Chapter 10
The days that followed blurred into one another, filled with meetings, documents, emails, and more meetings. I threw myself into the research project with Alice, letting the schedule bury me so deep that I could barely come up for air. I told myself it was for progress. For growth. For distraction.
But distraction wasn’t easy when my mind kept drifting back to the estate. To him.
No matter how much I worked, Rozen’s presence clung to me like a scent I couldn’t wash
off.
The way he held open the door every time I entered the car. The way he’d loosen his tie first thing when we got home, sighing like he had carried the world all day.
The way he silently placed my favorite tea on my desk one morning, without a word, only a small post–it. “You looked tired.”
And the way he’d glance at me sometimes, across the dining table, when he thought I wasn’t looking–like he was trying to memorize my face.
It was ridiculous how little things stuck with me. One afternoon, I had gotten a mild fever after a meeting, and instead of calling staff, he sat by my bed, reading his emails beside me, waiting for the doctor. He didn’t say anything, just stayed there. Quiet. Present. That was the thing with Rozen–he didn’t talk much, but his silence often said more than words
could.
But then I would remember the library.
The vase. The rage in his voice. You ruined her vase. This is something she had made. Her. Whoever she was. The girl in the painting. The ghost he still mourned. No matter how many warm gestures he gave me, I reminded myself–he never chose me.
He married me because of a deal. Because of inheritance. Because I was convenient. I had no place in his heart. And I didn’t want to beg for one.
One morning, as I arrived at the research center, a staff member walked up to me holding a bouquet of peonies. My stomach twisted.
“If it’s from Thomas or Scott,” I snapped, “throw it.”
The staff flinched slightly. “It’s from your husband.”
I blinked. “Rozen?”
He handed it over. I stared at the white and blush–pink arrangement–subtle, delicate, elegant. There was a small black envelope tucked in between the stems. My fingers hesitated, then slid it open.
Be ready by 7. Wear something red. -R.
That was it. No explanation. No apologies. No mention of what happened that night.
I should’ve ignored it. But I didn’t. That evening, I found the red gown hanging on my bedroom door. No one said a word about how it got there. I changed, painted on a smile, and accompanied him to yet another business affair where I played the part of the poised
2/2 40.0%
19:25 Fri, 18 Apr
60%
wife. Standing beside him, smiling for cameras, shaking hands with strangers who all thought our marriage was built on romance and wealth.
We never spoke of the library again.
The silence was heavy between us, but we carried it like professionals. During dinners, he’d ask how the project was going, and I’d answer politely. Sometimes he’d sit across from me in his study, typing away, while I read through research journals. Comfortable. Quiet. Pretending nothing happened.
But the more I tried to forget him, the more I noticed things. Like how he always made sure there were strawberries in the fridge–my favorite. Or how he texted Alice once to ask if I’d eaten when I hadn’t come home for two days. Or how his expression always darkened slightly whenever I wore anything sleeveless–as if he remembered the bruises from the glass.
I hated it. I hated how he noticed. I hated how I noticed him back. Because there were moments–stolen glances, lingering touches, awkward silences that bordered on something deeper–when I felt something stir.
But I pushed it down. Every. Single. Time.
Because I remembered Thomas. I remembered Scott. I remembered betrayal and promises shattered like that vase.
No strings attached, I reminded myself every time I caught myself smiling at Rozen’s jokes. Every time I caught myself waiting up for him to come home. Every time I let my eyes linger on him too long when he wasn’t looking.
I didn’t want to fall again. Because love? Love was dangerous. It made you believe. It made you hope. And then it destroyed you.
So I returned to the research center the next day and told myself this was my real life now -spreadsheets, data analysis, grant proposals, and academic debates. I told myself that Rozen was just a partner in a contract.
Nothing more. Just a man.
But sometimes, just sometimes, when the world went quiet at night, I would remember the sound of his voice when he said, “You’re my wife. They need to know that.”
And I hated that it made me feel anything at all.
