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e pale lilac. "It is ruined." "Send it to the laundry. My assistant will ensure you have a new dress. " He returned his gays to his laptop, the conversation, for him, was concluded. Sophia worked away, her heart a cold, hard knot in her chest. The interaction had confirmed her fears. Adrian was distant, dismissive, and prioritized his long-standing staff, over his new contracted wife. Trust would not come easily, if at all, in this marriage. The eyes between them hadn't melted; they had frozen even harder. *** The rest of the morning, Sophia felt a growing sense of restlessness that she couldn't quite shake off. The argument with Adrian had left her feeling unsettled and strangely paranoid. She needed destruction, and more importantly, she needed to understand this fortress she was now trapped in. She decided to explore. Stepping out of her room, she took the flight of stairs leading to another wing in the huge mansion. Every space of the house screamed opulence and complete luxury. The house was vast, okay a labyrinth of rooms. She passed drawing rooms filled with antique furniture that looked too perfect to touch. It was nothing compared to her apartment building where she lived alone with the harsh reality that her family was drowning in debt. Everywhere she went, the staff seemed to materialize and disappear like ghosts. They move silently, never making eye contact, never offering a greeting. It reinforced Miss Florence's earlier implied message: Sophia was an intruder, not mistress of the house. She found a magnificent library, a hidden sanctuary that seemed to breathe history. As she stepped inside, the air was heavy with the scent of aged paper and leather, a comforting aroma that wrapped around her like a familiar embrace. Shelves upon shelves of leather-bound books stretched majestically to the ceiling, each volume a promise of adventure, wisdom, and secrets waiting to be uncovered. The rich hues of dark mahogany complemented the deep greens and golds of the library's decor, creating an atmosphere that felt both regal and intimate. In one corner, a rolling ladder stood invitingly, its polished wood gleaming in the soft light. It beckoned her to explore the higher shelves, to reach for books that might hold forgotten stories or hidden treasures. This was a place where time seemed to stand still, where she could lose herself for hours, wandering through the aisles and immersing herself in the worlds crafted by countless authors. Yet, even amidst this enchanting haven, a flicker of unease settled in her stomach. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was not alone. A faint prickle danced along the back of her neck, an instinctive awareness that sent her heart racing. Each soft rustle of pages and the whisper of her footsteps felt magnified i