❛❛Love? I wasn't in love. I never had feelings for you. All of that is merely a set of delusions you've built in your mind, Y/N.❞
This is the story of an arranged marriage that became a love marriage when the gap between them was filled with a tiny...
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06.
CHAPTER SIX
The sharp click of the limousine door echoed like a warning, making me flinch. My father’s words still lingered in my mind, sharp and unforgiving—a demand wrapped in a threat. He wanted me to marry someone I barely even knew, someone whose name probably felt foreign on my tongue. And now, as if dragging me back to this place would make his ultimatum any less suffocating, he insisted we “discuss things further” at home.
Home.
The word felt weird as I stepped out of the car, my shoes meeting the gravel driveway with an uneasy crunch. My gaze lifted, drawn to the mansion that loomed before me like a silent spectator. It had been three years since I last stood here. Three long years since I left this place and vowed never to look back. Now, seeing it again under these circumstances felt surreal, like I’d stepped into someone else’s life.
The air seemed thicker here, heavy with a silence that pressed against my chest. The mansion towered in its perfection, every sharp line and gleaming surface a reminder of my father’s unyielding grip on the world around him. The massive glass windows reflected the faded daylight, their transparency hiding nothing yet revealing little. Polished stone stretched across the façade, every inch screaming wealth, power, and control.
I followed the path up the driveway, lined with hedges so meticulously trimmed they looked like they belonged in a painting rather than the real world. Beyond the estate, the rest of the world seemed distant, as though it had been locked out and forgotten. The iron gates that framed the property were more than a boundary—they were a warning. Their intricate patterns whispered promises of isolation: stay out, or maybe, stay in.
A soft breeze rustled through the garden, carrying the faint scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the subtle trickle of hidden fountains. It might have been peaceful, even beautiful, if it weren’t for the way it all felt so oppressively perfect. For all its grandeur, the mansion didn’t feel welcoming. It felt hollow. Foreign. Like the walls were waiting, watching, to see if I dared step inside.
When I finally did, the living room greeted me in all its deceptive charm. It was spacious, polished, and eerily familiar. The walls were adorned with paintings chosen for their value rather than sentiment, but it was the family photos that stopped me. They were still there. Pictures of all of us—complete.
I lingered, my eyes tracing the frozen smiles in those frames. I was surprised they hadn’t been taken down, but maybe it was easier to keep up the illusion. To anyone else, this house might look like a home, warm and inviting, a place built on love and belonging. But I knew better. Its perfection was a lie, a carefully crafted mask meant to fool anyone who dared to look too closely.
