The marriage of shadows

"Sign it, Layla."

The pen hovered over the massive stack of papers, quivering in her hands. Ethan Ashford's voice was flat and devoid of emotion. He stood on the other side of the mahogany desk, a marble statue clothed in a tailored charcoal suit. His piercing blue eyes tracked her every move without blinking.

"You said you'd help her," Layla replied, trembling.

And I will, "Once you sign the marriage contract." He drew closer, his breath brushing across her cheeks. "You want your sister to live, don't you?"

Her green gaze focused on him. She wanted humanity-mercy, empathy, anything. But Ethan Ashford was composed of stone. Not even the news of her dying sister brightened his mood.

She looked down again at the papers, ten pages of legally binding coldness. There is no place for love. There is no room for mistakes.

"Will you pay for her surgery?" "All of it?" Her voice cracked.

"Every cent." He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt casually. "In exchange, you will be Mrs. Ashford for the next 18 months. You'll smile for the camera, behave like a loyal wife, and obey directions."

Layla halted.

"Time is ticking, sweetie."Nova's lungs will not heal themselves."

That did it. She signed with a choking gulp.

The wedding was a media circus. Lavish. Empty. Mechanical.

Layla wore white, but there was no purity-only surrender. Ethan placed the ring onto her finger as if he were completing a professional deal. He smiled as the cameras flashed. He remained uninterested while the guests toasted.

After the vows were spoken, he didn't even kiss her.

Their first night at the Ashford estate seemed like entering an ice palace.

The massive entrance resonated quietly. A butler offered to take her luggage, but Ethan dismissed him and kept going.

"You'll sleep in the west wing," he said without looking around. "Stay out of my way."

She moved softly, the walls towering over her, dripping with wealth and indifference. The paintings on the walls mocked her; masterpieces that she would have died to display in her gallery. She was now caught behind them.

That night, she sat on the edge of the strange bed and looked at her wedding ring.

Nova should live, she concluded coldly.

The abuse didn't start with fists.

It began off quietly.

Ethan ignored her in public while undermining her in private. He seized her cell phone. She canceled her credit cards. She laid off half of her gallery personnel.

"Why would I fund something that no one visits?" he said one morning, enjoying his coffee as she stood across from him in the kitchen.

"It's my career."

"Layla, this is a pastime."And a useless one."

She clenched her fists, the nails driving into her palm. "You promised to let me continue working."

"I promised to pay for your sister's surgery. So, I did. Now I'm demanding obedience."

She stormed out of the kitchen, but slamming the door proved ineffectual in that house.

One week later, her gallery shuttered.

There is no warning. There is no explanation. This is just an email.

She fell in the passage outside the bedroom, the phone sliding from her grip. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her dreams faded into static.

Ethan strolled over to her as if she were not present.

The first slap occurred at a dinner party.

Layla had decided to speak.

A conversation about modern art has begun. She'd tried to assist.

"Actually," she had said, her voice shining for once. "The piece at the MET-"

"No one asked for your opinion, darling," Ethan said with a strained smile. His clasp on her wrist under the table was firm.

When they came home, he did not speak. He just led her into his study, shut the door, and struck her hard enough to fracture her lip.

"Next time, keep your mouth shut."

The sting extended over her face, and something within her snapped.

It didn't stop there.

The injuries occurred in areas where clothing may hide. The words were sharper than a blade.

"You're pathetic."

"No wonder your father left."

"Your sister is only alive because of me."Don't forget that.

She started to cringe as he entered the room.

She started scrutinizing mirrors for damage before leaving the house.

She stopped laughing.

Nevertheless, she persisted.