“As soon as possible.”
The wedding took place within two weeks.
It was small. Controlled. Legal.
No white gown. No string quartet. No flowers.
Just signatures and witnesses and the quiet understanding that this was not a fairytale.
Thomas moved her into his estate on the outskirts of Madison—a sprawling property with manicured lawns and windows that looked like they belonged in architectural magazines. The house was beautiful in a sterile way. Polished floors. Expensive art. Rooms that echoed when you walked through them.
Emily packed her few belongings into a single suitcase.
Before she left, she hugged her mother tightly.
“Dad will come home,” she whispered.
Ruth’s hands trembled on her daughter’s back. “You don’t owe anyone your life,” she murmured.
Emily didn’t answer.
The first few days in the house felt surreal.
Staff addressed her as “Mrs. Caldwell.” They moved quietly, efficiently. Thomas was courteous, distant, almost formal.
He slept in a separate bedroom until the wedding night.
He never raised his voice.
Never touched her unnecessarily.
Never pretended affection.
He spoke of arrangements, appointments, legal consultations.
It was clinical.
On their wedding night, Thomas entered her room calmly.
“We should not delay,” he said.
Emily swallowed her fear.
She had expected something monstrous. Something predatory.
Instead, he was controlled. Measured. Detached.
It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t tender.
But it wasn’t violent either.
Afterward, he fell asleep almost immediately.
Emily lay awake, staring at the ceiling of a room too large for comfort.
The house felt different at night.
Colder.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that something beneath the surface was wrong.
Around midnight, unable to sleep, she slipped out of bed.
The hallway was dimly lit by wall sconces. The floors were cool under her bare feet.
She walked slowly, arms wrapped around herself.
That was when she saw the light.
At the end of the hallway, the door to Thomas’s office was slightly ajar. A thin strip of golden light cut across the dark floor.
She hesitated.
She had no intention of snooping.
But something pulled her forward.
She stepped closer, heart pounding softly in her chest.
The desk was covered in papers.
Legal documents.
Folders.
Official envelopes.
Her eyes caught a letterhead she recognized from the clinic downtown.
Date.
Signature.
Seal.
Her stomach tightened.
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