Millionaire Marriage

Behind closed Doors

Chapter 2: Behind Closed Doors

The last of the guests had finally left, the grand ballroom now eerily quiet. The only sounds were the soft clinks of champagne flutes being gathered by the waitstaff and the low murmur of conversation between the cleaning crew. Catherine stood at the entrance of the room, watching the scene unfold, her exhaustion finally catching up with her.

For hours, she had smiled, laughed, and played her role as the perfect new bride. Every embrace felt calculated, every congratulatory toast another reminder of the performance she was trapped in. The night had been a whirlwind, and now, as the dust settled, the reality of her situation hit her harder than she expected.

Nicholas reappeared at her side, as composed as ever. His tuxedo jacket had been discarded, his tie slightly loosened, but even now, after such a long evening, he looked as unruffled as he had when the night began.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked quietly, his voice betraying no emotion.

Catherine nodded, too drained to muster anything more than that. Together, they walked toward the exit, the silence between them heavier than the crystal chandeliers that loomed overhead. Their footsteps echoed in the empty halls of the mansion—Nicholas's mansion. Not hers. It was a subtle reminder that she was still an outsider here, despite the ring on her finger.

As they stepped into the vast foyer, Catherine couldn't help but take in the grandiosity of the estate. The sprawling marble floors, the towering staircase, the priceless artwork adorning the walls—it was a far cry from the world she had grown up in. She had come from a family that was once wealthy, yes, but nothing compared to this. Nicholas's wealth was generations deep, the kind that came with power and control, the kind she had married into.

"Your room is ready," Nicholas said as they neared the staircase, his voice flat and businesslike.

Catherine stopped, turning to look at him. "My room?"

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Yes. I assumed you'd prefer your own space, at least for tonight."

Her stomach clenched. She knew this marriage wasn't built on romance or affection, but the coldness in his tone stung more than she cared to admit. A part of her had hoped for some warmth, some gesture to make this transition feel a little less transactional.

She managed a tight smile. "Of course."

Nicholas hesitated for a brief moment, as if weighing whether to say something more, but ultimately he said nothing. He simply nodded and gestured toward the west wing of the house. "Your room is down the hall. If you need anything, let me know."

With that, he turned and walked toward his own suite without another word, leaving Catherine alone in the dimly lit corridor. She stood there for a moment, staring after him, before making her way to her new room.

When she opened the door, she was greeted by opulence beyond her imagination. The room was vast, with a king-sized bed draped in silk sheets, a balcony overlooking the estate's sprawling gardens, and a bathroom that looked more like a spa than anything else. Yet, despite its beauty, the room felt cold and unfamiliar, much like the marriage she had just entered.

Catherine walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, her hands resting in her lap. She stared at the diamond on her finger, its brilliance catching the faint light from the chandelier above. She had traded her freedom for this—a life of wealth and luxury, but one devoid of the warmth and intimacy she had always imagined marriage would bring.

The silence of the room pressed in on her. For the first time that evening, she let herself feel the weight of it all—the emptiness, the uncertainty, the fear that perhaps this marriage would never become anything more than a convenient arrangement.

But was this truly the life she wanted? Was financial security worth the sacrifice of love and companionship?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Startled, she stood up and opened it to find a maid standing there, holding a small silver tray.

"Mrs. Welles," the maid said with a slight bow. "This was left for you."

Catherine took the tray, her eyes falling on the small envelope placed neatly in the center. She recognized Nicholas's handwriting immediately—sharp, precise, and controlled. She dismissed the maid with a polite nod and stepped back into her room, her heart pounding in her chest as she unfolded the note.

"Catherine,
I understand tonight must have been overwhelming for you. We have entered this marriage for practical reasons, but I hope in time we can find some common ground and understanding. I do not expect anything more from you than what we agreed upon, but I want you to know that I respect your boundaries. Rest well tonight. We will speak more in the morning.
— Nicholas"

Catherine stared at the words, her emotions swirling. The note was polite, respectful even, but it lacked any real sense of connection. It was, much like Nicholas himself, a careful calculation. He was laying out the rules of their marriage, drawing the lines clearly, but leaving little room for the possibility of anything more.

She sighed, folding the note and setting it on the nightstand. She knew that Nicholas wasn't a cruel man. He was logical, practical, and driven by ambition. But as she sat there alone in the grand room, she couldn't help but feel the gnawing loneliness that came with a marriage built on necessity rather than love.

Tomorrow, she would wake up as Mrs. Nicholas Welles—the wife of a man who was as much a stranger now as he had been the day they met. But tonight, all she could do was slip into the silk sheets of a bed that wasn't truly hers, in a life that didn't quite feel like her own.

And as she lay there, staring at the ceiling, she wondered how long it would take before the walls between them would start to crumble—if they ever would.