Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Aric
“So is our marriage an act to you? A performance?” Her arms cross, chin tilting up like a challenge she already knows I’ll accept.
I study her for a long moment. This woman—I don’t understand her. Every time I think I’ve figured out the pattern, she shifts. “Isn’t it to you?”
Her stare flickers, but she doesn’t flinch. If anything, she hardens, a blade meeting another blade. That’s what we are. That’s how our relationship is. If this—whatever this is between us—could be referred to as one.
“Touché,” she finally says, her tone devoid of the persisting sarcasm that seems to run through her veins like blood. “No need to worry. I know my part, and I know how to act.”
I tilt my head, gauging her. Weighing whether she means it or if it’s just another sharp retort designed to dig under my skin. But her black eyes don’t waver.
“Good.”
For a moment, something hangs between us. Something that makes me want to challenge her, but I push it down and bury it deep.
I turn toward the door, and my hand brushes the handle. “Good night.”
I walk out before I do something reckless.
The house is too quiet at night. Too quiet for a man who can’t silence his own head.
I sit in my office, swirling a glass of Highland Park between my fingers.
She’s upstairs. In my house. Sleeping in my sheets, breathing my air. Too close. And yet so far it might as well be another world. We’re strangers. That’s how it will stay. That’s how it has to stay.
My phone lights up, pulling me back from wherever my mind wandered.
A text from Chiara. Her name glows on the screen like a ghost I haven’t finished burying.
Chiara
I hope my name echoes in your head when you say hers. I hope you search for me in her eyes. I hope you think of me when you touch her. I hope you feel my lips when you kiss her. And I hope, no matter how hard you try, you never find me in her.
My jaw tightens until it aches. For the first time in weeks, I tip the glass back. The whiskey burns down my throat, but it doesn’t scorch the chaos out of me. It only feeds it.
I try to focus on work, reports, logistics—anything to shut off the thoughts running through my mind. The hours blur, the night passes, and before I know it, it’s morning. And with morning comes the absurd breakfast rule.
Eight o’clock sharp. Not a minute late. My father requires it.
The Vold family always eats together. A portrait of unity.
A performance of something we’ve never been.
Stupid, really—forcing a semblance of family onto people who share blood but little else.
But in his eyes it’s tradition. It’s how he’s been raised too. And tradition in this house is law.
The mansion is already alive when I leave my office. The smell of fresh bread, coffee, and bacon drifts from the kitchen, mingling with the low hum of staff moving through the halls.
I head to my room. Shower. Drag on a clean sweater and dark pants. My hair is still damp, shoved back with my hand, falling onto my forehead a moment later.
When I step into the dining room, she’s already there.
Sitting straight, pristine in a cream dress that clings just enough to be infuriating.
Her hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail, not a strand out of place.
She seems so polished. So controlled. So…
perfect in my far-from-perfect world. Yet all I can think is how much more dangerous she looks when she lets her hair loose, when it falls in dark, wild curls against her shoulders just like yesterday after she stepped out of her bath.
Untamed and natural. Beautiful in a way she probably doesn’t even realize.
I bury the thought before it takes root.
Vidar sits at the head of the long, dark-oak table, stone-faced as always.
To his left is Eero, lounging like he’s at a café instead of a family gathering, one ankle crossed over his knee, unbothered by the tension he’s never had to carry.
I grip the back of the chair to Vidar’s right and beside Ayanna, knuckles whitening for half a second before I sit.
“God morgen, everyone.” Eero shifts in his seat, his grin boyish, careless. “So how was your first night here, svigerinne?” Sister-in-law. He asks it warmly, like she’s already family. She’s not.
Ayanna straightens, and I can’t help but notice how regal she looks. Spine like iron. Chin level. I keep forgetting she’s actually a princess—not just in title, but in the way she carries herself. Like she’s held court before. Like she’s survived rooms far more hostile than this one.
“It was okay, thank you.”
Of course she’d say that. But it’s a lie. I catch the flicker in her eyes and the slight tension at the corner of her mouth. Nothing here feels “okay.” She knows it. I know it. She just won’t give my father the satisfaction of admitting it.
“I’ve heard…” Vidar leans forward, voice a low growl, eyes flicking between us. Her. Me. “You sleep in separate bedrooms. Is that right?”
Ayanna’s brows twitch—barely—but she keeps her composure.
Poker face firmly in place. As a member of a royal family, she’s learned not to show her cards.
Just like me. Perhaps her world wasn’t so different from mine after all.
The same rules. The same games. The same masks worn until they fuse to the skin.
“Don’t be cynical, Father.” I stress the title like the warning it is. “We all know we’re not typical newlyweds. When the time comes, we’ll move to one room. For now, let it go. Show some decency.”
Vidar laughs dryly as he leans back. The tip of his cane clicks against the hardwood, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence.
“Decency is not in my nature. You should know that by now, son.” The word drips with ownership, not affection. “I want an heir as soon as possible. Time is not on my side, and you have obligations to fulfill. Shall I bring you the contract as a reminder?”
Eero snorts softly, reaching for his coffee like this is all just morning entertainment.
I don’t look at him. I keep my gaze fixed on Vidar.
My father has never believed in love—not that he was ever capable of it.
He believes in bloodlines and legacies. Things that can be controlled and grant him power. Everything else is weakness.
Ayanna remains motionless, her posture as impeccable as ever. Only the slight tightening of her lips gives her away. She’s swallowing whatever cutting remark she’s tempted to make. A wise decision. Inside, though, I know she’s fuming. I can almost feel the heat rolling off her.
“No need for that.” My jaw tenses. “I’m well aware of my obligations, as you call it.”
“No need to worry, Mr. Vold.” Ayanna cuts in, and the entire table shifts its attention to her. Even me. Especially me. “We both take our obligations seriously.” She turns, her gaze locking onto mine—burning, daring me to contradict her. “Right, Aric?”
The way she says my name does something to me. Something that makes my every instinct scream to hear it again but under different circumstances.
“We do.”
I meet her stare evenly, shoving down whatever the hell that was.
She nods, brow arching, then turns back to Vidar.
“Give us a few days to get used to each other, and we’ll move to one room. A few days is all I ask.”
For a moment, my father seems genuinely speechless. A rare occurrence. He studies her like she’s a threat worth measuring. Finally, he nods.
“Alright. A few days.”
“Thank you, Mr. Vold.” She forces a fake, diplomatic smile.
“Call me Vidar.” A glint flashes in his eyes, impossible to read and even harder to trust. “We’re family now.”
Ayanna’s shoulders tighten. She hates that word. Family. So do I. At least when it comes from him.
Still, she inclines her head with practiced poise. “Of course, Vidar.”
His lips twitch into something close to approval. A rare sight. Well done, Princess, you earned a sliver of his respect.