Page 52 of Misconducts & Temptation

"Are you going to say something?" My voice cut through the quiet, harsher than I intended. Her eyes flicked toward me, then back to the passing scenery.

She didn’t even flinch.

Her indifference pissed me off.

Why did I care if she reacted or not? This wasn’t supposed to matter. She was a means to an end, nothing more.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening. "You don’t have to act like this is a death sentence," I muttered, more to myself than to her.

"I'm not." Her voice was soft but steady. It carried a weight that settled heavily between us.

"What are you talking about?" I snapped, feeling my control slip.

She turned to face me, her eyes finally meeting mine. They were calm pools of resolve. "What do you want from me, Keaton?"

That question hung in the air. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. What did I want from her?

The silence stretched on as we continued down the road.

As I turned the corner, the familiar sight of my father’s mansion loomed ahead. The sheer size of it never failed to strike me. Even though I’d lived there my whole life, the grandiosity felt more like a prison than a home. The sprawling lawns, meticulously maintained, stretched out like green carpets leading up to the colossal front doors. Marble columns flanked the entrance, holding up a balcony that was more for show than use. The windows were tall and imposing, giving off an air of cold grandeur.

I pulled up to the circular driveway, my hands tightening on the wheel as I hoped my father wasn’t home. His presence always brought tension—something I could do without right now.

Not that he could change anything, but still.

Beside me, Elodie stared wide-eyed at the mansion. Despite her best efforts to remain composed, awe seeped into her expression. Her normally guarded face softened for just a moment as she took in the opulence before her.

Her blonde hair caught the light from the overhead lamps, casting a subtle halo around her head. She had this quiet strength about her, an inner resolve that shone through even in moments like this. Her eyes, usually shadowed with caution, now sparkled with reluctant admiration.

"You live here?" Her voice held both disbelief and curiosity.

"Yeah," I replied, my tone flat. "For now." I glanced at her. "I think you mean,welive here."

She turned to look at me, and for a second, there was something like pity in her gaze. It irritated me. Pity was for the weak.

I got out of the car and slammed the door shut with more force than necessary. Elodie followed suit but did so quietly, her eyes still lingering on the mansion's facade.

I needed to get my own place—somewhere far from my father's reach and expectations. But first things first: we had to get inside without running into him.

As we approached the front door, I couldn't help but glance at Elodie again. She walked with an air of resilience that was both impressive and infuriating. Here she was, thrown into this mess because of me, yet she seemed more grounded than I felt.

I pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the grand foyer. Crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings, casting shimmering light across polished marble floors. Everything screamed wealth and power—the very things that suffocated me daily.

Elodie hesitated at the threshold before stepping inside. She took it all in silently, her expression unreadable once more.

"Come on," I said brusquely. "Let’s get this over with."

We moved deeper into the house, hoping against hope that my father was nowhere to be found.

I led her through the labyrinthine halls of the mansion, her footsteps echoing softly behind me. The grandeur of the place never ceased to feel suffocating, but tonight it seemed almost mocking.

Reaching my bedroom door, I pushed it open and stepped inside, holding it for her. She hesitated only a moment before crossing the threshold. I closed the door behind us, shutting out the rest of the world.

My room was pristine—thank God for the maids. I hadn't expected to get married today; hell, I barely had time to throw on a suit that didn’t feel like a noose around my neck.

I gestured to the walk-in closet, a cavernous space that dwarfed her entire wardrobe, no doubt.

"Tomorrow, we'll get your stuff," I said, trying to sound casual. "This is where you're living now, so you can have half the closet."

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