Chapter 1 The binding
Part 1
Episode 1
The Binding
The Salvatore estate reeked of decay.
Not literal rot though the gardens were overgrown and the paint was peeling but the kind of moral decay that happened when vultures moved into a dead man's house and picked it clean.
Celeste Salvatore had stopped fighting years ago.
Her aunt Margot's voice cut across the foyer: Stand up straight. Fix your hair. Try not to embarrass us.
Celeste moved before she could think. Chin up. Shoulders back. Hands flat at her sides.
The last time she'd talked back, Margot locked her in the attic for two days. No meals. No lamp. Just Elena outside the door, telling her how the servants were betting on how long she'd cry.
She kept her eyes down.
This was her father's house. Now it was Margot's. Possession was nine-tenths of the law, and all of the cruelty.
The Duskryns will be here any moment, her uncle Richard said, adjusting his tie. This is the lifeline our company needs.
Celeste's head snapped up.
Lifeline?
Her uncle's expression was grim beneath the forced smile. The Duskryn Corporation had offered to absorb their debts all of them in exchange for this arrangement.
A business transaction, her aunt added impassively. Mutually beneficial.
Celeste's stomach turned.
They weren't giving her away out of cruelty this time.
They were selling her.
---
Adrian Duskryn arrived like a storm.
The moment he stepped through the door, the air pressure changed. He was tall impossibly tall with dark hair and eyes so black they looked like they'd swallowed light itself. His face was beautiful in the way ancient marble sculptures were beautiful: perfect, cold, untouchable.
Celeste felt her breath catch.
And then his eyes landed on her, and she saw it: pure, undiluted fury.
It was gone in an instant, replaced by cold indifference, but she'd seen it. It wasn't at her. Not exactly. But she was standing in the blast radius.
Mr. Duskryn. Her uncle stepped forward, hand extended. What an honor.
Adrian didn't take it.
Instead, his mother Evangeline Duskryn, elegant and terrifying in her own way smiled graciously.
Thank you for receiving us, she said. Shall we discuss the arrangement?
They moved to the sitting room. Celeste was told to follow.
She sat with her hands folded, eyes down, while the adults talked around her like she wasn't there.
As agreed, Evangeline said smoothly, we will assume all outstanding debts. Your company will remain operational under your current management.
Her uncle's relief was palpable. We're incredibly grateful
In exchange, Evangeline continued, your niece will marry my son.
Silence.
Then her uncle laughed actually laughed like he couldn't believe his luck.
Mr. Duskryn, he said, looking at Celeste with something like triumph, wants to marry her ?
Celeste's chest tightened.
It's not a matter of want, Adrian said, and his voice was like frost. It's a matter of obligation.
There it was. Clear as day.
He didn't want her. He was being forced.
Well, her aunt purred, we certainly wouldn't stand in the way of such a... beneficial arrangement.
Beneficial for them, she meant. They'd be rid of Celeste, keep their company, and emerge unscathed.
No one asked Celeste what she wanted.
No one looked at her at all.
Except Adrian. Once. And when their eyes met, she saw nothing but ice.
---
The wedding was arranged for two weeks later.
Celeste spent those two weeks in a strange fog. Her family was suddenly almost kind in that false, sticky way that made her skin crawl. They bought her a dress (simple, white, nothing special) and told her how lucky she was.
Lucky.
She was marrying a man who wouldn't meet her eyes so her family could save their failing business.
The ceremony was held in a small chapel. No guests except family and a handful of Adrian's associates who looked at her like she was something interesting under a microscope.
Adrian stood at the altar in black, his face carved from stone.
When she walked down the aisle, he didn't smile. Didn't soften. Just watched her approach with those dark, unreadable eyes.
Her stupid heart had imagined he might at least look at her. That maybe the 'I do' would mean something for three seconds.
The vows were mechanical.
I do.
I do.
The officiant smiled. You may kiss the bride.
Adrian's jaw tightened visibly. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't do it.
Then he leaned in, pressed the briefest, coldest kiss to her forehead, and stepped back immediately.
It felt like touching ice.
The ring he slid onto her finger was beautiful a black diamond that seemed to absorb light but his hands were steady and emotionless.
When it was over, he didn't take her hand. Didn't speak to her.
He just walked out, and she followed like a shadow.
---
The Duskryn estate was massive.
Gothic architecture, high ceilings, rooms that echoed. It was beautiful in a cold, imposing way much like its owner.
Adrian led her through the halls in silence. The staff they passed bowed their heads but said nothing.
His eyes flicked to the dark corridor branching left unlit, colder then back.
He stopped in front of a door on the second floor.
This is your room, he said without looking at her. His voice was flat. The west wing is off-limits. Don't wander at night. Don't disturb the staff unnecessarily.
She nodded.
Do you understand?
Yes.
He finally looked at her then, and she saw it again that flash of anger in his eyes, barely controlled.
Good.
Then he was gone.
She made her way into the room, her movements dull and drained, like hope no longer lived in her.
The door closed behind her, soft as a coffin lid.
The room was too big.
Too big for one person. Too quiet. Too new.
It swallowed her whole.
Tall, arched windows faced the gardens, draped in heavy gray velvet that pooled on the dark wood floors. Morning light filtered through, pale and cold. The air smelled like lavender and old wood. No dust. No mold. No locked attic smell.
A four-poster bed dominated the center mahogany, carved, dressed in charcoal sheets and a thick ivory duvet. Too many pillows. The headboard loomed, tall enough to make her feel twelve again.
To the left: a vanity. Mirror framed in black iron. Empty.
To the right: a sitting area. Two armchairs. Low table. Cold fireplace. Above it hung a painting dark, abstract swirls of black and deep red. She didn’t choose it.
But her things were here.
Not many. She hadn’t owned much.
A suitcase, already unpacked by staff. Three dresses in the massive wardrobe plain, worn, cheap. A cardigan with a frayed cuff. One pair of shoes, scuffed at the toes.
On the desk by the window: her art supplies. A dented metal case. Charcoal sticks. A sketchpad, half-used. Tubes of paint, most dried out. They’d been her mother’s once. The only things she’d fought to keep when Margot threw everything else away.
They looked shabby here. Like she’d dragged poverty into a palace.
The staff had added things. New things.
Fresh canvases, still wrapped in plastic, stacked against the wall.
A set of watercolors she didn’t ask for.
Books classics, poetry, history lined neatly on the built-in shelves. Pages uncreased.
A throw blanket, soft gray cashmere, folded at the foot of the bed.
A lamp on the nightstand that cast warm light, not the harsh bulb from the attic.
It was all meant to be kind.
It just made the room feel like a display. Like someone had staged “Celeste’s Room” and forgot to add the person.
She should have felt grateful.
Instead, her chest felt hollow.
This was her room now.
Her home.
She walked to the window. Pressed her palm to the glass. Cold.
Outside, the gardens stretched out, manicured and empty.
She turned back to the room.
Her room.
Filled with her belongings. Filled with new things she didn’t earn. Filled with space she didn’t know how to occupy.
She sat on the edge of the bed. Didn’t lie down. Didn’t touch the pillows.
Just sat.
And listened to how quiet a room could be when you were the only living thing in it.
---
The first three days were the longest of her life.
Celeste barely saw Adrian. He left before dawn and returned long after she'd gone to bed. Meals were taken separately hers in her room or the small dining room, his... somewhere else.
The house staff were polite but distant. They brought her food, showed her the library, the sunroom, the gardens. But no one spoke to her beyond what was necessary.
She was alone.
Again.
On the second day, Evangeline came to visit.
She stayed for over an hour though what they discussed, Celeste told no one. When Evangeline left, Celeste's hands were shaking, and she didn't come out of her room for the rest of the day.
The staff whispered about it, but no one dared ask.
---
By the fourth day, Celeste had learned the rhythm of the house.
At least in her aunt's house, the rules were clear. Here, she was a ghost with no haunting rights.
She tried to fill her days. Painting in the sunroom. Reading in the library. Walking through the gardens.
At night she heard footsteps sometimes. Distant. From the left side of the house. They never came close.
But every time she heard footsteps, her heart would jump and then sink when it wasn't him.
Which was stupid. He terrified her. That cold fury in his eyes, the way he'd looked at her like she was something he couldn't scrape off his shoe.
But he was her husband. And she had no idea what that meant here.
---
The first time she saw him after the wedding was five days later.
She'd come down to breakfast early, hoping to eat in peace.
He was already there.
She froze in the doorway.
Adrian sat at the head of the table, coffee in hand, reading something on his tablet. When he noticed her, his entire body went rigid.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then he stood, grabbed his things, and walked out without a word.
The door closed behind him.
Celeste stood there, staring at the empty chair, and felt something crack in her chest.
---
It happened again two days later.
She'd found a book in the library and settled into one of the armchairs by the fireplace. It was peaceful. Quiet.
Then the door opened.
Adrian stepped in, stopped dead when he saw her, and his expression shuttered completely.
I didn't realize you were here, he said stiffly.
I can leave
No need.
But he turned and left anyway.
The door closed.
Celeste stared at the book in her lap. Her hands were shaking.
---
Two weeks in, her aunt sent a letter.
It was full of false sweetness asking how she was, hoping she was settling in well, reminding her how fortunate she was.
Celeste crumpled it and threw it in the fire.
She was standing there, watching it burn, when she heard footsteps.
What are you doing?
She spun around.
Adrian stood in the doorway, arms crossed. For once, he hadn't left immediately.
Nothing, she said quickly. I was just
Burning correspondence.
It was nothing important.
His eyes narrowed. From your family?
She hesitated. Nodded.
Something flickered across his face too fast to identify.
They're not welcome here, he said coldly.
Then he left.
Celeste stood there, confused.
He wouldn't even stay in the same room as her but he didn't want her family reaching her?
She didn't understand him at all.
---
Three weeks after the wedding, her uncle showed up.
Celeste was in the garden when she heard his voice in the entry hall, and her entire body went cold.
I'm here to see my niece.
I'm afraid that's not possible, the butler said politely.
Not possible? She's my family
She's not available.
Listen here
Celeste heard footsteps. Then Adrian's voice, low and deadly:
You need to leave.
I have every right
You have no rights here. This is my home. She's my wife. And you're trespassing.
Now see here
There was a sound a thud, like something hitting the wall and her uncle made a choked noise. The vase on the hall table rattled.
If you come here again, Adrian said softly, I'll make sure you regret it. Am I clear?
Silence.
I said, am I clear?
Y-yes.
Good. Now get out.
Celeste heard the front door slam.
She stood in the garden, hands shaking.
She didn't know if it was from fear of her uncle.
Or from what Adrian had just done to protect her.
She went inside before she could figure it out.
---
