C9 THE HOUSE THAT HATED HER

The gates of Alexander Sterling’s mansion opened as the black car approached. Isabella Hart watched the stone building rise beyond the gardens, its tall windows reflecting the evening light. Everything looked perfect: the trimmed hedges, the polished entrance, and the staff waiting beneath the columns. It was the kind of place where people learned to hide their weaknesses and call it dignity.

Alexander stepped out and opened her door. Isabella climbed down without taking his offered hand.

“I can manage a car door,” she said.

“I know. My family is waiting inside, and they will judge everything you do.”

“Then they should prepare to be disappointed.”

He gave her a measured look. “Try not to start a war before dinner.”

“I didn’t start the war between our families.”

Her answer silenced him. They crossed the entrance together, passing portraits of stern-faced Sterlings whose painted eyes seemed to follow them down the marble hall. A housekeeper greeted Alexander and glanced at Isabella’s wedding ring with undisguised curiosity.

“This is my wife, Isabella,” Alexander explained.

The housekeeper recovered quickly and directed them to the drawing room. Isabella noticed how carefully the woman avoided asking about the wedding. The news had reached the staff, but nobody seemed certain what to make of it.

Before opening the doors, Alexander reminded Isabella that their contract had to remain private. The marriage was a business arrangement, not a confession, and neither of them could afford to let the family discover the truth.

“I remember what I signed,” Isabella replied. “You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

“I’m making sure we understand each other.”

“Then understand this. I’ll act like your wife in public, but I won’t let your family dictate what I do.”

He opened the doors without answering.

Three people waited inside. An elegant silver-haired woman sat on a cream sofa, wearing pearls and a dark dress. A tall man stood by the fireplace, while a younger woman sat near the window with her phone. The older woman rose, her gaze travelling from Alexander to Isabella and stopping at the ring on Isabella’s finger.

“So this is Isabella Hart,” she said. “You married without properly informing the family.”

“Grandmother, this is my wife,” Alexander replied. “The announcement will be made tomorrow.”

His grandmother’s expression tightened. A private wedding, a sudden announcement, and a bride from a company Sterling Global recently acquired were reasons enough, she said, for the family to have questions.

The man by the fireplace gave a short laugh. Julian Sterling, Alexander’s cousin, looked Isabella over as if she were an item purchased at auction.

“People will wonder what she wants from you,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Hartwell Designs.”

“They can wonder,” Isabella replied. “Perhaps they should also wonder why your family acquired my father’s company and why his death still raises questions.”

Julian’s smile vanished. Alexander’s grandmother looked offended by Isabella’s directness.

“Confidence is useful,” the older woman said, “but it should not be mistaken for good breeding.”

“Neither should money be mistaken for good character.”

The younger woman by the window hid a laugh behind her hand. Her name, Isabella learned, was Victoria, Alexander’s sister. She looked amused rather than hostile, but she stayed quiet when her grandmother turned toward her.

Alexander stepped beside Isabella. He told the family she would live in the east wing and that he expected everyone to treat her with respect. His grandmother warned that the marriage could threaten the family’s reputation. Alexander answered that he would take responsibility for his own decisions.

“Not yet,” his grandmother said, leaving the threat hanging in the room.

He led Isabella into the corridor. She pulled her arm away as soon as the doors closed behind them.

“You didn’t need to defend me,” she said.

“I was defending my decision.”

“Of course. I’d hate to think you had a human side.”

“Don’t mistake respect for affection.”

“Believe me, you’re the last man I expect affection from.”

They continued upstairs. Isabella was shown to a spacious suite with a sitting room, a private bathroom, and windows overlooking the gardens. Her suitcases had been placed beside the wardrobe. Fresh flowers stood on a table, making the room look welcoming in a way that only reminded her it belonged to someone else.

Alexander handed her a folder containing the final copies of their marriage contract. The terms set out a one-year arrangement, public appearances as a married couple, financial obligations, and conditions for ending the agreement. A confidentiality clause made it clear that neither could reveal the arrangement without consequences.

Isabella scanned the pages. “You’ve protected yourself very carefully.”

“The contract protects both of us.”

“Your reputation will survive a scandal. Mine may not. People will assume I married you for money.”

“I won’t allow anyone to use this marriage to humiliate you.”

She looked up, suspicious of the promise. “You can’t control what people think.”

“No, but I can control what I do.”

For a moment, his answer sounded sincere. Isabella reminded herself that sincerity was not proof of innocence. She closed the folder and told him that she would continue investigating her father’s death, regardless of their agreement.

Alexander’s expression hardened. He had promised to help her find the truth, but he warned her that his father’s business dealings were complicated and that she did not yet understand the risks.

“Then explain them,” Isabella insisted.

“Not tonight.”

“You always have a reason not to tell me something.”

“Because I cannot give you answers I don’t have.”

She studied his face, searching for a crack in his composure. “Or because you know exactly what happened and want to decide when I’m allowed to hear it.”

He did not answer. Instead, he left her to prepare for dinner.

At eight, Isabella returned to the dining room. The table gleamed with silverware and crystal glasses. Alexander sat at its head, with his grandmother opposite him and Julian and Victoria nearby. Conversation turned to Sterling Global’s upcoming board meeting. Julian challenged a proposed restructuring, but Alexander corrected his figures calmly and without consulting his notes. The family might question his marriage, yet they clearly respected his control over the company.

His grandmother eventually turned to Isabella and asked what she planned to do now that she was married.

“Continue working,” Isabella said. She explained that Hartwell Designs had been more than offices and financial records. She still had unfinished designs, former clients, and a legacy she intended to rebuild.

Julian scoffed, asking what money she expected to use. Isabella replied that it was interesting to hear a Sterling question her resources after his family had acquired her father’s struggling company.

“Perhaps you should be grateful,” Julian said. “Without Sterling Global, your family might have lost everything.”

“My family lost my father,” Isabella replied. “The acquisition didn’t erase that loss, and it doesn’t give you the right to lecture me about gratitude.”

The table fell quiet. Alexander’s grandmother told Isabella she needed to learn when to remain silent. Isabella answered that silence was not the same as respect. Alexander ended the discussion, making it clear that Hartwell Designs would not be debated over dinner.

Julian watched his cousin with narrowed eyes. He remarked that Alexander had changed. Alexander replied that he had simply stopped allowing other people to speak for him. Isabella wondered whether his defense was meant for her or for the authority he had fought to keep.

Dinner ended soon afterward. Back in her room, Isabella placed the contract in the bedside drawer and sat by the window. She had entered the mansion to protect her future and uncover the truth about Daniel’s death. Instead, she had found a family that regarded her as a threat and a husband who defended her while keeping important information beyond her reach.

Her phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number appeared:

YOU HAVE MOVED INTO THE WRONG HOUSE, ISABELLA HART. ASK YOUR HUSBAND WHAT HIS FATHER PROMISED YOUR FATHER BEFORE DANIEL DIED.

An image followed. Isabella opened it and felt her breath catch. The photograph showed Daniel Hart standing beside Richard Sterling outside a building at night. Neither man smiled. Between them was a document bearing both their signatures, and Richard’s hand rested on Daniel’s shoulder as if they shared an understanding meant to remain secret.

On the back of the photograph, someone had written:

THE MARRIAGE WAS NEVER THE PLAN.

Isabella stared at the image, trying to understand what it meant. Had their fathers known each other more closely than anyone admitted? Had Daniel’s death been connected to a secret agreement between the families? And if Richard had made a promise to Daniel, why had Alexander never mentioned it?

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and stopped outside her door. A firm knock followed. Alexander’s voice came through the wood, urgent and unusually tense. He wanted her to open the door because they needed to talk.

Isabella looked at the photograph again. Before she could answer, another message appeared on her phone:

DON’T LET HIM SEE THE PHOTOGRAPH. HE’LL KNOW WHO SENT IT.

Her gaze shifted to the door. Alexander was waiting on the other side, and she could not decide whether opening it would bring her closer to the truth or place her directly in the path of another lie.