Back at the Turner house that evening, Aria could barely swallow a mouthful of food. She carried her suitcase upstairs and shut her bedroom door. The civil ceremony was over; now Fiona wanted to dress her for the move to the Collins estate, as if presentation could turn coercion into a celebration.

On her nightstand sat a photo of her and her mother, both beaming like the world hadn’t touched them. Aria was in a navy uniform; her mother wore a casual white outfit, their heads leaning lovingly together. Aria wiped away her tears, then tucked the photo into her bag, knowing full well that once she set foot on the Collins estate, coming back might not be so easy.

While she waited for the car to the Collins estate, a member of staff brought her an evening coffee. She drank it—then paused. Something was off about the taste. Still, she brushed it off and soon drifted off to sleep.

She woke sometime later, disoriented, her whole body burning—hot and unbearably itchy all at once. “So hot... so hot,” she mumbled, her hands searching frantically for relief. Then she felt something cool and soothing, and instinctively leaned into it.

A tall man stood over her, staring down at the hand gripping his belt buckle. His expression was ice.

This was the wife Seth had told him was eager for the arrangement? A woman who’d stoop to such cheap tricks to seduce a man? Disgust curled through him. He bent down, scooped her up, and strode outside.

Inside the mansion, everyone froze. “Look—the second Collins son is carrying a woman!” “Could he actually be accepting her?”

But Silas Collins carried her into the garden and dumped her aside without ceremony, as if she were trash.

“If anyone brings her back inside, they’re out of the Collins estate!” he barked, his imposing frame disappearing back into the mansion.

The first week of October had brought a sharp cold snap to New York. Wind slid through Aria’s thin gown, cooling the fever in her skin just enough to clear her head. She forced herself upright in the unfamiliar garden. She remembered the brief ceremony that afternoon, and Fiona insisting on a different dress for her arrival at the estate. Then the coffee. After that, nothing. How had she ended up outside?

Then the burning sensation slammed back into her, and realization hit. Oh, Fiona, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. Was this supposed to be her marriage into the Collins family? Tossed aside like luggage and caught in some deceitful scheme?

Trembling, she climbed out of the flowerbed, shivering so hard her teeth chattered. She hugged herself and knocked on the villa door. No answer. “Hello? Is anyone there? Please!”

The seconds stretched into eternity. Just as she was about to pass out from the cold, a tall figure finally appeared. She looked up, trying to focus on his face, but her vision swam.

Half-conscious, she felt herself wrapped in a warm embrace—so comforting that it pulled her back under.

When she finally woke, sunlight flooded the room. Aria felt weak, her whole body aching. “You had a fever last night,” a deep, soothing voice said beside her. She turned. A man in a black wool coat sat in a chair—thirties, striking features, eyes that radiated warmth.

Silas was only twenty-five, so this man didn’t add up. Aria sat up quickly. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she said, embarrassment coloring her voice.

The man introduced himself as Seth Collins and gently eased her back down, his voice soft with concern. “You had quite a fever last night. Rest a little longer.” He sighed. “Silas can be terribly heartless. If he didn’t want you, he should’ve refused outright. How could he just leave you out in the garden like that?”

Aria’s heart sank. The man who’d tossed her into the flowerbed was really her husband, Silas Collins. Just as the rumors said—cold-hearted and cruel.

She couldn’t believe her father had led her into this mess for the sake of her aunt. Sensing her distress, Seth stepped closer and brushed her forehead with gentle fingers. “In the future, steer clear of him. Silas has a temper.”

Uncomfortable with his touch, Aria pulled back. No matter the circumstances, she was his sister-in-law now, and boundaries mattered. “I... I will.”

Seth’s hand hung in the air, unbothered, though a flicker of pity crossed his eyes. “There was a woman once chosen to be his fiancée. She accidentally touched his things, and he pushed her down the stairs.”

Aria gripped the bedspread, her palms damp with sweat. “And another time, a woman was invited over for dinner. He mistook her for a potential match and poured hot coffee over her head. Left burns all over her face.”

Horrified, Aria sprang from the bed. “Mr. Collins, can... can I go home?”

Seth smiled warmly and gently tousled her hair. “Don’t worry. If you ever need anything, come to me. He still has some respect for me as his older brother.”

Aria lifted her chin, determination hardening her voice. “No. I’m not staying married to him.”

A sudden chill swept through the room. Aria turned—and there he was, a figure in the doorway. His shirt hung casually open at the collar, top buttons undone, exposing sun-kissed skin and a shadow of stubble along a sharp jawline. Mid-twenties, maybe, but there was a rugged charm to his hard features. It was his icy eyes, though, that sent a shiver through her.

There he was—her legal husband, Silas Collins. “Silas, I thought you were at work?” Seth stood, grinning like a brother indulging a wayward sibling.

For a fleeting moment, Aria wondered whether her life would have been different if she had married Seth instead. Then Silas moved toward her, each step echoing through the room, his intense gaze locked on her. “You want a divorce?”

His voice was low, menacing. Aria instinctively backed away, her small frame dwarfed by his presence. “I... I...”

“Speak up!” Silas’s voice turned colder, his eyes sharp enough to cut through her.

Seth shifted slightly, shielding Aria. “Silas, don’t scare her.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much for damsels in distress. If you’re so concerned, stop speaking for her,” Silas shot back.

“Silas, watch your tone. You’re upsetting her,” Seth warned, clearly uneasy with his brother’s tone.

“Am I?” Silas’s half-lidded gaze bore into Aria, sending a chill down her spine. The tension between the brothers was unmistakable.

Something was clearly tense between Silas and Seth. But Silas’s words suggested something improper had happened between Aria and Seth overnight. Why should she be blamed for something she hadn’t caused?

Summoning courage from somewhere deep inside her, Aria stepped forward and met his scrutinizing stare. “If you hadn’t thrown me out, you’d be finding my body today!”

To her surprise, a faint smile flickered across Silas’s lips. His words stayed sharp as ice. “The Collins estate isn’t short of space for your grave.”

In that moment, Aria felt like Silas was a walking menace. No, she told herself. She wasn’t about to let him cast a shadow over her whole life. Pulling up courage she didn’t know she had, she clenched her fists and met his stare dead-on. “Silas, can we talk?”

“I’ll be right outside. Call me if you need anything.” Seth shot Aria a worried look, then slipped out of the room.

The room went cold as Silas stared straight ahead, his voice like ice. “You’ve got five minutes.”

Aria drew a breath, lifted her chin, and let her determination show plain on her face. “You don’t like me, and I don’t have feelings for you. This marriage was a mistake. Can we—”

Before she could finish, a servant hurried in holding out a phone. “Sir, it’s for Miss Aria.”

Aria glanced at Silas. His face gave her nothing. She took the phone and stepped aside. “Hello?”

Her aunt’s voice rushed through the line. “Aria, don’t blame me. I was worried. I had to take precautions. But rest assured—as long as you stay with the Collins family, I’ll make sure your mother is taken care of. If not…”

“What are you planning?” Aria’s voice dropped low. She gripped the phone so hard her knuckles went white.

“If anything happens to your mother, I can’t make any promises.”

“You…” Fury roared through Aria. It took everything in her not to scream down the line.

She forced herself back together and pressed on. “Where is my mother? I need to see her, or I won’t believe you. I’m willing to risk everything if I have to!”

“Look at your screen.”

Aria saw a live video feed of her mother. Her aunt even angled the timestamp into view to prove it was current.

After years of studying medicine, hoping to cure her mother, Aria knew her mother was her one weakness. She swallowed back the tears burning her eyes and finally whispered, trembling, “Fine…”

She ended the call, blinked the tears away, and turned back. She expected Silas to be gone. He was still there, unmoved.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked, leaving her speechless.

She’d planned to talk about ending this—whatever this was between them—but the call had drained every last bit of urgency out of her. “Nothing.”

She looked down at the mud dried along the hem of her gown. She had spent the night feverish in someone else’s house, and no one had thought to bring her suitcase upstairs. The dress felt less like wedding clothes than evidence of what they had done to her.

Silas’s gaze cut through her, assessing her from head to toe. He had heard vicious rumors about Fiona’s school years and let them color his view of her whole family. Looking at Aria now, he reached for the same easy contempt instead of asking what had actually happened to her. It was a cruel assumption, and one he would regret.

“Filthy.”

“Filthy? What’s filthy?” Aria looked down and saw the soiled hem. His fault. Hadn’t he been the one who threw her into the flowerbed? She didn’t even have a change of clothes.

Before she could speak, Silas slammed the door shut with a bang. His cold voice echoed from the hallway. “Have housekeeping clean this room!”

So this was Silas’s room. No wonder it felt dark and suffocating—just like him.

“Miss Aria, your room is this way. Please follow me.” A maid led her to the room next to Silas’s.

Aria was relieved not to share a room with him. The maid opened the guest wardrobe and took out a sealed set of cotton loungewear, then laid a soft bathrobe on the bed. “These should fit while I have your luggage brought up,” she said. “I’ll send the gown to be cleaned.” Aria thanked her, showered, and changed into a plain white shirt and loose cotton trousers. Dry fabric against clean skin steadied her. Whatever this family expected, she did not have to face them in last night’s mud.

Downstairs, a commotion stirred. Then a maid knocked on her door. “Miss Aria, Mr. Collins has returned from the care facility. He wishes to see you.”

Mr. Collins? That would be Jericho Collins, father of the Collins brothers.

Not wanting to keep him waiting, Aria hurried downstairs. An older man in his sixties sat on the couch. Beside him was a regal-looking woman in her forties, dripping in opulent emerald jewelry. That was Silas’s mother, Eloise Collins.

Eloise was more than twenty years younger than Jericho. Rumor had it she’d gone to great lengths to marry him after his first wife died—a formidable woman, to say the least. The look she gave Aria was anything but friendly.

Seth and Silas sat on either side of their parents. The senior Collins had a commanding presence—sharp eyes beneath gray hair—but when he looked at Aria, there was warmth there.

“Aria, come sit. We’re all family here. No need to stand on ceremony.”

Aria wasn’t used to the name but did as she was told. “Thank you, Mr. Collins.” She picked the seat farthest from the family.

Eloise snorted. “What good is a girl who’s sold herself? My poor son deserves better.”

Jericho frowned at her.

“Am I wrong? The Turners are taking advantage of your soft heart to force this marriage pact now. Sending their daughter over without even a proper wedding—shameless!”

“Enough!” Jericho snapped. Eloise shut her mouth, but her eyes still bored into Aria with open disdain.

Aria flinched, her hand curling into a fist. Her aunt’s actions really were shameless.

Jericho’s gaze softened. “You can call me Dad when you’re ready. I had hoped to plan a celebration for you both, but the Turners rushed everything.”

He chuckled and took an ornate wooden box from the butler. “This is my gift to you.”

The butler opened the box. Seth and Eloise both shot to their feet. “Dad!” “Jericho!”

Inside lay a pair of exquisite emerald bracelets set in gold, their green stones glowing under the lights. Aria knew exactly what they were worth. At auction, they could fetch a small fortune. If they were antiques, they were priceless.

“Jericho, how could you give those bracelets to her?” Eloise’s face twisted with displeasure.

“Would you rather have them?” Jericho asked mildly.

Seth tried carefully. “Dad, those were Great-grandmother’s. If you give them to her, they’ll be…”

“They’ll be what?” Jericho cut him off, then turned to Silas, his silent second son. “Are you planning to divorce her?”

Silas lifted his head slowly. His eyes met Aria’s by accident. “Do you want a divorce?”

The softness of his words sent a chill down Aria’s spine. “I… I don’t… dare.”

“Don’t dare, or won’t?” His question hit like a nail straight to the heart.

Under the weight of every stare in the room, Aria took a deep breath. “I won’t!”

Silas rose from the couch with easy grace and walked toward her. With deliberate movements, he took the emerald bracelets and slid them slowly onto her slender wrists.

“Son! Those are your father’s heirlooms, and you’re giving them to this woman?” Eloise protested.

Ignoring his mother, Silas secured the bracelets in place. Then he leaned in and whispered, soft enough that only Aria could hear, “Prove you deserve them.”

For a moment, Aria felt like the bracelets were burning into her wrists. She wanted to break free, but Silas’s big hand locked around her wrist in an unyielding grip. His deep, menacing voice rolled over them again.

“So, Mother, who do you think should take them?”

“Well, I...”

Eloise looked ready to answer—then froze, her eyes wide with horror. She was Silas’s biological mother. So why was she staring at him like he was the Grim Reaper himself?

It wasn’t just her. Seth shot to his feet too, like he was trying to put distance between himself and the disaster about to hit.

Aria followed their gaze and saw Silas’s cold, obsidian eyes. The whites were slowly streaking red, swirling in a way that made her stomach drop. Panic shot through her chest. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d seen this before—in her professor’s notes. Some kind of poisoning.

For a second, she couldn’t remember the details. Dazed, she heard Eloise’s soothing voice cut through the tension. “Silas, you’re exhausted. Why not go rest in your room?”

Silas seemed to realize something was wrong. He blinked hard, then released Aria’s hand and strode away with purpose. Jericho turned to Aria at once. “We’ll have dinner in the back garden later. Come with me to the garden, my dear.”

“Jericho, your health isn’t good. Let me help you up first,” Eloise said, already guiding him away and ordering the staff to clean up. The group hurried outside.

Aria watched them scramble, as if something monumental was about to happen.

Seth came over, his expression grim. “Miss Aria, you’d better hide in the garden. Silas... he’s not himself right now. Just go—quick!” He grabbed his jacket and rushed outside.

Aria followed, but as she reached the front door, a maid hurried up to her. “Miss Aria, Mr. Collins’s emergency medication was left in the second room on the left on the third floor. Could you fetch it for me? I’m swamped right now.”

The maid was gone before Aria could answer. Something about it felt off. Eloise might be meddling again. Aria took the stairs, the loose cuffs of her guest shirt brushing her hands. She found a sealed emergency case on a nightstand, labeled with Silas’s name. Whoever had sent her here had lied about what she was collecting.

Just as she was about to head back down, a loud crash echoed from upstairs, followed by a guttural roar of agony—like a wounded beast. Terrified, she clutched the medication and raced for the stairs, only to find a heavy iron gate blocking her escape. She was trapped in the corridor.

Behind her, the sounds of chaos kept growing.

Sweat trickled down her back as she carefully retreated toward the room. She’d barely moved when a deafening crash rang out—the heavy, dark wood door splintered under a powerful kick. In the shadow, a pair of blood-red eyes locked onto her.

Panic-stricken, Aria turned to flee. But the figure moved faster, clamping a hand around her throat with an iron grip.

“Cough...”

Aria nearly heard her bones crack. Her breath cut off. She flailed, struggling desperately, the pain medication slipping from her fingers. The crimson eyes drew closer until his breath brushed her face.

Finally, she recognized him: Silas Collins.

His sculpted features were sharp and defined, his dark eyes red as blood, prominent veins pulsing at his temples. Clarity struck her all at once—he was poisoned.

The pattern resembled Kranz neurotoxicity, an obscure plant-derived poisoning described in her mentor’s research. Severe episodes could cause delirium and dangerous agitation. It was an illness, not evidence that he was less than human.

Her breath grew scarce. She drove the heel of her hand against his grip and twisted sideways. His balance failed, and she stumbled free as he collapsed against the doorframe. Aria backed away, gasping. He had not been brought down by a miraculous pressure point; he was exhausted and dangerously ill.

Barefoot, Aria rushed to the iron gate at the stairs and pounded on it desperately. “Help! Is anyone there? Silas is sick—he needs help!” No one answered.

What could she do? Aria glanced back at Silas, sprawled just inside the door—the once-feared leader now looked like a trapped beast, tormented by toxins in the dim corridor.

Despite being the Collins heir—admired, feared—he looked pitiful to her now.

She remembered the emergency plan in her professor’s case notes. Then she opened the labeled case and found Silas’s prescribed rescue medication, instructions, and the number for his on-call physician.

A wall intercom beside the door connected her to the house manager. “Call his doctor. Now. And unlock this gate.”

Aria followed the physician’s instructions while keeping a safe distance whenever Silas became agitated. Staff finally reached the corridor with the medical team. Only when his breathing and pulse had steadied did the physician allow her to remain beside him.

The crisis eased gradually. It was not a cure. For now, it was enough that he could recognize the room again.

Aria breathed a sigh of relief, a small smile breaking across her face.

As she checked the blanket over him, his hand caught hers. She lost her balance and braced herself against the mattress beside his chest.

Silas’s eyes snapped open—no longer red, just icy calm.

“What did you give me?” he demanded.

The closeness was stifling. His heartbeat was loud and steady beneath her. Aria felt a wave of nerves, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to put some distance between them.

“Medicine...”

Silas shifted toward her, then stopped when she pulled back. His gaze remained sharp, but he let go of her hand.

Yesterday had been a blur. Today was different—now she was acutely aware of being in this man’s arms. Her face flushed crimson, hotter than before.

Silas leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a low, rumbling whisper. “Why are you getting close to me? What’s your real agenda?”