The Heiress He Underestimated novel Chapter 32

Chapter 32 No Longer His Daughter

The room Drakonius had given her was nothing like her bedroom at her father’s house. That had been a confection of pale pinks and creams, a doll’s house room. This room was all deep blues and soft grays, the color of the sea at dusk. The bed was wide and low, piled with blankets that looked hand–woven. A large window looked out over the black, endless ocean, the moon laying a shimmering silver path across the water. It was beautiful, and lonely, and it felt completely alien.

Elera stood in the middle of it, still in her magnificent, heavy black gown, feeling like a ghost who had wandered into the wrong story.

Mechanically, she found the bathroom. It was spacious, with a deep stone tub and expensive, simple toiletries–unscented lotions, gentle soap. They were thoughtful and impersonal. Everything a guest might need. Not a wife.

The word echoed in her hollow chest. Wife.

She struggled with the hidden clasp at the back of her neck, her trembling fingers slipping again and again. Finally, with a frustrated gasp, she gave up and sank onto the edge of the vast tub. She put her face in her hands. The tears didn’t come. She was too empty, too drained. She just sat there, breathing in the quiet, feeling the weight of the diamonds in her ears, the gold band on her finger.

She must have sat there for an hour. The shock was a kind of insulation, a thick cotton wool wrapped around her mind. Slowly, feelings began to seep back in. Not emotion but a simple sensation. The stone was cold beneath her. The dress was unbearably tight across her ribs. She was desperately thirsty.

She forced herself up. Using a pair of nail scissors from a drawer, she carefully cut through a few threads of the delicate inner lining at the back of the gown, just enough to reach the clasp. The fabric gave way with a soft sigh. She peeled the dress off, letting it pool on the floor like a shadow. She stood in her simple undergarments, shivering in the cool air.

In the walk–in closet, she found the clothes he had mentioned. Soft cashmere sweaters in neutral colors. Trousers of fine wool. Silk pajamas. Everything was in her size. Everything was of impeccable, quiet quality. He had not guessed her style; he had provided a blank canvas. It was both unsettling and considerate.

She pulled on the pajamas–dark blue, perfectly fitted–and a thick robe. She poured herself a glass of water from the bathroom tap and drank it all, then another.

Finally, she crawled into the enormous bed. The sheets were cool, linen and expensive. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant, rhythmic crash of the waves below. She expected sleep to be impossible, but the exhaustion was a tidal pull. Her eyes grew heavy. The last thing she saw before she slipped under was the faint glint of the wedding band on her hand in the moonlight.

She woke to blinding sunlight and the sound of birds. For one disoriented, blissful moment, she didn’t know where she was. Then it all came crashing back. The gala. The escape. The quiet older judge and her gold band.

She sat up, her heart pounding anew. The room in the daylight was even more stunning, the ocean a brilliant, impossible blue. On a small table by the window, a tray had been placed. A pot of tea, still warm.

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