Chapter 2: A Glimpse into Luxury

Shame burned in Mariana's cheeks. The audacity of her question, fuelled by a cocktail of shock and desperation, now settled into a cold dread. "I apologize," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. "I shouldn't have questioned you, Mr. Alarc?o." Tiago's gaze remained unwavering, his expression unreadable. "An apology is unnecessary.” he said finally. "Let's just say the situation requires a certain... discretion. Someone who can adapt and follow instructions without hesitation." His words were laced with a subtle threat, and Mariana shivered despite the plush warmth of the car's interior. This wasn't a fairy tale proposal. Yet, the alternative – her mother... "You need the money," Tiago continued, his voice softening a touch. "I’ve got more than enough to cover your mother's treatment and get you both back on your feet. And you needn't worry about finances ever again." Mariana's breath hitched. The life he offered was a stark contrast to the one she'd known lately – a life of endless bills and worried nights. But the price tag sent shivers down her spine. What kind of obedience did he require? What secrets would she be a part of? Tiago seemed to sense her turmoil. "Take your time to consider” he said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. "But time is not entirely on our side. Let me know your answer by tomorrow evening." He gestured towards the window. The familiar streetlights of Lisbon swam into view, signalling they were nearing her apartment. "Here," he instructed the driver as the car pulled to a stop. Mariana opened the door, her legs shaky. This opulent offer, felt like a dream, a beautiful, terrifying dream. "Until tomorrow then," Tiago said as the car glided away, leaving Mariana standing on the sidewalk, the weight of his proposition pressing down on her. The apartment door clicked shut behind Mariana. Sinking onto the worn sofa, she replayed Tiago's words in her head. A life free of financial worry, her mother getting the treatment she desperately needed... it sounded too good to be true. There had to be a catch, something dark lurking beneath the surface of his offer. But logic offered little comfort in the face of her mother's failing health. Each ragged breath, each pained whimper on the phone was a reminder of the ticking clock. Without the surgery, her mother wouldn't have long. Finally, evening of the next day arrived, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor of the hotel bar. Just as Mariana reached for a glass, a familiar figure swept through the door. Tiago, as impeccably dressed as ever, scanned the room before his gaze settled on her. He strode towards her, his presence commanding attention even in this crowded space. "Mariana," he acknowledged. "Have you reached a decision?" Mariana locked eyes with him. The decision tasted like ash in her mouth, but the alternative was unthinkable. Taking a shaky breath, she forced the words out. "Yes," she whispered. "I'll do it." A flicker of satisfaction crossed Tiago's features, though his expression remained cool. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. He placed it on the bar with a soft click, the gleam of gold catching the light. "Consider this a token of our agreement," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away. Mariana stared at the box, her mind reeling. “A token?” She wondered what kind of a man she was getting herself involved with, but the present situation left her very little room for a choice. The sterile air of the courthouse hummed with a nervous energy at odds with the sparse audience – a judge, a court clerk, and a single, unassuming witness. Mariana stood beside Tiago, his hand cool and impersonal on her lower back. The judge's voice droned on, the legalese blurring into a background hum. All that mattered was the question, and Mariana's choked reply. "Do you, Mariana Silva, take Tiago Alarc?o to be your lawfully wedded husband?" "I do," she whispered, the weight of her decision settling heavily upon her. Across the makeshift altar, Tiago's response was a clipped, emotionless, "I do." A few terse pronouncements and a gavel strike later, they were pronounced husband and wife. The charade was complete. Outside, the midday sun beat down on a waiting black Bugatti Chiron Pur Sport. A uniformed chauffeur held open the door, ushering them into the luxurious interior. The drive to Tiago's estate was a blur of Portuguese countryside, the scenery lost on Mariana as her mind raced. Castillo Alvor, as Tiago had called it, loomed on a hilltop in the distance, a formidable structure that spoke of wealth and power in a language she didn't understand. As they pulled through the wrought-iron gates, Mariana stole glances at the people milling about. Men and women in designer clothes, their faces etched with a mixture of arrogance and boredom, moved through the manicured gardens with an ease that spoke of a world she'd never known, not even during her earlier stint in wealthier circles. The car came to a halt in front of the grand entrance. Tiago emerged, his expression unreadable, and strode towards the imposing oak doors. Mariana hesitated for a moment, the cavernous entryway seeming to swallow her whole. Finally, she followed, her footsteps echoing off the polished marble floor. Inside, a small army of immaculately dressed staff scurried about, their movements efficient and silent. Two stewards, their faces devoid of any emotion, materialized beside her, carrying her meagre belongings. They led her through a labyrinthine hallway, the walls adorned with priceless art and the air thick with the scent of polished wood and expensive perfume. Finally, they reached a room overlooking a sprawling vista of gardens and rolling hills. The stewards deposited her luggage with a curt nod and disappeared as silently as they came. Mariana stood alone in the grand living room, the plush furniture dwarfing her. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant chirp of unseen birds. Tiago had vanished. Left to her own devices, Mariana sank onto a velvet sofa, feeling utterly lost in this opulent prison. What had she gotten herself into? Tiago was the unwanted son, the third child of the Alarc?o patriarch, born not from a society wife but from a woman deemed unfit for their aristocratic circle. Labelled a bastard, Tiago spent his early years ostracized and ignored. At eighteen, he was said to finally be eligible an inheritance. The inheritance he received was a pittance compared to the vast Alarc?o fortune. Exiled from his family home, he ventured out into the world with nothing but a chip on his shoulder and a hefty sum of money. Abroad, he clawed his way up, building an empire of his own, amassing a great fortune. Years later, a shift in family dynamics – deaths, power struggles, and a dwindling bloodline – opened a door for Tiago's return. He re-entered the Alarc?o fold, a predator returning to claim his birth right. With a calculated brilliance honed by years of hardship and fuelled by a burning desire for revenge, Tiago maneuvered his way through the treacherous family politics, eventually ascending to the head of the Alarc?o family. Just as she was about to call out for Tiago, he entered the room, his face an unreadable mask. In his hand, he carried a slim leather folder. "The contract," he announced, as he placed it on the coffee table in front of her. Mariana eyed the folder warily. With a deep breath, she reached out and opened it. The legalese swam before her eyes as she scanned the document. Obedience, wifely duties, non-interference in family business – the terms were clear, though cold and impersonal. There were financial stipulations too – all her expenses covered, including her mother's treatment. A semblance of normalcy, a life she could only dream of before. But then came the crux of the agreement, the part that sent a shiver down her spine. Unconditional performance of an unspecified task. A task that upon completion, would grant her freedom in the form of a divorce and a hefty financial settlement, should she want that. Mariana closed the folder, the weight of the words pressing down on her. "The task," she said, "What is it?" Tiago's gaze remained impassive. He gave her no answer. Her frustration mounted. This was a gamble. But the alternative... she stole a glance at the window, picturing her mother's frail silhouette. There was no choice. With a shaky hand, she picked up a pen and signed the document on the dotted line. Placing the folder back on the table, meeting Tiago’s gaze. A faint smile played on Tiago's lips. He gestured towards his lap. "Come here," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. Mariana hesitated, a flicker of unease flickering in her stomach. Propelled by a strange mix of fear and defiance, she found herself walking towards him. He reached out, his touch sending a jolt through her system as he pulled her onto his lap. He leaned in close, his gaze burning into hers. "Are you afraid, Mariana," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper, "afraid I'll drain you dry?" “Drain… me?” she muttered. “I don’t understand.” He let out a devilish smirk, placed her down and walked off with the contract, leaving her in a pool of thoughts. “What does he mean by drain me dry?”