hung a grand portrait. The man in it was striking—well-dressed, regal, and impossibly handsome. But it was his eyes that held her still. There was something in them—something achingly familiar.

Without realizing it, Iris found herself weeping. She didn’t know why. She didn’t know who he was. But something about that portrait broke her heart in a way she couldn’t explain.

"You shouldn't be here, Iris," a deep voice echoed behind her.

Iris turned around with a jolt—her breath caught in her throat. Standing before her was the man from the portrait.

Without thinking, she rushed toward him and wrapped her arms around him. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled as her body trembled against his.

He stood still for a moment, then gently placed a hand on her head, patting it with a strange familiarity.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft—almost too gentle for someone so cold-looking.

Realizing what she was doing, Iris quickly pulled away, her face burning with confusion.

"I... I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I just—" she looked away, ashamed—"it felt like I had to. I can't explain it. I'm sorry."

But the warmth in his voice vanished. He grabbed her hand—not cruelly, but firmly—and led her out of the room. His expression had turned icy.

"You’re not allowed to wander this mansion unless given permission," he said sharply. "I expect a certain level of decency. Just because I’m being forced to marry you under some ridiculous agreement doesn’t mean you can act however you want."

That snapped something inside Iris.

She yanked her hand away.

"Excuse me? You think I want to be here? I didn’t choose any of this! I was dragged away from my home, my life flipped overnight, and I don’t even know why!" Her voice cracked with frustration. "Do you have any idea we were attacked on our way here? I nearly died! And now I’m just supposed to walk down the aisle with a stranger who treats me like a nuisance?"

He didn't respond, his jaw tense.

"You don’t want to marry me? Great," she snapped. "Let me go, then. I never asked for this."

His eyes darkened.

"You think you can just leave?"

"Why not?" she challenged. "I'm not a prisoner."

There was a pause—a silence that hummed with something dangerous.

He stepped closer, his gaze unreadable now.

"You think this is about you? You don’t know anything, Iris. And if you did... you wouldn’t be so eager to run."

Her chest rose and fell as a quiet dread crept over her.

"What do you mean?"

He hesitated—just for a second.

Then, almost too quietly: