Chapter 5 Five

Sloane’s POV

The wedding ended in a blur of flashing cameras, fake smiles, and the suffocating weight of a gold band wrapped around my finger like a shackle.

I barely remembered walking back down the church aisle beside Cassian. I only remembered the pressure of his hand against my lower back for the cameras and how every flashbulb felt like another disaster.

Outside the church, reporters shouted questions from behind barricades while security struggled to hold them back.

“Mr. Hayes! Is this marriage connected to the merger leak?” A young male reporter asked loudly.

“Sloane! Did your relationship begin before the scandal?” Another one asked.

“Are you signing a prenup?” A female reporter asked.

I kept my expression blank, refusing to react while anger simmered violently beneath my skin. Beside me, Cassian looked perfectly calm, like this entire spectacle had been planned down to the second.

Which it probably had. The man treated life like a chessboard—every move calculated. Every expression rehearsed. Every word is designed to manipulate.

Even now, with cameras exploding around us, he leaned slightly toward me and brushed invisible dirt from my sleeve with terrifying ease.

The photographers practically lost their minds.

“Over here!”

“Look at your wife, Mr. Hayes!”

Wife.

God, the word made me nauseous.

Cassian opened the car door for me himself, one hand steady against the frame as I slid into the back seat. The second the door shut behind us, silence crashed heavily into the car.

The smile vanished from his face instantly, like someone had flipped a switch.

I turned slowly toward him. “You’re really committed to the performance thing, huh?”

His gaze remained fixed on the tinted window beside him. “Public perception matters.”

“And here I thought you just enjoyed emotional terrorism.”

That finally made him glance at me. His Cold blue eyes met mine briefly before he looked away again. “You’ll learn quickly that appearances matter more than truth in my world.”

I folded my arms tightly. “Good thing I don’t belong to your world.”

“You do now.” He states firmly.

The words landed harder than they should have. I looked away before irritation could fully show on my face.

The drive passed in silence after that.

Maya had already been dropped off outside her apartment after dramatically pretending to cry over “losing me to capitalism,” and now it was just the man who had legally trapped me inside his life and me.

The realization still didn’t feel real. At one point, I caught myself staring at the wedding band again.

It was simple, elegant, and Expensive, though it looked innocent enough. But it felt heavier every time I glanced at it, and Cassian noticed.

Of course he did.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said quietly.

“I doubt that,” I said with a small scoff.

His jaw flexed slightly like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he just looked back out the window again.

The city lights blurred past us until eventually the roads became quieter, wealthier, and cleaner. Massive gates appeared ahead, surrounded by towering iron fences and stone walls.

The Hayes estate.

The gates slowly opened as the car approached, revealing a long winding driveway lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and soft golden lights glowing beneath enormous trees.

I stared out the window despite myself.

The place looked less like a home and more like something ripped from the pages of an architectural magazine designed for billionaires with emotional issues.

Cold glass, Black steel, and Towering windows. Beautiful in a way that didn’t feel human.

The car finally stopped beneath a massive covered entrance where staff members were already waiting.

Of course they were.

Nothing in Cassian Hayes’s life happened casually.

One of the drivers hurried forward to open my door while another immediately started unloading luggage from the trunk.

I stepped out slowly, my heels clicking sharply against polished stone as I looked up at the estate towering above me.

“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath.

Beside me, Cassian adjusted the cuff of his suit calmly. “You’ll adjust .” He says calmly.

“That sounds threatening.” I blurt out

“It wasn’t intended to.”

The front doors suddenly opened before we even reached them, and an older woman dressed in black stood waiting inside, with two younger house staff positioned behind her.

“Welcome home, Mr. Hayes,” she greeted smoothly before her gaze shifted toward me. “Mrs. Hayes.”

Again with that title. It hit me strangely every single time.

Cassian handed the woman his coat without slowing down. “Greta, have her things moved to the east wing.”

East wing?

I frowned slightly but stayed quiet as we walked further inside.

The mansion somehow looked even larger from within. Dark marble floors stretched endlessly beneath soft lighting while expensive artwork covered nearly every wall. Massive windows overlooked the glittering Chicago skyline, making the entire place feel more like a luxury hotel than an actual home.

It was immaculate and completely lifeless—no visible family photos, no warmth or signs that anyone genuinely lived here.

I looked around slowly. “This place feels haunted,” I muttered.

Cassian loosened his tie slightly as he walked. “That’s dramatic.” He responds.

“No, dramatic would be chandeliers and ghosts. This feels emotionally constipated.” I added.

One of the younger staff members choked back a laugh, and Cassian’s gaze shifted toward him instantly.

The poor man nearly died on the spot before hurrying away.

I smirked faintly.

Hmm, interesting, even the staff feared him, interesting.

Greta led me upstairs while Cassian disappeared down another hallway without another word. Probably to brood somewhere expensively.

The staircase curved upward toward a massive second floor lined with long dark hallways and floor-to-ceiling windows.

“This wing will be yours, Mrs. Hayes,” Greta explained politely while opening a set of double doors.

I stepped inside and nearly stopped in my tracks.

The room was enormous.

A massive king-sized bed sat near towering windows overlooking the city, while soft gray furniture filled the sitting area. There was a fireplace, a private balcony, and a bathroom bigger than my entire apartment kitchen.

“Are you serious?” I murmured.

Greta gave a small smile. “Mr. Hayes had it prepared personally.”

That surprised me more than it should have, and I frowned slightly while walking deeper into the room.

“Prepared personally” sounded disturbingly intimate for a man who blackmailed me into marriage.

Before I could think too deeply about it, Greta spoke again, “Mr. Hayes requested you join him downstairs once you settle in.” She informs.

Of course he did.

I sighed heavily after she left. The silence in the room settled around me almost immediately as I slowly walked toward the window and stared out across Chicago’s skyline, glowing beneath the darkening sky.

It should have felt exciting.

Living here.

Standing inside one of the most expensive homes in the city. Married to one of the richest men in America. Instead, it felt like standing inside a glass cage.

Beautiful and impossible to escape.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed

Maya.

“Well? Did the evil billionaire lock you in a tower yet?” She texted cheekily.

A laugh escaped me before I typed back.

“Not yet. But I think the house itself might kill me first”.

Maya immediately responded.

“Steal something expensive before you die.”

I smiled faintly before locking the phone and setting it aside. Then my gaze drifted toward my suitcase sitting near the bed and toward the hidden envelope buried beneath my clothes.

The photographs, the documents, the truth about the Hayes family.

Immediately, my chest tightened. This was why I agreed to the marriage. Not for the money or

the board seat.

But for Access and Revenge.

I crouched beside the suitcase and carefully pulled the envelope free before opening it slowly. The old photograph stared back at me instantly.

My father smiled proudly beside another man whose face had been ripped away years ago.

A Hayes, one of them.

The men responsible for destroying my family, the men responsible for Lena…

Suddenly, a sharp knock interrupted my thoughts, and I shoved the envelope back into the suitcase immediately before standing.

When I opened the door, one of the staff members stood there nervously.

“Mr. Hayes is waiting downstairs.” She informs softly, looking down at the ground.

Of course he was.

I followed the man downstairs minutes later, tension slowly building again as I got closer.

Inside the large sitting room, Cassian stood near the fireplace with a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand.

His jacket was gone now, sleeves rolled slightly up his forearms, while the top buttons of his shirt remained undone.

He looked less polished like this, but more dangerous somehow.

His gaze lifted the second I entered, and for a moment neither of us spoke.

Then his eyes swept slowly over me before he gestured toward the couch.

“Sit.” He orders firmly.

I raised a brow. “You always sound this friendly?”

“Only when exhausted.” He responds.

I sat anyway, mostly because my feet hurt.

Cassian remained standing while taking another slow sip of whiskey. Then finally…

“There are rules.” He begins.

I leaned back slightly. “Here we go,” I said dryly, folding my hands over my chest.

His expression remained cold. “In public, this marriage is real.”

I stared at him blankly.

“You will attend every event required of you. Public appearances are mandatory. Interviews, galas, business dinners, charity functions.” He listed.

“You mean your image rehabilitation tour.” I point out, raising a brow.

His jaw tightened faintly. “Call it whatever you like.”

“And I’m supposed to smile beside you, pretending this isn’t completely insane?” I said.

“Yes.”

The bluntness almost made me laugh.

“You’ll show unwavering devotion publicly,” he continued coldly. “No arguments in front of cameras. No public embarrassment. No scenes.”

I folded my arms slowly. “And privately?”

Something shifted in his expression instantly. It was Bitterness, Sharp and ugly.

“We live separate lives.” He says sharply with a slight frown.

The hostility in his voice caught me off guard.

“There will be separate bedrooms,” he continued. “Separate schedules when possible. You stay out of my office, my meetings, and my personal affairs unless instructed otherwise.”

“Wow,” I muttered dryly. “You really know how to make a marriage sound romantic.”

His eyes hardened instantly. “Don’t mistake this arrangement for romance.”

The air suddenly felt heavier and More tense.

“You seem weirdly angry for someone who forced this marriage,” I observed.

His laugh came low and humorless, “You think I wanted this?”

“You threatened me into it.” I snapped

“Because I had no better option.”

That surprised me enough to pause.

He stepped closer slowly, whiskey glass still in hand, “For the next two years,” he said quietly, “you play your role, and I play mine. That’s all this is.”

I looked up at him steadily. “And if I refuse?”

His gaze locked onto mine, “You won’t.” He said.

God, I hated how calm he sounded when he said things like that.

Slowly, I got up from my seat until we were nearly chest to chest, “Careful, Hayes,” I murmured. “You’re starting to sound controlling again.”

“You say that as it surprises you.” He raised a brow.

“No,” I admitted softly. “What surprises me is how miserable you seem about all of this.”

Something dangerous flickered behind his eyes. Then, suddenly, he stepped closer. Close enough for me to smell whiskey and expensive cologne. Close enough to notice exhaustion beneath all that control.

“You should stop trying to analyze me,” he said quietly.

“And you should stop underestimating me.” I retorted.

And for one strange second, neither of us moved. The tension between us thickened violently. Then his gaze dropped briefly toward my mouth before immediately hardening again.

He stepped back first, and his Walls were rebuilt instantly.

“My mother arrives tomorrow,” he said coldly.

I frowned slightly at the sudden subject change. “Okay?”

And his expression darkened, and for the first time all night, he looked genuinely tense.

“She already hates you.”