Chapter 3 The Wedding and the Door

Standing in a large, impersonal, and frigid room within Blackwood Manor, Selene gazed at her reflection in the floor-length mirror. She was shocked to learn that today was her wedding day. Just the previous day she was morning her dad and thinking of how to get by, and now shes a wife. Even though the bridal dress was gorgeous as if falls perfectly to the floor, with its elaborate white lace and satin pattern, she felt like a fake wearing it. No bridesmaids. No flowers. Not a guest. She felt more like a prisoner than a bride. "They are ready for you" a maid said." interrupting her thoughts.

Standing in front of the judge, Damien hired to officiate the wedding in his office at the Blackwood manor. They both exchanged meaningless vows. "Damien Blackwood, do you consider Selene Whitmore to be your legal wife, to love and hold. In sickness and health, till death do you part?" "I do." His tone was calm and emotionless, as if this whole ceremony was just an ordinary business deal. As the judge looked at Selene, she swallowed. "And, Selene Whitmore, do you take Damien Blackwood-" She shouted out, "I do," before her nerves could turn on her. The words sealed her fate, forever? She thought.

Selene braced herself, expecting the press of his lips-some token gesture of possession-when Damien slid a cool, pricey ring onto her finger. The weight of it felt oppressive. "You may kiss the bride." Damien didn't kiss her; instead, he simply slid his dark, unreadable gaze over her before turning to the judge. "It's done," he said, his voice like steel. "We're finished here." Selene blinked. Was that it? That was all.

Not a party. No wedding night. No hushed assurances of eternity. She had been claimed by Damien Blackwood as a contract rather than a wife. Selene was standing there in a wedding gown that felt more like a prison uniform when he left the room without saying anything else. As the attendants led her through Blackwood Manor's opulent corridors, Selene hardly noticed. The mansion was a combination of eerie quiet and old-world beauty, and it was astonishingly large. The walls were tall and dark mahogany, with oil portraits of anonymous ancestors observing her every action. Flickering shadows were created by crystal chandeliers, and the oppressive silence felt out of place.

It is beautiful. It is a prison. It is her new home. "This will be your room, ma'am," the housekeeper, Mrs. Hawthorne, said in a hushed voice. Selene glanced inside. It was lavish, far more than she'd ever had-plush bedding, a carved fireplace, a balcony overlooking the endless forest behind the estate. And yet, it wasn't his room. They wouldn't be sleeping together. Selene turned to ask a question, but before she could speak, the older woman hesitated, fixing her gaze down the hall, where a single door stood closed at the very end of the hallway. Something about it sent a chill down Selene's spine. "What's in there?" Mrs. Hawthorne's face drained of color. "That room is off-limits, ma'am." Selene frowned. "Why?" "It is the Master's private quarters. No one is allowed in."

Selene felt a chill run down her spine, what is so special about that room? What is in there? Whats going on in this house? All these questions blurred her thoughts. But before she could press any farther, a deep voice cut through the air, saying, "That door stays locked. Always." Selene froze, as she saw her newly wedded husband standing in the shadows of the hallway, his face unreadable, his tailored suit immaculate as if the events of the evening had not affected him in the least. His grey eyes burned into her, waiting for an answer. Selene swallowed. "I wasn't planning on going inside." His expression remained unreadable. "Good."

"I came to inform you that this is your home now," he remarked plainly. "And they are some rules, you are to abide by the rules." Selene scowled. "Rules?" "Yes, Mrs. Blackwood." Mrs. Hawthorne remarked sternly. Selene shuddered when she heard the title. Blackwood, Mrs Blackwood. It was Mrs. Hawthorne who came forward. "Yes, ma'am, there are regulations that must be adhered to. At precisely seven o'clock, breakfast is served. Don't be late. And at two-fifteen lunch will be served and dinner at seven pm. There is no access to the east wing. Ring the staff if you need anything, we are at your service. Additionally, you are not allowed to enter the west tower under any circumstances. And from ten o'clock at night, you are espected to be in your room untill the next morning. You are not allowed to leave you chambers after ten at night" Selene's heartbeat accelerated "A curfew?" She screamed out. "Why so many restrictions? What is in the east wing?" The iron-wrought door at the end of a long, dimly illuminated hallway.

Before she could even ask Damien,"You'll be staying here. You won't be in my quarters. i hope your room is to your liking." Damien said. His voice was flat and final, and Selene's fingers curled. He hadn't touched her since the wedding, and he hadn't even given her the proper husbandly glance. What kind of marriage was this? Selene's room was opulent, but it felt more like a guest suite than a wife's quarters; it had a big canopy bed, a fireplace, and a window that overlooked the expansive Blackwood estate. Everything was immaculate and unused.

Her chest constricted as she ran her fingertips over the furnishings. So it would be like this. She was merely his legal wife. A gentle knock on the door interrupted her while she was unpacking. Entering, Mrs. Hawthorne's eyes were unreadable. "In an hour, dinner will be served. Mr. Blackwood likes to be on time." Selene paused. "Is this how he always acts?" The maid tensed up. She stated cautiously, "He is a busy man." Selene's eyes narrowed. "That's not what i asked." Mrs. Hawthorne's face briefly flashed something-fear?-before she bowed a little. "Ma'am, get ready for dinner." Then she turned, and hurried away. Selene let out a slow breath. Everybody in this house was being extremely cautious, as if working on eggshells. Why?