Bound to my Enemy-Chapter 46.

Lure her to consummate our marriage and bear a child for me.

If all goes well, she’ll be back to her house before the next summer ends, divorce papers filed and chaos removed from my life.

Initially, I thought my father had chosen well, that I had chosen well, that I made the right choice picking Elaine over her cousin Ivy.

Now I know better.

Elaine is sweet poison on a silver platter.

A temptation I can’t for the life of me afford to indulge.

And yet, as her footsteps disappear upstairs, one thought lingers longer than I like.

This marriage won’t be quiet.

And it won’t be simple, far from it

And for the first time since today began, I’m not entirely sure who’s going to break first.

She makes it halfway up the stairs before stopping.

Like the adrenaline finally ran out and she remembered she has no idea where she’s going.

She turns slowly, one hand resting on the railing, dress dragging behind her. "Which room."

I don’t answer right away. I watch her face instead... the irritation has slowly dulled into exhaustion. Her shoulders have droppe and her eyes look heavier than they did in the car.

"Second floor," I say. "Left wing at the end of the hall."

She huffs but doesn’t argue. "Figures."

She turns and starts up again, slower this time. I don’t follow immediately. I wait a few seconds, then move, keeping enough distance that she doesn’t feel chased.

She reaches the top landing and hesitates again, looking down the hallway lined with doors, all identical and impersonal.

"Left," I remind her.

She finds it, it’s the last door, dark wood with a brass handle.

She opens it and steps inside.

I don’t go in. I lean against the doorframe and watch her.

The room is already lit with soft lamps, the Curtains drawn.

She takes a few steps in and freezes.

Her bag is there on the chair near the window.

Her clothes are hanging in the wardrobe. Dresses, blouses, jackets, shoes lined neatly along the bottom. Jewelry laid out on the dresser exactly how it was packed, nothing tangled, nothing missing.

Her toiletries sit on the bathroom counter. Skincare bottles arranged in height order. Toothbrush already unwrapped.

She stares.

Just stands there, eyes moving slowly from one thing to the next.

"You went through my stuff," she says finally.

"Yes."

She turns to look at me, brows drawn together. "Without asking."

"Yes."

"That’s invasive Zane ."

"That’s marriage for you."

Her mouth opens like she’s ready to fight me on it, then closes again. The energy just... leaves her.

She exhales, long and tired

"I don’t have it in me right now," she mutters.

I nod once. "Good."

She kicks off her heels near the door without ceremony, thy land unevenly. She doesn’t care. She toes them farther under the console with her foot, then walks straight into the bathroom.

The door shuts.

I hear the sink turn on the water running. Cabinet doors opening and closing softly.

I step away

Give her space or the illusion of it.

By the time I pass the room again ten minutes later, the lights are dimmer. The bathroom door is cracked. Steam curls into the bedroom.

I pause.

She’s standing at the sink, face bare now, hair pulled back loosely. She’s going through her routine on autopilot. Cleanser, Rinse . Pat dry. Serum. Moisturizer.

Oh come on now don’t judge me for knowing skincare rountine, how do you guys think I get my perfectly clear skin? My last girlfriend introduced it to me and it kinda stuck even when she left.

The kind of ritual you do when everything else feels out of control.

She catches my reflection in the mirror and stiffens slightly.

"I’m almost done," she says.

"I’m not rushing you."

She doesn’t respond back. Just finishes, rinses her hands, shuts off the light.

When she steps into the bedroom, she moves straight to the bed. No theatrics. No comments. She sits, pulls the covers back, and slides under them fully dressed.

She doesn’t even turn off the lamp.

Just rolls onto her side, facing away from the door.

"Night," she says flatly, mostly in an attempt to drive me away from looking at her like the creep im turning out to be.

I don’t answer and within minutes, her breathing changes, it slows and deepens.

She’s out cold.

I stand there longer than necessary, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders.

So much fight in her.

So little rest.

Tomorrow, the real work begins.

Elaine’s POV

When I wake up, I’m a bit disoriented, the room is unfamiliar in the quiet morning light.

I sit up, rub my face, and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

My dress from last night is folded on the chair. Someone must have come in while I slept. I don’t like that thought, but I don’t have the energy to unpack it

I shower with hot water, the steam fogging the glass. I stand under it longer than necessary, letting it hit my shoulders, my neck, my scalp. My mind drifts even though I try to keep it blank.

I shut the water off before I start spiraling.

I dress in something simple, soft pants. An oversized shirt. No makeup. Just something comfortable enough to breathe in.

When I leave the room, the house is quiet in that way big ass mansions always are. No clutter, no noise just polished floors and wide hallways that echo softly when I walk.

I wander for a bit... abit lost, I lfet then right. Peek into a sitting room. Another hallway. A staircase I already came down last night but don’t fully remember.

Eventually, I follow the smell.

Something warm and toasted.

The kitchen is bright. Sunlight coming in through tall windows. Stainless steel everywhere, a large island in the center.

And a woman.

She turns when she hears me.

She’s older. Not elderly, but clearly past middle age. Gray threaded through dark hair pulled back neatly an apron tied around her waist. She looks... kind.. Like she’s done this job for a long time and knows exactly who she is.

"Good morning," she says immediately, smiling. "You must be Elaine."

I stop short. "Yes, yes I am."