Chapter 3: The Coldest Kiss

The world called it a marriage made in heaven.

A perfect union between beauty and power.

But beneath the glittering headlines and flashing cameras, Lia Park stood beside Adrian Black, her fingers cold beneath the weight of his hand.

“Smile,” he whispered again, his lips barely moving.

His touch looked gentle to the world — but to her, it felt like a warning.

She turned toward the cameras, her face a practiced calm. She had to play her part. For Min. For survival.

When the press conference ended, the applause faded into silence. Lia tried to step away, but Adrian’s grip tightened just slightly — enough to remind her who controlled the script of her life now.

“You did well,” he said, his tone unreadable.

She looked at him, forcing herself not to tremble. “Do I get a thank you… or just another order?”

Adrian’s lips curved faintly. “Would you prefer a kiss instead?”

Her breath caught. “Don’t—”

But he was already leaning in.

Not gently. Not tenderly. It wasn’t a kiss of affection — it was a claim. His lips pressed against hers, cold and deliberate, while the cameras outside the hall snapped another round of photos through the glass.

For the world, it was a picture of devotion.

For Lia, it was the coldest kiss she’d ever known.

She didn’t push him away. Couldn’t. Because she knew every move was being watched, every emotion recorded.

When he finally let go, she whispered through trembling lips, “You don’t have to pretend when no one’s watching.”

Adrian’s eyes darkened. “That’s where you’re wrong, Lia. With me, someone’s always watching.”

Later that night, the mansion was eerily quiet. The servants avoided her gaze as she walked down the long marble halls to her new room — her cage, as she thought of it.

The walls were beautiful but suffocating, lined with white roses that smelled too sweet to be real. On the vanity sat another envelope, sealed in black wax.

Her name was written in his handwriting.

> “Rules for Mrs. Black.”

Her stomach turned. She unfolded the letter.

1️⃣ You will attend all social events as my wife.

2️⃣ You will not leave the mansion without permission.

3️⃣ You will not contact anyone from your past.

4️⃣ You will never speak of the contract.

5️⃣ You will not lie to me.

Her fingers trembled as she reached the last line, written in smaller letters, almost like a secret confession.

> 6️⃣ You will not make me feel again.

Lia’s heart froze. What did that mean?

Before she could think, the door opened. Adrian stepped inside, his expression unreadable.

“You found it,” he said, his voice low.

She looked up, anger flashing in her eyes. “You wrote rules like I’m your property.”

He moved closer until she could feel the heat radiating from him. “Because you are — at least for now.”

“I signed a contract, not my soul.”

“Same thing,” he said, almost softly.

But something flickered in his gaze — pain, or regret, or maybe both. He reached out as if to touch her face, then stopped himself.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I don’t want to hurt you. But you stepped into a war you don’t understand.”

Lia swallowed. “Then explain it to me.”

Adrian looked away, his jaw tightening. “Not yet. Some truths destroy more than lies ever could.”

He turned toward the door, but before leaving, his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Sleep well, Mrs. Black. You’ll need your strength.”

When he left, Lia sat in silence — the echo of his kiss still burning on her lips, and the ache of a secret she hadn’t chosen pressing down on her chest.

Somewhere in the darkness of the mansion, she heard a piano begin to play — slow, haunting, and full of sorrow.

And though she didn’t know it yet…

it was Adrian himself, playing alone in the dark, trying to remember what love once felt like.

The melody drifted through the long marble corridors — soft, broken, and lonely.

Lia sat on the edge of her bed, the sound reaching her like a ghost from another life. She didn’t know he could play. She didn’t know he felt enough to create something that sounded like grief.

For a moment, her anger wavered.

Was that the same man who humiliated her in front of the cameras?

Or was that the part of him he tried to bury — the boy left behind in the ashes twelve years ago?

She wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the pale reflection in the mirror. “You can’t pity him, Lia,” she whispered to her own reflection. “He’s the reason you’re trapped here.”

But the truth lingered, cruel and quiet — pity was already creeping in, curling inside her like smoke.

Downstairs, Adrian’s fingers stilled on the piano keys.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d been playing.

For a fleeting second, he thought he saw his mother’s reflection in the glass window — smiling sadly, as if she pitied him.

He shut the lid hard. The sound echoed through the room.

“Don’t,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t feel anything.”

But when he looked at his hands, he could still feel the warmth of her skin from earlier… and it terrified him more than his own rage ever had.

He stood, shoving the memory away, and turned toward the study. He had work to bury himself in — files, contracts, numbers — anything that didn’t look like her face or sound like her voice.

Still, when he passed the grand staircase, he caught a glimpse of her door upstairs — closed, silent, but somehow pulling at him like gravity.

Adrian exhaled sharply and clenched his jaw.

“She wanted this deal,” he said under his breath.

But the words didn’t sound true anymore.

He didn’t know it yet,

but the woman he thought he owned was about to become the one thing he couldn’t control —

his heart.

But the woman he thought he owned was about to become the one thing he couldn’t control — his heart.

That night, the mansion slept in uneasy silence. Rain began to fall, soft at first, then harder, drumming against the tall windows like restless ghosts.

Lia couldn’t sleep. The room felt too big, too quiet, too unfamiliar.

She stood by the window, hugging her knees, watching the raindrops chase each other down the glass. Somewhere below, a light flickered in the west wing — the same direction she’d heard the piano.

Her curiosity stirred, sharp and dangerous.

She shouldn’t.

She knew she shouldn’t.

But something about that melody — that sorrow — wouldn’t let her rest.

Quietly, she slipped on her robe and stepped into the hallway. The floor was cold beneath her feet, the air heavy with the scent of rain and old memories.

As she reached the landing, a faint creak echoed — the kind of sound the house made when it remembered its secrets.

The light from the west wing glowed faintly through a half-open door. She hesitated, hand hovering over the knob.

And then, she heard it — a whisper.

Adrian’s voice. Low, rough, and broken.

> “I won’t lose again. Not this time.”

Her heart clenched. She took a small step back, afraid to be caught. But before she could retreat, the floorboard beneath her heel betrayed her with a soft creak.

The light inside shifted.

Adrian’s shadow turned.

For one suspended heartbeat, she saw his silhouette in the doorway — tall, composed… and dangerous.

> “Can’t sleep, Mrs. Black?”

His tone was calm, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

And Lia, caught like a trespasser in her own home, could only whisper the truth:

> “I heard the music.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then stepped closer, the darkness between them shrinking with each breath.

> “Careful, Lia,” he said softly, “some doors in this house don’t like to be opened.”

The storm outside thundered — a flash of lightning illuminating his face, half-shadowed, half-human.

And in that moment, she realized the same thing he feared most:

The past wasn’t buried.

It was alive…

and waiting for her to find it.

End of Chapter 3

💬 Author’s Note:

That final piano scene 😭 — Adrian’s mask is cracking, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

Lia is the first person to challenge him — and the first to stir the humanity he buried long ago.

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