Chapter 3

Claire's POV

Dragging my worn-out suitcase into the penthouse apartment on the west side of Central Park, I could hardly believe my eyes.

Three thousand square feet of space glittered in the sunset, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the most beautiful park in New York. Italian marble floors extended beneath my feet, each inch reminding me—I was no longer Claire Stevens from that rundown Brooklyn apartment.

"Your room is in the west wing, mine is in the east," Alexander's voice was cold as ice. He didn't even glance at me, mechanically pointing down the hallway. "Stay in your lane, that's the rule."

I gripped my suitcase handle so tightly my knuckles turned white.

This is the gilded cage I've traded my dignity for.

He had already turned to leave, abandoning me alone in this breathtakingly opulent space. I recalled the feeling from hours earlier, signing papers at City Hall, that desperate sensation of selling my soul to the devil. But when I thought of Mom's pale face on her hospital bed, all the humiliation became bearable.

Walking toward the west wing, my heels clicked sharply against the marble floor. Each step seemed to remind me that I was now Mrs. Blackwood—at least in name.

But the title made me sick to my stomach.

Three days later, I was forced to attend my first Blackwood family gathering.

Standing before the family estate in the Upper East Side, I took a deep breath. This Georgian-style mansion was more magnificent than any house I'd ever seen.

"Remember," Alexander paused before we entered the dining room, "just stay quiet, smile, and answer questions. Don't volunteer information."

His words stung like a slap. I turned to look at him, those deep blue eyes devoid of any warmth.

"I'm not your puppet, Alexander," I said in a low voice.

"In here, you are," he replied coldly, then pushed open the dining room door.

Under crystal chandeliers, the Blackwood family members were already seated around the long table. I immediately recognized Alexander's stepmother Victoria—a well-preserved fifty-year-old woman wearing a standard social smile.

"Everyone," Alexander's voice echoed through the dining room, "this is my wife, Claire."

Victoria's smile grew more rigid. "Oh yes. Alexander's... new wife." She deliberately emphasized the word "new," as if I were just a temporary replacement.

I maintained my smile, but anger burned inside me.

"Claire, please sit." A young woman gestured to the chair beside me. She had blonde hair and perfect makeup, looking about twenty-five. "I'm Madison, Alexander's cousin."

I nodded politely, but Madison's next words plunged the entire dining room into awkward silence.

"Claire, I'm curious, what's your family business?" she asked with feigned casualness, but I could feel everyone's eyes on me.

It was a trap. A trap specifically set for someone "unsuitable" like me.

I could lie, invent a respectable background. But then I'd truly become the puppet they wanted me to be.

"My father was a mechanic," I said calmly. "He worked at an auto repair shop for twenty years, until he passed away ten years ago."

The silence in the dining room was suffocating. I could hear my own heartbeat, could feel the contempt and disdain in every pair of eyes.

Victoria cleared her throat elegantly. "Oh, that's very... salt of the earth."

Salt of the earth. The phrase flowed through my veins like venom.

After dinner, family members gathered in the living room for wine. I sat in the corner, trying to make myself invisible. But Madison clearly wasn't finished with me.

She approached with a glass of red wine, wearing a malicious smile. "Claire, you don't mind if I ask you a personal question, do you?"

I looked up at her, already bracing myself for the next attack.

"Everyone knows what kind of marriage this is, right?" Madison's voice was deliberately loud, ensuring everyone could hear. "I mean, a man as exceptional as Alexander, suddenly getting married... it's quite unexpected."

The air in the room seemed to freeze. I felt all eyes on me again, those gazes filled with mockery and curiosity.

I stood up, smoothing my dress gracefully. "Madison, you're right, it is unexpected," I maintained my smile, but my voice carried steel-like hardness. "After all, not everyone can make their own living instead of being a trust fund baby living off family money."

Madison's face instantly turned crimson. A few suppressed laughs echoed through the room.

But when I turned to look at Alexander, my heart sank. He maintained that indifferent expression, as if everything that had just happened was none of his concern. He didn't say a single word in my defense.

In that moment, I truly understood what it meant to be completely alone.

It was late when we returned to the apartment. I dragged my exhausted body toward my room, passing Alexander's study where the door was slightly ajar. Light spilled out, and I heard the sound of papers being shuffled.

I had intended to go straight to my room, but suddenly remembered the terrible headache I'd had that afternoon and wanted to find some pain relievers. Perhaps there was a medicine cabinet in the study.

I gently pushed the door open, ready to ask Alexander, but froze when I saw what was inside.

An entire wall was filled with professional architecture and design books. Not only that, but scattered across the desk were newspaper clippings that, upon closer inspection, were articles about my award-winning designs.

The clippings had been carefully collected and organized, some dating back to my college exhibition work.

My heart began to race. This couldn't be coincidence. Why would Alexander be interested in my professional work? Why collect articles about my designs?

Just as I was about to take a closer look, footsteps sounded behind me. I quickly turned to find Alexander standing in the doorway, those deep blue eyes fixed on me.

"Sorry, I was looking for a medicine cabinet..." my voice trembled slightly.

He said nothing, just walked to the desk and quickly gathered the clippings. But it was too late—I had already seen them.

"There's one in the bathroom," his voice remained cold, but I could sense his tension.

I nodded, preparing to leave. But at the doorway, I couldn't help looking back.

Alexander stood at his desk, holding those clippings, his silhouette somehow looking lonely.

I wanted to say something, but swallowed my words. Our agreement was clear—this was just business, nothing more.

Walking to my room, my mind kept replaying the scene with those clippings. Why would Alexander, this cold-hearted businessman, spend time collecting articles about an ordinary designer's work?

The question kept me awake all night.

When I looked toward the study again through the hallway's floor-to-ceiling windows, Alexander was still standing there, holding some document. As if sensing my gaze, he suddenly turned his head.

Our eyes met in the darkness, and in that moment, my heart pounded so violently it felt like it might burst from my chest.

There was something in his gaze, no longer the coldness from earlier in the day, but some complex emotion I couldn't decipher.

But it lasted only a moment. He quickly turned away, his back to me.

Standing in the hallway, I felt an inexplicable flutter in my heart. Perhaps this cold man wasn't as simple as he appeared.

Perhaps our story was just beginning.