Juliette didn't cry.
She didn't even move.
When Cassian walked away and the house swallowed his footsteps, she just stood there, breathing in the kind of silence that bruises.
Not when Maya called softly from the staircase.
Not when the light dimmed to that quiet, gold sadness.
Not even when the night folded in on her.
She walked upstairs barefoot, hollow and shut the door behind her. The click of the lock sounded final, like the world closing its mouth.
She sat on the bed, knees drawn to her chest, heart heavy as stone.
She had promised herself she wouldn't break here.
Not in this house that smelled like money and memories that weren't hers.
But tonight, strength felt like a performance.
Cassian hadn't asked if she'd eaten.
He hadn't asked if she was alright.
He hadn't even looked at her just punished her absence like an act of war.
And the worst part?
She couldn't even defend herself.
Because she had walked into this. Signed the paper. Whispered "I do."
Not for love.
Not for belonging.
Just for a life that suddenly felt smaller than she ever imagined.
When Maya knocked gently with food, Juliette didn't answer.
The tray stayed untouched outside the door.
At noon, her phone buzzed.
"Jules?" Zina's voice came through warm, worried. "Why didn't you come in today? Are you okay?
Juliette smiled faintly. "I just needed rest."
"Rest?" Zina sighed. "You sound… off. Should we come by?"
"No. Please don't. I just need quiet."
Zina hesitated, then whispered, "You sure you're alright?"
Juliette's throat tightened. "I'm fine," she lied, and the call ended.
When she set the phone down, the silence returned heavier this time.
And then, just before evening, she heard it:
a soft slip under the door.
An envelope.
Her name written in cold, deliberate ink: Juliette Vale.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
"We have a dinner to attend tonight. A car will come for you at 7."
Cassian
No apology.
No tenderness.
Just an instruction.
A command from a man who didn't ask anymore.
She sat on the bed for a long time, staring at the letter like it was proof that she'd married a stranger.
She had no designer gowns. No glittering jewelry. Nothing that matched his world.
So she wore what she had simple, neat, untouched by wealth and let her silence be her rebellion.
At 7:00, the black car arrived.
No music.
No Cassian.
Just the hum of the city outside and the echo of her own thoughts.
When they reached the restaurant rooftop, glass walls, cameras Juliette froze.
This wasn't dinner. It was a performance.
And Cassian Vale was already there flawless in a black suit, the kind of man the world turned to look at.
He glanced at her once. A cold flicker from head to toe.
His jaw tightened slightly. Disapproval, sharp and silent.
He didn't speak. Just turned and walked inside.
She followed.
The restaurant glowed with chandeliers and soft jazz. Waiters moved like ghosts. Every table shimmered with quiet power.
Their table was set beneath a chandelier that looked like stars trapped in glass.
Cassian gestured to her seat. She sat.
No greeting. No warmth. Just Still water for her. Neat whiskey for me.
She kept her eyes on the menu, pretending to read. Pretending not to notice that he hadn't asked how she was.
Finally, she said quietly, "Why bring me here, Cassian?"
"Because you're my wife," he said, not looking at her.
Juliette gave a small, humorless smile. "That's the first time you've said that out loud."
He didn't reply.
She leaned back, her voice barely above a whisper. "If this marriage is just about me dressing up for dinners in a life I don't belong to, tell me now."
His eyes flicked to her. Dark. Controlled. "Don't start this here."
"I'm not starting anything," she said softly. "You already did."
He exhaled, slow and cold. "The investors tonight are important. Just smile. Don't embarrass me."
"Then maybe you should've left me home," she murmured.
His stare lingered on her for a beat too long.
Something flickered there annoyance, or maybe something deeper. Something he didn't name.
The guests arrived two men with their wives, all glitter and grace. Cassian rose to greet them. His smile was polite, practiced. The kind that never reached his eyes.
Juliette followed his lead, shaking hands, smiling at compliments that didn't feel real.
One of the wives whispered to her, "You're beautiful."
Juliette smiled back, even though she didn't believe it.
Through the night, Cassian didn't touch her once. Didn't look at her when he laughed at someone's joke.
She might as well have been invisible.
By the time they returned to the car, she couldn't tell if she was hurt or just numb.
The drive home was silent, until she finally whispered, "You hate being seen with me, don't you?"
Cassian didn't look up from his phone. "I don't hate it."
"That's not the same as liking it."
"I brought you, didn't I?"
She laughed softly. "Yes. To remind me I don't fit in your world."
He finally turned. "You came dressed like you were going to church."
Her breath caught. "That's all I have."
"You're a Vale now," he said, voice low. "Start acting like one."
"Maybe that girl you married the one from the dusty apartment is the only version I know how to be."
He stared at her for a long second, then looked away. "Then I'll fix that."
And the way he said it made her shiver. Because it didn't sound like kindness.
It sounded like control.
When they reached home, he walked ahead no backward glance, no pause.
Juliette lingered in the quiet driveway, the night breeze brushing her face.
The house loomed above her beautiful, empty, cold.
She went upstairs, changed, folded her clothes neatly on the bed, and sat for a long time in the dim light.
Not crying.
Not sleeping.
Just waiting for the silence to stop sounding like a punishment.
But it never did.