When the husband returned, Ivelle initially wanted to confront him, but instead, she retreated to her room, declaring that if he wanted to speak with her, he should come to her. Days passed, and she settled into a comfortable routine, almost forgetting about his presence. She spent her weekends enjoying herself, until Monday morning, when a knock on her door broke the spell.
"The master wants to see you," the guard announced.
Ivelle's heart raced as she wondered what he wanted. She freshened up and made her way to his room, guided by the guard. The double doors swung open, revealing a majestic space with a king-size bed, refrigerator, couch, and office table. Despite its beauty, the room felt cold and lacking in color.
As she approached the desk, Ivelle's eyes met his, and she almost gasped. He was even more handsome than she had imagined, with a strong jawline, broad chest, and piercing gaze. She felt paralyzed, unsure of what to say or do.
After ten minutes of them talking
Ivelle nodded, still trying to process the sudden turn of events. "So, let me get this straight," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You want me to pretend to be your wife for the next six months? To family events, parties, and gatherings?"
He nodded, his expression serious. "Yes, exactly. You will be my wife, Mrs Anderson. We met at a party, and we've been inseparable ever since."
Ivelle's mind raced with questions, but before she could ask any of them, he continued. "There are a few family members you should be aware of. My Aunt, for example, can be quite...inquisitive. Just remember, we met at a party, and we've been together ever since. And you must , avoid some of my cousins. They're not someone you want to associate with."
Ivelle nodded, feeling like she was being swept up in a whirlwind. "Okay, got it. Avoid cousins, and remember the party story."
He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Now, on Wednesday, someone will take you dress shopping for the family event on Friday. And on Friday morning, someone will come to do your makeup and hair. You'll be expected to look...presentable."
Ivelle felt a surge of indignation, but bit back her retort. She was still trying to wrap her head around this bizarre arrangement. "Presentable?" she repeated, her tone neutral.
He nodded. "Yes. You're representing me, after all. I expect you to look your best at all times."
Ivelle nodded, feeling a sense of unease settle in the pit of her stomach. What had she gotten herself into?