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Does anyone even live here? There’s no sign of life, no clutter, no messy corners, no indication that anyone actually exists in this perfect, polished space.

I continue roaming the house aimlessly. I don’t know what I’m looking for—some sign that Corm is human after all? A hidden room full of personality and warmth? Yeah, right.

Let’s unpack. Something to be useful. It’s going to be nice not to live from my suitcase for a change.

Taking two steps at a time, I go upstairs, and for a moment, I can’t remember which way is my room. Jesus, this place is stupidly big.

When I finally find it, I open the window despite the cold weather. Cool air sprouts goose bumps on my skin. Anything to feel alive.

My room is huge. It has a small sitting corner and a king-sized bed. I open the double door to a walk-in closet and frown. Several designer evening gowns hang from the rod on the far wall.

Did he get gowns for me? Are they even for me? My eyes widen. Has another woman left them here?

I unpack, trying not to look at the dresses. Not until I know they are mine. It’s not like I need beautiful dresses. Beautiful dresses feel like work.

But they keep taunting me. So I finally cross the floor to look at them. There is a white card hanging on each of them.

What is that? It looks like a date and time. They are organized chronologically. The first date is in a week. Wait a minute.

I pull out my phone and check the schedule Betsy sent me. Sure enough, all the dates on the dresses correspond with an event I’m required to attend. Has Betsy’s firm sent the clothes?

Are outfits for the same occasions prepared in Corm’s closet? Is it Livia’s job? Or is there someone else doing it? Fuck, this really is like being back at work.

And I’m so shocked, and entertained, by this glimpse into Corm’s personal life that I wander off in search of his closet.

To my surprise, his bedroom is beside mine. I was expecting he’d relegate me to the farthest wing away from him. This mansion can house us both without us ever running into each other.

But of course, he needs to control this as well. Asshole.

His bedroom is simple, but like the rest of the house, annoyingly welcoming. The large king-sized bed has dark blue sheets and duvet. There is an armchair in the corner where a large window meets a balcony door.

The door to the bathroom is open, but I turn to open the other double door. Shit, his closet is large. Does he own a suit and a pair of shoes for each day of the year?

I spot the labeled outfits immediately. They are neatly suspended in the far section of this room—it can’t be called a closet. There is a full L-shaped sofa in the middle, for fuck’s sake.

Sure enough, the hangers sport labels similar to mine. There is golfing attire, tuxedos, casual wear. All marked with the date and time.

I lived around labeled clothes all my life, but someone using the runway system to organize their life is news to me.

I giggle, because somehow this little discovery makes him feel human. Like someone is dressing him because he can’t do it himself. It’s a stretch, but shit, I enjoy the revelation.

I reallyambored.

And full of excellent ideas. Carefully, I take the hangers down and remove all the labels. I’m about to throw away the cards when I get a better idea.

I shuffle the cards and hang them back on the outfits randomly.

Satisfied, I leave Corm’s bedroom and saunter to my en-suite bathroom. It’s beautiful, with a vintage tub in an alcove and a lot of light streaming through a large window.

Turning on the faucet, I wait for the hot water. I strip and step in, slowly sinking my tired body into the steaming bath.

I stare at the high ceiling. So this is my life now? Stuck in a mansion, engaged to a man I can’t stand, with no idea what to do next.

It’s a beautiful prison, but a prison nonetheless. And here I am, stuck in it. Lost in this huge house like I’m lost in my life.

I roll my eyes at the dramatic thought. And then I get an idea. Maybe I can make this place more mine.

Or at least less his.