"You are not to enter my room unless invited."
I remembered his words. Still, here I was—and now I understood. I finally understood why he never let anyone in.
A sharp gasp left my lips as my eyes swept across the room.
"Oh, Anthony…" My voice trembled, and that was all I could manage. His name—just his name—was all I could bear to say.
Because this room… this room might be the saddest place I've ever stepped into.
Even my own room back at my father's house, filled with bitter memories, still had color. But Anthony's? His knew none.
The only thing that held any color was a family portrait, framed in faded blue.
Everything else sank in shadows.
The walls wore dark paint, the air heavy with silence. A bare bed. A small bedside cupboard. A wardrobe carved in dull ash wood.
Even the curtains were thick and somber—yet thank heaven for that small slit in the fabric, where the golden light of the evening sun slipped in.
I should go back.
Anthony wouldn't like me being here.
Besides, this would breach the contract.
I had a duty—to play the role of his fiancée for one year, only on paper. I was never meant to act the part.
And yet… the coldness of the room didn't chase me away.
It drew me in.
I found myself walking toward the family portrait. My eyes lingered on it, and my fingers brushed the edge of the wooden frame.
"Is this your family, Anthony?" I whispered, letting my hand roam across the grain.
Then I saw them—those familiar grey eyes staring back at me. Eyes that weren't yet cold.
Anthony stood in the photo, older than the small boy he held in his arms. The boy looked just like him, except for his eyes.
While Anthony's were silver-grey, the child's were a deep ocean blue.
Both had long, dark hair, but Anthony's features—those sculpted cheeks and sharp jaw—came from their mother.
And maybe, just maybe, if he weren't so cold, his smile would look like hers.
Their father stood beside them, wearing a half-smile that somehow felt warmer.
Anthony's younger brother had taken after his softer features—gentler.
Though his hair was a deep brown, both boys had inherited their mother's jet-black strands.
"Where is your family, Anthony?"
Seeing how this was the only portrait, it showed how much he must have cared for them.
My gaze swept through the room—and indeed, it was the only photo. There was none of his uncle or his ex-girlfriend.
Thinking of his ex-girlfriend, I inhaled sharply and walked over to the ash-grey cupboard.
I wonder what happened between them.
And oh, I shouldn't pry… yet I can't help it.
"You are being ridiculous, Alicia. None of this is real, so what does it matter?"
Yeah, right?
I might as well enjoy all the privileges that come with being the fake fiancée of a billionaire. He's given me his card—I could buy whatever I wanted.
But… it just isn't in my nature.
Besides, he already brought me beautiful clothes.
There were tons of books to read and lots of food to eat. Why should I even ask for more?
Despite how awkward our situation is, he saved me from my father.
I should be grateful. I should respect his space—especially when he clearly stated he needed privacy.
Curiosity, indeed, kills the cat.
I walked over to the cupboard.
With a pounding heart and trembling hands, I opened the first shelf. Nothing.
I crouched down and opened the second one.
There was an envelope.
Leave it and go back to your room.
What if he comes back and sees you?
You'll go back to your old life.
But I shook off the thoughts and picked it up.
Just as I did, something slipped out and fell to the floor.
Huh. A picture?
I picked it up. It was a photo of Anthony and…
My eyes narrowed at the second person.
Oh.
"The housekeeper?"
They stood in front of a building.
Anthony wore a graduation gown, and she stood beside him like a proud mother.
Wait—
If this was Anthony's graduation picture, then where was the rest of his family?
Did they leave him? Or, knowing how cold he is… did he walk away from them?
But he'd kept their photo. That must mean he cared—at least a little. He might be cold, but he must have some ounce of empathy.
I placed the picture back into the cupboard.
Perhaps I should ask the housekeeper.
She seems to have known him for a long time…
But just as I turned to leave, my eyes were drawn to the third shelf of the cupboard.
It was the last shelf. And perhaps, it held things I wasn't meant to see.
We had separate rooms.
He let no one in.
A Warning.
Still, I opened it slowly— and my breath caught.
Stacks of papers and photographs.
People's faces captured in different scenarios.
Leave.
But I reached in and pulled out one of the papers—and a photo.
It showed a man stepping into a cab.
He wore sunglasses and had neatly trimmed black hair.
I couldn't make out his face, but I knew this man wasn't Anthony.
There was a small note attached to the photo.
A date: August 11.
I inhaled sharply. What did that date mean?
There was no year written down, but judging by the aged paper and the style of the photo, it didn't look recent.
Inside the cupboard, there were more portraits—each one with a slip of paper attached, just like the first.
As my hand reached for another, a voice sliced through the silence— cold, sharp, unmistakably his.
"What are you doing here?"
"Anthony—" I gasped, spinning around.
He stood at the door, gaze locked on me.
The photo slipped from my hand and fluttered to the floor.
Anthony's eyes blazed with a fury I had never seen before.
In two swift strides, he closed the distance and seized my wrist, pulling me up to meet his gaze.
"Did I not warn you never to come in here?"