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“MATE!” My wolf Roxie says loudly, but I couldn’t believe it. I’ve been seen as a shame by everyone due to my chubby figure. While other she-wolves are thin and beautiful, they said it was impossible that a fat she-wolf like me could have a mate. But now, an amazing scent hits my nostrils. It smells like fresh cut grass and cedar. I turn around to see who the scent belongs to, and I see Alpha Cullen. It’s the first time I have felt excited with anticipation. My fated mate! The moon goddess made Alpha Cullen my fated mate. I used to hear my half-sister Rachel say how handsome is he and that he is kind to everyone. I step forward, but realize quickly, he doesn’t look as excited as I am. In fact, he looks like a mix between disgusted and angry. ‘Roxie? Are you sure he is our mate? He doesn’t look happy to see us.’ ‘Yes! He’s our mate! Go to him Rebel! I want our mate!’ she yips. I move to walk towards him. Just as I take a step, he says, “Stop. This must be a mistake. I could never be mated to someone, like…you.” My hope and brief moment of excitement and anticipation just crash landed on rocky terrain. He isn't happy to be mated to us. He doesn’t want us. Roxie starts howling with sorrow. My eyes start to water. “Someone like me?” I ask. “Yes, I mean, look at you. No Alpha wants a Luna that looks like you to be their mate. You don’t look refined, your clothes are old, not to mention you are not attractive. Maybe if you lost weight, then you could be passable. The moon goddess made a mistake. There is no way I can accept you as my mate. What is your name?” He sneers. “Rebel Lawson” I reply. I know the rejection is coming. “Let’s get this over with, I have things to do. Just so you understand, I need a strong and BEAUTIFUL Luna by my side. I, Alpha Cullen Niles, of the Ironclaw Pack, reject you, Rebel Lawson, as my mate and Luna.” Instantly, my chest feels like it is ripped open and gutted. The pain is the worst I’ve ever felt. But I refuse to show pain in front of Alpha Cullen. The sooner I accept, the sooner we can move on. “I, Rebel Lawson, accept your rejection.” It’s like a final death blow. “You will not mention this to anyone, do you understand?” As much pain as I was in, I couldn’t muster up the strength to say yes, so I just nod. “Good, I can’t have people knowing I was mated to such a she-wolf.” **** The thought of the rejection has been depressing me. Every good or normal thing I’ve had in my life has always been taken from me. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that my mate didn’t want me either. With women like my sister or all the pretty she-wolves in the pack, well, I assume they are all prettier than me, who would want a frumpy and chubby she-wolf as a mate? “Rebel! Good thing you’re here.” It’s my stepmother. She sneers at me. I sigh, “What do you need Jules?” “Alpha Cullen has decided to take a chosen mate. He wants to have dinners with women he finds worthy of being his Luna! And he will be here tonight for Rachel!” I suddenly feel lightheaded, and the room starts spinning around me. “Alpha Cullen, here, tonight?” A chosen mate? As if my heart couldn’t break any further, my fated mate, the one who rejected me, is coming here to have dinner with my father and stepmother, for Rachel. Not me. Does the moon goddess take pleasure in hurting me? Without realizing it, my stepmother is in my face, “So you must leave now. I don’t need you staining our family with your presence. Go out the back door and don’t come back until midnight to give Alpha Cullen enough time to enjoy Rachel’s company and leave.” Just then Rachel, my half-sister, walks in. “If it were up to me, you would be gone indefinitely. Alpha Cullen will fall madly in love with me. When he makes me his Luna, I will be sure you are banished from the pack. I can’t have you staining my reputation. The fattest she-wolf of the pack.” Even though it stings, I keep my face neutral. “He isn’t patient enough to wait for his fated mate, so instead he will settle for a chosen mate. Does that make you feel cherished?” Rachel face almost contorts with anger. Actually, it looks funny. I wasn’t aware her face could twist so unnaturally. “At least I will be mated and marked. Even if not by Alpha Cullen, then by someone of rank. How do you compare Rebel? Not even your own family wants to recognize you and only sees you as a stain on our reputation. You will always be what you are, a servant in your father’s home, and a servant to me no less!” “ENOUGH!” My father enters the room. I think he is going to say something to Rachel about calling me a servant, but of course, I was wrong. “REBEL! FOR ONCE CAN YOU STOP ESCALATING THINGS WITH YOUR SISTER!” he roars at me. “Alpha Cullen is coming here tonight to meet with us and get to know Rachel. This is a huge opportunity not just for Rachel but our family. Could you please just leave?” “You mean your family. Clearly, I’ve never been wanted here. Not even by my own father.” I say calmly. I turn on my heel and walk to the kitchen before the tears I’ve been holding back come down. **** Roxie has run for about an hour in the forest. I’ve tried to enjoy the moment and not thinking about what happened to me. Suddenly, Roxie comes to a dead stop. ‘Roxie! What happened? What’s wrong? Did we stray too far from the pack land borders?’ Then it hits me. My nostrils flare as the scent of salted citrus and driftwood fills my senses. OH, NO! Roxie whimpers, lowers her head and her ears pushed back in fear. She says the least expected thing I ever thought I would hear her say again in our lifetime. ‘Mate.” She whispers. Panicked, I urge Roxie, ‘Let’s get out of here! We are not strong enough to handle a second rejection!’ Roxie pivots to take off in the opposite direction when we hear him. “MATE! STOP WHERE YOU ARE!” God, that sexy voice is an Alpha voice. Why me? Why another Alpha? This is going to be painful. I already know it and there is nothing I can do. “Please don’t go. I may be a feared Alpha, but not to you. Never you.” His words are sincere. But then again, he hasn’t actually seen me yet. I’m still in wolf form and Roxie is a beautiful wolf. ‘Let’s just get this over with Roxie. Maybe we can ask him to hold off until after we eat, so we at least have some strength.’ Roxie remains quiet. She’s definitely nervous and so am I. I pull a shift with my back still turned to my mate. I thought I heard him suck in a breath. I guess he thinks my backside is disgusting too. I say barely above a whisper, “If you don’t mind, I would like to put some clothes on before we speak.” “Of course mate. I’m not going anywhere.” Does he sound excited? It’s almost like I can hear him smile as he speaks. Well, I’m sure it will be short lived. I take a deep breath and before I step out. ‘It’s okay Roxie, we can handle this. We are going to be fine.’ When I see him, my eyes widen. My goddess, he is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. He is all broad shoulders, muscles, and charisma. Much more attractive than Alpha Cullen. I could feel Roxie’s joy. ‘Don’t get too happy Rox, a man this handsome is likely to reject us.’ Roxie whimpers in my mind, because she knows what’s coming. My mate, is looking at me intently. It almost feels indecent the way he keeps looking at me. I instinctively wrap my arms around myself and look down. “Would you mind waiting a few minutes for me to get some food? My wolf has been running for well over an hour and she burns off energy faster than most wolves. We would just like to gain some strength before you reject us.” “Reject you? Why would I do that mate?” He looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “I know I’m not Luna material or beautiful. You don’t have to pretend Alpha.” I look down again. I can’t stand to look at this incredibly handsome man, knowing he will not want me. Carefully, he steps closer to me lifting my gaze to meet his with his finger. I feel little jolts of electricity go straight to my core before he speaks, “First, I don’t know why you think you are not beautiful or who made you believe that you are not beautiful, when you are gorgeous. You’re the most the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life darling. Second, you are MY mate. That makes you MY Luna. No one will dare challenge this fact or they forfeit their life. Now, whats your name, darling?” “Rebel Lawson from Ironclaw. ” Alpha Cullen also asked me for my name, but to reject me. “You seem like you have decided I am going to reject you any moment now. Why is that Rebel? What happened to you?” He asks as if he is catching on to the fact that I’m skeptical about him. I sigh. I might as well rip the band aid. “You are not mate first mate. I met my mate two months ago, and as soon as he saw me, he rejected me.” I saw his eyes darken. “First, I’m glad he rejected you. Because now you are mine, and I’m not only happy, but I’m ecstatic you’re mine. Second, whoever your first mate was, he was a idiot not to see how perfect you are. Either way, it’s his loss and my gain sweetheart. Was he part of Ironclaw?” I stare at him, completely shocked. He says he’s ecstatic I’m his. That’s never a word I thought someone would use to describe being with me. “Yes, he is part of Ironclaw. Actually, he was the one who said I wasn’t Luna material.” “ Luna material? Was your mate Alpha Cullen?” His eyes darken. I look down at the ground and in a very low voice I replied, “Yes.” I looked up slowly and saw rage rolling off of his Alpha aura. “Did that moron hurt you?”
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"I'll never love you. You'll never be my true mate. This arrangement is a joke. An insult." My husband sneered. "Understood, Mr. Nighthorn. I'm not looking forward to the wedding either. If I had a choice, I'd have turned it down, but your father left me and my family with two options—accept or go rogue." "Feisty," he said. "I like that. Quick-tempered too." "As long as you don't try to bully me, we won't have a problem. If your father really did buy me, then this is a contract. And once Darian becomes Alpha, you'll release me." I said flatly. He chuckled then—low and bitter. "You still don't get it, do you? That will never happen, Mara. I'll have to claim you eventually. A full binding. For show. For politics. For my father. You'll be mine—publicly, legally, permanently." Something twisted in my chest at those words. A phantom ache. He told me exactly where I stood in this twisted legacy of power, names, and politics. I was never meant to have a voice. —————— That actually made me smile. It was such a him thing to say. “That’s so cool, Rowan,” I said, wide-eyed. Then, on impulse, the words slipped out before I could second-guess them. “Do you mind if I come?” Rowan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at Darian, almost like he needed permission. And Darian—bless him—gave me that soft smile again. “If you go with him,” he said, “who’s going to be my friend and keep me company here?” I knew the answer. We all did. Tiffany. Tiffany would. But if I said that out loud, it would expose everything—my jealousy, my feelings, my pain. It would ruin whatever fragile friendship we still had. So I said nothing. Just sat there, heart breaking quietly behind steady eyes. Mara “I’m sure you’ve got other friends to keep you company,” I said, keeping my voice calm, eyes steady on Tiffany. “Better—and maybe more interesting—company than I could ever be.” Tiffany caught the meaning instantly and smiled, smug and satisfied. “That’s right, Darian,” she purred, looping her arm through his. “I’m all the company you’ll need.” Then, like it was some kind of private joke, she leaned in and licked his earlobe again. I looked away, jaw tight. She wanted to be Luna so badly it was dripping off her. Most of the girls who threw themselves at Darian did. It wasn’t about him. It was about the title, the power, the image. But not me. Even if Darian wasn’t going to be Alpha, I’d still feel this way about him. That was the difference. “I want to come with you, Rowan,” I said suddenly, turning to him. My voice was clearer than I expected. Firm. I needed distance. Space. A whole dam continent between me and Darian if I was going to get over him. He would never see me. Never choose me. And I had to stop holding out hope like it was some kind of twisted comfort blanket. “This trip... it’ll be good for me,” I added, mostly to myself. Darian smiled, watching me a little too closely. “Maybe I’ll come too.” And just like that, the air left my lungs. No. No, he couldn’t. That would ruin everything. I’d just end up exactly where I was—his loyal shadow, his best buddy, watching Tiffany swallow his attention whole. “You’ll bring me along?” Tiffany asked, all wide eyes and sugar-laced eagerness. I could almost hear the flutter of her lashes. I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. If she came too, I’d lose my mind watching her cling to Darian like a barnacle in heat. Her tongue alone would be enough to make me puke somewhere around the border of the first town we hit. “I’ll think about it,” Darian replied, and Tiffany's face fell. She frowned, and then her eyes flicked to me, sharp and accusing, like it was my fault. She wasn’t entirely wrong. But also not right. I didn’t want Darian to come—not because I wanted to hoard him for myself, but because I needed to finally let go of him. We stayed a little longer, had a couple drinks, careful not to go overboard. It was a quiet ending to a loud night. Eventually, we all called it and got ready to leave. “Let’s go hunting tomorrow morning,” Darian said casually as we stepped out into the night. His voice was light, but his eyes were on me. I hesitated. Waiting. Because, of course, I needed to hear what she would say. “I want to come too,” Tiffany piped up, bouncing slightly in her heels like she was volunteering for a game of tag. I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. Darian caught it and laughed. “I guess the three of you will have to go without me,” I said flatly, already turning away. Darian frowned. “Come on, Mara. You and I—we’re a good team.” Oh, how I wished that was true. But in reality? It was just another sweet lie I’d told myself over the years. “You, Rowan, and Tiffany will be a formidable team,” I replied, eyes on the pavement, not bothering to look at her. I could already feel the weight of her glare. I didn’t blame her. If I were her, I wouldn’t like me either. Not when the guy I wanted kept paying attention to someone else. Darian told me to think about it. I wouldn’t. I didn’t need to. I already knew I wasn’t going. When I got home, the house was quiet—everyone asleep. I slipped inside like a ghost and made my way to my room, shutting the door behind me without making a sound. I didn’t want to wake anyone. I didn’t want to talk. All I wanted was to stop loving someone who would never love me back. Morning came too fast. I sat on the edge of my bed, still wrapped in the fog of everything I was trying to forget. The hunt was supposed to be today. Part of me wanted to go—just to breathe outside this house, outside of him. But the thought of Tiffany tagging along made my stomach twist. I already knew she’d spent the night at the Nighthorn mansion. There was no way Darian would leave her behind now. Not after that. I dragged myself downstairs, hungry but not in the mood. I hated shifting when I hadn’t eaten—it made me edgy, short-tempered. I didn’t want to lose it in the woods and end up looking unhinged. What I didn’t expect was to find my parents waiting in the kitchen. They weren’t eating. They weren’t smiling. They were just… there, sitting stiffly at the table with this look in their eyes that made something inside me tighten. My mother, usually bright-eyed and warm, gave me a small, nervous smile. “Morning, Mara. How was your night?” I forced a shrug. “Great,” I lied, trying not to read too much into their mood. She just nodded. My father cleared his throat, and the sound already made my heart beat faster. “Sweetheart, we need to talk to you about something important.” And just like that, my stomach dropped. They didn’t speak in the kitchen. My dad gestured toward the living room, and we all moved, silent as ghosts. I sat on the couch across from them, trying not to let my mind spiral. Then they looked at each other. That kind of look—the silent, mind-link kind of conversation they always had when something was wrong. Something they didn’t want to say out loud. I wasn’t part of it. Not yet. Not until they decided I had to be. “Mara,” my father said slowly, “you know how much we love you, right?” Wrong way to start. My pulse spiked. I swallowed hard. “Yes,” I said, and my voice cracked. He looked down for a moment, then back up at me with tired eyes. “We’ve always wanted the best for you. But… we also have duties to the pack. Responsibilities. And—” “We should’ve told you sooner,” my mother cut in, her voice trembling. “But we wanted you to have your graduation, your moment of celebration, before we… before we said anything.” Her eyes welled up with tears. That’s when I started crying too. Because whatever could make my mother cry like that—whatever they were about to say—it was going to rip something out of me. “Mara,” my father said again, quieter this time, “Alpha Vander Nighthorn has chosen you to be joined with his eldest son, Lucian.” My breath caught. “He’s decided,” he continued, “that since you finished second overall in the academy, top among the female wolves, and since you’re known for your strength, your discipline… that you’re the best choice for Lucian. He believes your character will help shape him into a man fit to stand beside his brother when Darian becomes Alpha. He also believes that your friendship with Darian will help settle the conflict between the brothers and bring unity to the future leadership of this pack.” I was frozen. The words didn’t even register at first. It didn’t feel real. “It’s not a suggestion, Mara,” my father added. “It’s an order. One we had no power to refuse.” That was it. The sound that left my throat wasn’t even human. I screamed. A raw, guttural cry that tore from my chest like something inside me had shattered. Mara “This must be a joke,” I whispered, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice. My eyes burned, and the tears wouldn’t stop. My mother shook her head slowly, her face soaked with grief. “It’s not a joke,” she said, broken. I choked on a sob. “Lucian? Lucian?! He’s a monster. A cruel, vicious bаst3rd. He lies, cheats, bullies anyone weaker than him—and he killed someone, an innocent person. And now you want me to what? Play house with the devil?” I knew they didn’t have a choice. I knew it wasn’t really their fault. But I needed someone to blame, and they were standing right in front of me, and I was drowning. “We had no say,” my father said, voice low and defeated. “They said you’re the strongest female of your generation. They believe you’ll match him. Tame him.” “Enough!” I snapped, standing up so fast the room spun. “You can’t tame people, Dad. You don’t ‘fix’ someone like Lucian. He’s not broken. He’s rotten. He was born that way.” My breath came fast, too fast. My chest felt tight like I was suffocating. “I’m supposed to be Darian’s Gamma! That job—our futures—they’re built on trust, on teamwork. How am I supposed to do that while being shackled to a psychopath?” They had no answers. Just silence. My mother’s silent weeping. My father’s helpless stare. “I’m done. I’m leaving. I don’t want the Gamma position. They can keep it—and let them gift someone else to that monster.” I turned, storming toward the stairs. I didn’t know where I’d go, but anywhere was better than here. Anywhere but thislife. “You can’t leave, Mara,” my father called after me, voice desperate. “If you refuse the bond, Alpha Nighthorn will cast us out. We’ll become rogues. Once the mark of Mooncrest fades, we’ll lose everything—our protection, our humanity. You know what happens to rogues. You’ll turn feral. We all will. They rule this entire country, Mara. There’s no where for you to go,” I stopped in my tracks. Feral. Cast out. Doomed. I turned slowly and looked at my mother. Her shoulders were trembling. She couldn’t even look me in the eyes. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?” I said, my voice shaking with fury and despair. “You’re asking me to throw my life away. You’re asking me to bind myself to someone who might kill me in my sleep.” She nodded through her tears. “I’m sorry.” Lucian wasn’t just cruel—he was dangerous. Even Alpha Vander didn’t trust him to lead, which was why Darian had been groomed from day one to take over. Darian, with his calm and strength and sense of duty. Meanwhile, his older brother was out there, spiraling, and now they wanted me to steady him. They wouldn’t have picked me if I wasn’t so perfect—so well-behaved, so disciplined, so obsessed with Darian that I molded myself into the model warrior. Maybe if I’d been reckless, mean, or a bitter b1tch, they wouldn’t have even considered me. But no. I had played the part. And now, this was my reward: unrequited love, a forced marriage, a future I couldn’t escape. I hated my life in that moment. I was about to turn away again when the doorbell rang. We all froze. My mother rose to answer it, and the scent hit me before she opened the door—him. Darian. He stepped inside, and I almost didn’t recognize him. His eyes were red, brimming with tears. His hands trembled. He looked like someone had carved a hole into his chest and left it gaping. “Mara,” he said softly, his voice cracked and hoarse. He opened his arms. He didn’t need to say anything else. I walked into him, into the arms I had longed for more than I ever admitted, and he held me—tight, like he was the one about to fall apart. My parents quietly stepped away, leaving us in the silence of shared pain. And I broke. I cried, and this time, it wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t polite. It was everything I had been holding in—fear, betrayal, grief, hopelessness—all pouring out while he held me. And still, I knew… even this wouldn’t change anything. “I’m sorry, Mara,” Darian whispered against my hair, his voice thick with something heavier than guilt. “I didn’t know they would do this. I didn’t know he would do this.” And I broke again. “I don’t want to be with Lucian,” I cried, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring me. “I hate him, Darian. I can’t do this. Please… help me.” His arms tightened around me like he wanted to, like he wished he could fix it all with the way he held me—but he didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was barely above a whisper. “I’m not Alpha yet, Mara. My key mark isn’t active yet. I don’t have the power to stop this.” And that—that—hurt more than I expected. Not because he admitted he was powerless but because of the way his voice cracked. There was grief in it. Regret. Something deeper than duty. “I thought…” he started, then paused. “I thought we had time. I thought there’d be more time.” I pulled back just enough to look at him. “Time for what?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mara. I didn’t know.” I stared at him, trying to piece together what he meant. Time for what? Was he finally saying what I’d always hoped he felt? But now wasn’t the time. Not with everything crashing around us. The hug faded. Slowly. Reluctantly. We stood there, inches apart, staring into each other’s tear-streaked faces, both too full of words we couldn’t say. “Listen to me,” Darian said, his voice low but firm. “I will always be there for you. I won’t let him hurt you, Mara. I swear it. If you ever feel unsafe, if he crosses a line—call me. I don’t care what I’m doing. I’ll come. I will come. You are not alone in this.” I blinked back another wave of tears. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to thank someone for a promise that shouldn’t have to exist. “I wish I’d never trained to be your Beta,” I muttered, my voice barely a breath. “If I’d just taken medical classes instead… Alpha Vander wouldn’t have noticed me. He wouldn’t have picked me for his deranged son.” I looked at Darian again. My heart swelled painfully, and I opened my mouth. “Darian…” He met my eyes, hope flickering there. “What is it, Mara?” I hesitated. I wanted to say it. Gods, I wanted to scream it—I love you. I’ve always loved you. But I didn’t. Because now he wasn’t just the boy I trained beside. He was about to become my brother-in-law. And whatever chance there might have been, it had died the moment his father bound my future to Lucian’s. “Nothing,” I said instead. “Nothing but fear.” He pulled me back into his arms without hesitation. I buried my face in his chest and breathed in his scent one last time like it might be enough to last me forever. I didn’t dare ask for more. I didn’t dare reach for what I truly wanted. Not now. Not when I was about to be forced into the hands of someone I despised. Not when Darian had no power to save me. He held me tight, as if letting go would break him, too. Then he kissed the top of my head—soft, lingering—and pulled away. “We’ll still be best friends,” he said gently. “I don’t care what the pack says. You’re still my best friend, Mara. No one’s replacing you.” And there it was. The final nail. Best friend. The words were supposed to be comforting, but they landed like a blade in my chest. His father thought that same friendship was the key to taming Lucian—like I was a tool, a bridge, a sacrificial peace offering. I didn’t want to be Darian’s best friend. I wanted to be his everything. His Luna. His love. His home. But instead, I got Lucian. Unwanted. Unchosen. Trapped. Maybe being feral wouldn’t be so bad. At least then I’d be free. I could run, disappear, let the wilderness swallow me whole. Anything would be better than this slow suffocation. I wanted to leave. I needed to leave. Mara Darian followed me upstairs to my room. For the first time, it felt… wrong. Foreign. Like something had cracked in the familiar walls we’d built around each other. It had always been a little awkward since I started falling for him, but now—now it felt unbearable. I didn’t know what it would be like living in their house. The Nighthorn mansion. Sharing space with Lucian. Walking the same halls as Darian, seeing him every day while wearing the title of someone else’s mate. His brother’s mate. The thought made me feel sick. I didn’t trust my heart not to betray me in some devastating way. “I’ll wait here,” Darian said softly, settling into the chair by my desk while I headed into the bathroom. As soon as the water hit me, the tears came. I sank to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, sobbing so hard my ribs ached. I cried for the life I almost had. For the love I could never confess. For I was being handed like some twisted reward for being too good. And in that cracked, broken place, I thought about running. Disappearing. Going rogue. Letting the world forget I ever existed. But then I remembered what that meant. What it would do to my family. What it would do to me. I dressed in the bathroom, even though modesty had long since evaporated between Darian and me during years of shifting and training together. But things were different now. Everything was different. Even standing in front of him felt like holding a glass that could shatter if either of us moved too fast. “How are you feeling?” he asked when I stepped back into the room. I just nodded, unable to trust my voice. His eyes were still tinged with crimson, like he’d been holding back more tears of his own. “Lucian doesn’t want the union either,” he said suddenly. I looked up, startled. “What?” “That’s how I found out,” he continued. “I overheard him yelling at our father. He was furious. Said he didn’t want you. Didn’t want any of it. And honestly… that’s what scares me the most.” I understood what he meant before he said it. Lucian didn’t want me. Which meant he’d resent me. And with the kind of man he was—violent, spiteful—that resentment wouldn’t just sit quietly in the corner. He’d find a way to punish me for it. “Then why won’t he reject it?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. Darian exhaled slowly, like the weight of it all was dragging him under too. “Because ever since Father chose me as Alpha instead of him, Lucian hasn’t dared to oppose him. I think the shame crushed something inside him. He’s quiet now, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. And…” He hesitated. “Lucian’s in love—with someone else. Has been for a while.” I swallowed hard. That somehow made it worse. I wasn’t just being forced into a bond with a monster—I was a wedge, a weapon used to separate him from someone he actually cared about. A curse he’d wear every day. “This isn’t fair,” I said bitterly. “Not to me. Not to her. Not to anyone.” Darian didn’t argue. “Will I still be your Gamma?” I asked, knowing it was selfish but needing to ask anyway. Because even if I couldn’t be his mate, I still wanted to stand by his side in some way. Any way. “Yes,” he said softly. “Unless you choose to step down, you’ll remain my Gamma.” I shook my head. I couldn’t make that decision yet. Not when everything inside me felt broken and scattered. I just needed time. Space to breathe, to mourn, to accept the weight of what had been forced on me. Darian left quietly, carrying his own sadness like a wound. I watched him go and felt another piece of me fall apart. I stayed in bed the rest of the day. Staring at the ceiling. Crying into my pillow until it was soaked. My parents tried to check on me—brought food, soft words, empty comfort—but I ignored them all. I didn’t want kindness from the people who had let this happen. I didn’t want anyone. If the Alpha had chosen to bind me to Darian, I would have said yes without hesitation. I would have given him everything. But instead, I was being handed over to his brother. Why Lucian? Of all the wolves in this pack, why did fate—or power, or cruelty—choose him? And what the hll was I supposed to do now? Two weeks. Two long, miserable weeks of crying, sulking, and avoiding the world like it had personally betrayed me—because in a way, it had. I refused to go to any gatherings, skipped every function, and barely spoke to anyone who wasn’t Darian. Not that I saw him much. He’d gotten himself into trouble more than once that week, and Alpha Vander had taken it as an excuse to load him up with responsibilities. I missed him. But missing him was a dangerous thing now. Luna Martha Nighthorn came by twice to speak with my parents about the “arrangements.” She was Darian’s mother—not Lucian’s. Lucian’s biological mother had died when he was young. Alpha Vander had bonded with Martha later, and ever since, everyone just assumed she was the mother of both boys. Everyone except Lucian, who never missed a chance to correct them. I didn’t care for the politics of it. I didn’t care about her visit, her soft reassurances, or the way she avoided looking me in the eye. I didn’t care about any of it. I just wanted to disappear. Burn the whole d'amn future and vanish into ash. But I couldn’t. I was sitting on the patio, trying to catch my breath from another heavy day of doing absolutely nothing, when a sleek black car pulled into our driveway. I squinted at the figure stepping out. A young woman—tall, porcelain-skinned, striking brunette. And angry. I stood slowly, assuming she was lost and needed directions. She didn’t waste time. “Are you Mara Thornridge?” she asked, sharp and cold. I nodded, guarded. “You gold-digging b1tch,” she snapped. “What do your parents have on Alpha Vander? Huh?” I blinked, stunned. What? “Do you know how long Lucian and I have been together?” she choked out, her eyes welling up with tears. “We were sweethearts for years. And now I find out you—you’ve been chosen for him? You?” I stood there, frozen, every cell in my body screaming for a break. I had no words. I was still trying to process this marriage from hll myself, and now this? She stepped closer, her voice low and trembling with rage. “How dare you, Mara? I swear, we will make your life a living hll.” And that was it. I snapped. “Watch it,” I growled, the shift stirring beneath my skin. “I don’t give two fks about Lucian. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this. So maybe aim that rage where it belongs—at him, or at his father, or at the Moon Goddess herself. Not me.” She blinked, caught off guard. “If you’re so mad, tell your beloved boyfriend to grow a spine and say something to his father. Trust me, you’d be doing me a huge favor. Because let’s be honest—Lucian isn’t exactly a prize. He’s an entitled, violent аs hole, and I wouldn’t want to be bound to him if he was the last breathing wolf in existence.” She stepped toward me like she was about to swing. I didn’t even flinch—I welcomed it. Hll, I needed it. I let out a low, warning growl, eyes locked on hers. “You need to f'k- off, now. While I’m still being nice. Because if you don’t, I swear on every ancestor in my bloodline, I will tear you apart. And right now? I wouldn’t even regret it.” Something in my voice must’ve landed. She backed away slowly, fury still burning in her eyes, but something else too—fear. She slid into her car and slammed the door, then peeled out of the driveway without another word. I stood there breathing hard, body trembling with all the rage and frustration I’d buried these past two weeks. Now I had to deal with Lucian’s girlfriend too? I wasn’t even officially mated to him yet, and already the drama was spilling into my yard like blood on the snow. And Lucian—he hadn’t shown up. Hadn’t spoken to me. Hadn’t so much as sent a message. I guessed the feeling was mutual. This was going to be hll. And it hadn’t even started yet. Mara “Mara!” my mother called from downstairs. Since the day they dropped the bomb about the arrangement, I’d barely left my room. What was the point? Everyone probably knew by now. The whole pack, maybe even the entire dam country. Mara Thornridge, gifted to Lucian Nighthorn like a prized lamb to the family wolf. And just like that, the threats had started rolling in—anonymous messages from a number I didn’t need to trace. I knew exactly who it was. Lucian’s little banshee. The same girl who’d parked in my driveway and tried to claw my face off with words she probably rehearsed in front of a mirror. None of her threats got to me. Not one. If she ever followed through on a single one of them, I might actually respect her. But I knew the truth—lashing out at me was easier than facing Lucian or confronting Alpha Vander. I was the easier target. The quiet one. The one who hadn’t asked for any of this. I got out of bed wearing the same old pajamas I’d worn for two days. It was already afternoon. I didn’t care. My hair was a mess, my eyes were swollen from days of crying, but the tears had stopped. I wasn’t sad anymore. Just empty. Numb. And numbness? It was better. Numbness didn’t ask questions or demand hope. Darian and I still talked every night. His voice was soft, his words kind, and I hated every second of it. He meant well. He was trying. But I didn’t want kindness from him. Not anymore. I wanted what I could never have. Every call was another reminder that I'd never be more than his best friend. So no, the support wasn’t helping. Not even a little. I shuffled downstairs, preparing to grab something quick and head back to my quiet cave of self-pity. But I froze at the bottom step. Alpha Vander Nighthorn and Lucian were in my living room. Just sitting there. Like this was normal. Like they belonged. I felt my parents' disappointment immediately. The way they looked at my unwashed hair and oversized sleep shirt said it all. But maybe, just maybe, the Alpha would take one look at me and change his mind. Maybe I looked pathetic enough to kill this deal. I stepped into the room, lifting my chin, even though my body screamed to turn and run. “Good afternoon, Alpha. Mr. Nighthorn,” I said evenly, voice dry but polite. Alpha Vander sat upright on the couch, perfectly composed. For a man in his early fifties, he looked ten years younger. Thick dark hair, sharp brown eyes, a well-groomed beard. He radiated power and vanity, and somehow it worked. No wonder women in the pack still swooned over him. He had that whole silver fox, age-like-wine aesthetic locked down. And Lucian? He looked like sin incarnate. Dark hair, frost-blue eyes that could pierce through bone, and a jawline that might have been carved from stone. His shirt clung to his body like it didn’t want to let go—tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, tracing the edges of muscle sculpted to perfection. He wasn’t bulky, not like some of the other warriors. He was lean, cut, deadly. His skin was sun-kissed and flawless, his stare unreadable and cold. Everything about him screamed danger, power, trouble. Everything about him made my skin crawl. And yet… he was undeniably beautiful. If I hadn’t known what was behind that face, I might have stared. Might have been flattered. But now? All I saw was the cage I was about to be locked inside. And he hadn’t even bothered to look at me yet. I swallowed hard when I saw him. It had been a while since I last saw Lucian Nighthorn in person, and I hated myself for even noticing how he looked. His presence was magnetic—he didn’t just walk into a room, he took it. He looked like something out of legend: all dark edges, piercing frost-blue eyes, and sculpted features that belonged on a statue. But no matter how stunning the exterior, it couldn’t mask the ugliness I knew sat underneath. Looks didn’t make a man worth loving. And I didn’t want this union. But what I wanted didn’t matter. “Mara,” Alpha Vander said, dragging my attention away from his son. I stood upright and gave him the proper Gamma salute. My posture stiff, my insides screaming. “Congratulations on your future position as Gamma. Mooncrest and Darian are blessed to have you in the ranks.” “Thank you, Alpha,” I replied, my voice steady. “Lucian,” he said, turning to his son, “get to know your mate. Take a walk while I speak with the Thornridges about the event.” Lucian didn’t respond. He just stood and walked outside, offering no glance, no gesture, no courtesy. The kind of silence that dared you to follow—and warned you not to speak. I didn’t want to go with him. He hadn’t asked. But I wasn’t foolish enough to disobey an Alpha’s command. I followed him out. He was sitting on the patio, staring down the street like the world bored him. I didn’t sit. “Don’t get any ideas, little girl,” he said finally, his voice deep, sharp, arrogant. “This arrangement is a joke. An insult. I’ll never love you. You’ll never be my true mate. Let’s get that straight before the wedding so you don’t embarrass yourself hoping for more.” I cleared my throat, keeping my voice even. “Understood, Mr. Nighthorn. I’m not looking forward to the wedding either. If I had a choice, I’d have turned it down, but your father left me and my family with two options—accept or go rogue. I expect nothing from you. And I will give you nothing in return.” He finally turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. “You really have no pride, do you?” he said. “You think this is some noble sacrifice? My father’s paying your family a fortune for this. You and your parents—just more middle-class shovel-holders, ready to dig for gold.” I inhaled sharply. My hand twitched. Don’t hit him, I told myself. Not yet. His smirk widened. “Feisty,” he said. “I like that. Quick-tempered too. I’m honestly surprised you made it as Gamma. What did you do? Sleep your way there? Must’ve been quite the climb—though Darian doesn’t fancy you, so maybe you figured you’d settle for the older brother. At least then you get the name, the money, the power. That’s what this is about, right? Being a Nighthorn?” He waited for me to crumble. I didn’t. Instead, I leaned in, voice low and laced with venom. “At least I earned my place in this pack. I’m Gamma because I bled for it, not because I was born into a name. You? You’ll always be the brother of the Alpha. Nothing more.” That hit him. His jaw tightened. His hand lifted halfway, shaking—just a breath away from slapping me. His eyes burned, not with fury alone, but with something deeper. Shame. Insecurity. I flinched, but only slightly. Mara Lucian was stronger than Darian. That much was clear. Where Darian led with loyalty, Lucian ruled with intimidation. His presence filled the air like a storm. And for a moment, just a moment, I felt what it would be like to be tied to this man. Not protected. Not cherished. Owned. Lucian dropped his hand, clenched it into a fist instead. Good. I’d struck the nerve I wanted. And I wouldn’t stop there. “We are not equals,” Lucian said coldly, his voice like ice cracking beneath pressure. “You better watch your mouth, Thornridge, or this arrangement will turn ugly real fast.” He dropped back onto the bench like he owned the space, like even sitting was a statement of dominance. I stayed standing, watching him from above, refusing to shrink. “I came here only to lay down a few ground rules,” he continued. “First, you will never be my mate. So don’t expect affection, don’t ask for loyalty, and don’t even think about what mates are ‘entitled’ to. I already have someone. Someone I actually care about.” I laughed—just once, dry and sharp. “You mean the one who threatened me in my own driveway?” I said. “Tell your little girlfriend that as long as she keeps her claws to herself and stays out of my way, we’ll have no problems. I don’t care what you two do behind closed doors.” He went quiet. I could tell he didn’t like my answer. It wasn’t what he expected. But it was the truth, and I wasn’t here to coddle his ego. “In public, we’ll play the part for my father,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Behind closed doors, we’re strangers. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.” “Fine by me,” I said flatly. “As long as you don’t try to bully me, we won’t have a problem. If your father really did buyme, then this is a contract. And once Darian becomes Alpha, you’ll release me.” He chuckled then—low and bitter. “You still don’t get it, do you? That will never happen, Mara. I’ll have to claim you eventually. A full binding. For show. For politics. For my father. You’ll be mine—publicly, legally, permanently.” Something twisted in my chest at those words. A phantom ache. I flinched without meaning to, but I didn’t let him see more than that. “What about your girlfriend?” I asked quietly. “She understands,” he replied, surprisingly calm. “I’ll never be Alpha, and I don’t want the job. We’ll find our way around this. She’ll still have my heart. She’ll have my children.” I stared at him, trying to understand how a person could speak of love and cruelty in the same breath. “I guess you’ve got your future mapped out,” I said. “Good for you. But what about me?” He blinked, caught off guard. His tone lost its bite. “What do you mean?” “I mean, you’ve got the girl. The family plan. The political cover. What about my life? My future?” I asked, voice low but unshaking. He looked at me for a long second. Then gave a dismissive shrug. “You’ll figure it out. If you meet someone, fine. Scr'w whoever you want. Just don’t get pregnant and embarrass me. Keep your mess private.” I stared at him, stunned. He wasn’t done. “I’m sure you already have a few boyfriends on the side. Maybe some officials from the academy you spread your legs for—because no woman’s ever made it as Gamma before. So whatever you did to get there, just keep doing it. That’s the only way you’ll hold onto that title. If someone stronger comes along, you’re out.” I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t need to. Let him think what he wanted. Let him imagine a version of me that matched his twisted assumptions. I wasn’t going to defend my body, my choices, or my worth to him. But inside, something cracked. I’d waited. Saved myself. Dreamed of Darian—not for lvst, but for love. And now I was bound to a man who assumed the worst of me. Who would use me as a shield, a pawn, and nothing more. And yet I didn’t cry. Not anymore. The tears were done. Now, there was only fire. “Well,” Lucian said, brushing imaginary dust from his pants like the conversation was just business. “Since everything’s ironed out, I guess we won’t have issues living as husband and wife.” I gave him a nod. Flat. Numb. Resigned. “Do we sleep in the same room?” I asked, not because I wanted to—but because I needed to know what kind of Hll I’d be walking into. He shook his head. “Not exactly. My room has a conjoined space. You’ll sleep in the one I’m not using.” A connected room. No door. No barrier. Just a wall, maybe some air, and all the silence in the world between us. “I’ve fixed it up for you,” he added. “Just don’t expect luxury. It’s the poorer wing of the mansion. My father doesn’t dote on me the way he does on Darian.” I almost laughed. The poorer wing? I would’ve gladly slept in a shed if it meant not sharing space with the man who thought I’d slept my way into the Gamma rank. “I don’t care about the room,” I said simply. And I didn’t. What I cared about was distance. Physical, emotional, spiritual. As much as I could carve out for myself in a life I never asked for. We headed back into the house. Alpha Vander stood, looking pleased with himself—like a man who had just orchestrated a perfect deal, unaware—or perhaps entirely aware—of the people he was crushing in the process. “Ah, I see the lovebirds have come to an understanding,” he said with a smug grin. “I suppose I’ll see you both at the wedding.” My father stepped forward to shake his hand. “Thank you, Alpha. We are honoured.” Alpha Vander turned to him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aiden, Arya—you’ve raised a strong, beautiful daughter. I originally wanted her for Darian, you know. She’s Luna material, no doubt about it. But in the end, I knew she’d have more impact on Lucian’s life.” Every word scraped against me like sandpaper. “Darian is already gentle,” he went on. “Lucian needs someone like Mara. Someone sweet, with a steady hand. She’ll soften him. She’s perfect.” And that was the moment I felt it—self-loathing. Deep, hot, gnawing. I should’ve seen it sooner. This wasn’t about love or bonds or the Universe’s will. I’d been chosen because I was safe. A tool. A soothing balm they could apply to their most volatile son. I should’ve been reckless. Cold. Difficult. A bad girl. Maybe then I would’ve been considered for Darian. Maybe then, I would’ve stood a chance. But Lucian—he didn’t let his father get away with it. “It’s not about what you want, Father,” he said suddenly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean through the room. Alpha Vander turned to him slowly, like a man used to obedience. “Don’t lie to them,” Lucian continued. “This wasn’t your idea. This was Martha’s doing. Luna Martha didn’t want Darian choosing Mara. She didn’t want him with a Thornridge—didn’t want him marrying middle-class. She wants a girl with money. Status. This whole thing? It’s her fix. Her solution.” The air in the room turned sharp. Lucian kept going. “You’re not doing this to help me,” he said. “You’re doing it to ruin me—and Mara. All to clear the path for Darian to marry someone Martha approves of. You paid them off. That’s not honor. That’s manipulation.” Then he turned and walked out without another word. And I stood there—stunned. Not because I was angry at what he said. But because it was true. So painfully, clearly true. Luna Martha didn’t want me in her family. I wasn’t polished enough. Rich enough. Enough of anything, really. And Darian… he never even had a chance to fight it. I never had a chance at him. No matter how hard I trained, no matter how loyal I was, no matter how much I loved him quietly from a distance—I never stood a chance. Lucian was many things—cold, cruel, arrogant—but in that moment, I saw something else too: honesty. Brutal, unfiltered honesty. And it told me exactly where I stood in this twisted legacy of power, names, and politics. I was never meant to have a voice. Mara Four days had passed since Lucian and his father came to the house, and I still hadn’t found my way out of the haze. I sat in the garden behind our home, staring at nothing. Not the flowers. Not the trees. Just the empty space ahead of me, like it might hold some kind of answer if I looked long enough. Lucian’s words still echoed in my mind—cold, cruel, and then, strangely, honest. The truth was a blade that hadn’t stopped cutting. It wasn’t about me being Luna material or helping Lucian. It was about Darian. About removing me from the equation so his mother could shape his future without interference. I didn’t even hear him approach. “You’ve lost weight,” Darian said softly, sitting beside me. I didn’t reply. What was there to say? He sighed and stood again, pacing. Frustrated. Restless. I knew he wanted to talk. He always did. But I couldn’t give him what he was looking for—not when I felt like my whole life had been bargained away by people who never even asked me what I wanted. “Why didn’t you tell me Lucian came to see you?” he finally asked. I looked up at him, calm on the surface, hollow underneath. “I didn’t think it was necessary.” He stopped pacing. “We’re friends, Mara. Everything is necessary. Everything matters.” He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were tense. I could see the guilt in the way he carried himself, but he didn’t understand. Not yet. “Help me, Darian,” I said, my voice cracking. “Please.” He came to a stop in front of me, eyes full of sorrow. “If I were Alpha, I’d cancel this madness. I swear I would.” “But you’re not,” I whispered. Then I looked him in the eyes, and I said the one thing that had been building in my chest like pressure before a storm. “Your mother set this up.” He frowned, his expression hardening. “Lucian said it in front of your father. And your father didn’t deny it. She was afraid that you and I… that we might end up together. She didn’t want her son marrying someone from a middle-class family. So she pushed this union, forced it, to get me out of your orbit.” Darian’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true. She knows we’re just friends. That there’s nothing between us.” His words landed like stones in my chest. “If I wanted to date you, Mara, I would’ve.” That hurt. I expected it, but it still hurt. “She doesn’t see it that way,” I replied. “To her, I’m a threat to your future. So she ruined mine.” I paused, voice low and shaking. “Please talk to her, Darian. She’s destroying two lives out of fear. Lucian has someone he loves. And me?” My voice broke. “She’s condemning me to a loveless, miserable life. All because I was your friend.” I looked down at my hands, trembling now. “I’ll give up the Gamma position. I’ll leave. Just… help me get out of this.” Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and helpless. “I don’t want to marry your brother. Please.” He sat down beside me again, silent for a long moment. His hand found mine, hesitated, then held it gently. “I’ll talk to her,” he said at last, voice low. “I can’t promise anything, Mara. But I’ll try. I’ll beg her if I have to.” I nodded, even though I wasn’t hopeful. At this point, I just needed to know someone tried. That not everyone stood by and watched my future burn. If Darian hadn’t offered, I might’ve buried myself in silent acceptance. Might’ve forced myself to walk into that cold, loveless match. But Lucian wasn’t just cruel—he was dangerous. He was a murderer. An irresponsible drunk. A walking storm I’d be expected to share a life with. The thought of binding myself to him permanently… it made my skin crawl. We sat in silence for a while after that. Just breathing the same air. Just existing in the same space. Eventually, Darian left. And I was alone again. Sitting in a garden, surrounded by life, while mine slowly withered away. Two days passed. Nothing from Darian. No call. No visit. Not even a message. Just silence. I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling like it might offer some kind of escape. It didn’t. All I saw was the countdown—days slipping away until the wedding. Until my funeral. Because that’s what it felt like. The day I married Lucian would be the day I buried the last of myself. I didn’t know if I’d take the Gamma position when the time came. I doubted it. The fire in me—the one that once pushed me to be the best—was nothing but ash now. Resignation tasted bitter, but it was starting to feel like the only thing I had left. There was a knock at my door. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. I could already smell her—my mother. And the food tray she was balancing in her hands. I didn’t move, didn’t speak, and just like I knew she would, she let herself in. “Mara,” she said gently, placing the tray on the table. “You need to eat something.” I didn’t even look at the food. I looked at her. Cold. Angry. Broken. “How can you and Dad live with yourselves after selling your daughter?” I asked, my voice flat, my expression disgusted. She froze by the table, her eyes lowering, as if even she couldn’t bear to meet mine. “He gave us no choice, Mara,” she whispered. “The money was to ease his conscience.” “And you took it.” My words were a blade. “Spent it, I’m sure. Did it ever occur to you that Lucian might call it off? That Alpha Vander might want his money back?” She turned to face me slowly, her expression tired and tight. “We had no choice,” she repeated. “It was take it… or be cast out. ‘Take it or get out,’ that’s what he said. We were drowning, Mara. The house, the loans—we were about to lose everything.” I blinked, stunned. “So you sold me to pay off your debts? The loans you took for my education?” “No,” she said quickly. “We were ready to let the house go. We planned to move in with my sister. We didn’t expect Alpha Nighthorn to show up. But when he forced the union, when he said it was happening whether we liked it or not... we took the money. We used it to survive.” “And you used me to survive,” I said bitterly. She flinched. I sat up, my eyes sharp now. “What happens if the deal falls apart? If Lucian calls it off and his father wants the money back?” “Why would he?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Because I told Darian,” I said. “I told him what Lucian said. About the truth—how this wasn’t about Lucian needing a wife but about his mother wanting me out of Darian’s life. He promised he’d talk to her. Try to get her to stop this madness.” My mother’s eyes widened, shocked. She hadn’t expected me to do anything. Maybe she thought I’d just quietly crumble. She slowly sat beside me, her body folding like something had broken inside her. Tears slid down her face. “Mara, my darling…” my mother’s voice cracked as she sat beside me. “I didn’t know you would take it this hard.” I didn’t answer. She reached for my hand, but I didn’t move. My eyes stayed locked on the ceiling, dry now, but only because I had nothing left in me. “I’m hurting too,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you to be strong. You’re tougher than this.” I didn’t look at her. “Darian and Rowan left yesterday,” she added carefully. “They won’t be back until it’s time for him to take over the pack.” The words sank in slowly, like poison soaking through my veins. They went on the trip. Without me. Without a word. Darian—the one person I still believed would try to help me—was gone. He didn’t even call. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t tell me that he had failed or that he’d tried at all. The silence in my chest cracked. My heart broke without sound. “I know what you’re thinking,” my mother said, almost defensively. “It was Luna Martha. She forced the trip.” I turned to her now, eyes stinging again. “She forced him?” I asked, though I already believed it. “Yes,” she nodded. “Jason—Darian’s butler—he came by for a check-up. He told me Darian had a terrible argument with Martha. About Lucian. About you. About how unfair this is. And when she couldn’t control the conversation, she controlled him. She made him leave. Told him it was to ‘gain experience.’ Said he’d return a better Alpha.” My lip trembled, but I didn’t speak. It was my fault. I asked him to intervene. I pulled him into this. And now he was gone. Banished under the guise of training. And nothing had changed. Lucian was still my future. And Darian… Darian had become part of the past. I sat in silence as the tears returned—slow, steady, quiet. “I’m sorry, baby,” my mother whispered. “But please… eat something. Don’t let this kill you. You’re one of the strongest wolves this pack has ever seen. A woman winning Gamma? That’s not luck. That’s grit. That’s fire. You will find a way to cope.” I didn’t believe her. Not even a little. She pulled me close, kissed my forehead, then left the room without waiting for a response. I stared at the food. The smell turned my stomach. Fear had coiled itself so tightly around my gut I could barely breathe, let alone eat. I picked at the plate. Flushed it all down the toilet. Washed the dishes in silence. I wanted to fade out of existence. But I couldn’t. I was still here. Trapped in a body with no escape, in a life that no longer felt like mine. They hadn’t even set a date yet. That should’ve been a good thing—more time, more room to plan, to hope—but instead, it made it worse. The anticipation, the waiting. The illusion of freedom. Alpha Vander was “putting things in order,” whatever that meant. Maybe planning some extravagant public affair to mask the fact that the union was a sentence, not a celebration. Forced marriages weren’t supposed to be grand. But this one was. Because it wasn’t about love—it was about control. I climbed back into bed, curled beneath the blanket, and tried to breathe past the panic rising in my throat. Please, I thought. Let time fly. Let it fly fast. Lucian My father was a weak man. Spineless, really. Letting his Luna orchestrate the ruin of two lives just to soothe her own insecurities? That wasn’t leadership—that was cowardice dressed in politics. Where does Martha’s manipulation stop? It was bad enough she turned my father against me—made sure I was never considered fit to be Alpha. But now? She’s bound me to a girl I barely know, all because she couldn't stomach the idea of Darian marrying someone who wasn’t bred from power or money. Mara Thornridge and I? We were just casualties of her fear. Collateral damage in her obsession with keeping Darian’s path clean and elite. When my father dragged me to the Thornridge house, I said what I needed to say. Cold, cruel, calculated—because I needed to understand. Martha told me the Thornridges requested the union, claimed they believed their daughter was too strong not to be Luna. Claimed they wanted her to take her “rightful place.” Said they had agreed to settle for me instead of Darian. All of it? Complete bullsh1t. Everyone knew Mara had a crush on Darian. It wasn’t some secret scandal. Even Darian knew—he just ignored it. Let it stew. Let her orbit him for years. A harmless crush, people said. But what that girl gave up for him wasn’t harmless. She left her original path. Signed up at the academy. Trained harder than anyone expected. Finished second. All for a boy who didn’t have the guts to be honest with her. At first, even I assumed her ambition was calculated—that finishing second was her power play to get chosen as Luna. But after speaking with her, however awkwardly… I realized how wrong I was. She didn’t chase power. She chased purpose. And maybe, quietly, she chased hope. The way she looked at me—guarded, hurt, angry. That wasn’t the gaze of someone who’d schemed her way up. That was someone trying not to drown in something too big for her. And I hated it. I hated how Martha had spun this lie and dragged me into it. I hated how my father let her do it. I hated that Mara—this tough, stubborn, determined girl—was being broken apart by people who claimed to protect the pack. So when we went back inside, I told the truth. I was done playing along. Let the Thornridges hear it all—how this wasn’t about what was best for me or Mara or even Darian. It was about Martha’s ego. About keeping “middle-class blood” away from her precious son. I almost told Mara that Darian had known. That he could’ve stopped this earlier. But I didn’t. Because she already looked like she was barely holding it together. That truth would’ve shattered her. But I blame him too. He knew how she felt. He saw it in her eyes every Dam time she looked at him. And instead of setting her free, he kept her close. He strung her along, let her believe maybe… maybe one day. I heard him brag once—to his friends—that she’d made passes at him. After meeting her, I knew that was a lie. Mara Thornridge doesn’t beg. She’d rather die than admit she’s vulnerable. She would’ve made a great Luna. Not just to Darian—but to the pack. She’s sharp, strong, and smarter than half the men who outranked her. And instead of letting her shine, Martha decided to bury her. Tie her to me. Punish her for something that never even happened. And now they expect her to stand at Darian’s side as Gamma? To give her best while living half-alive? Unbelievable. No one’s asking what this will do to her. No one’s thinking about what she’s being forced to give up just to survive. I didn’t know what to do with Mara. I didn’t want to touch her. I didn’t want to claim her—not because I hated her, but because I respected her. She didn’t ask for this, and I’m not the kind of man who takes what isn’t given freely. I wouldn’t mate with her against her will. I wasn’t like Darian. He wore his charm like armor and left a trail of wreckage behind him—wolves he used, hearts he broke, girls who wound up pregnant and scared. And every time, Father and Martha cleaned it up quietly, buried the mess, and painted him as the perfect heir. Looking back now, I saw it all more clearly than I ever had. Darian—the golden boy, the spoiled prince. Martha’s precious son, her ticket to power, the puppet she dressed up as a leader. And then there was me. An accident at the wrong time, the wrong place, gave her everything she needed to destroy me. The biker didn’t die because of me—not really. My brakes failed. There was silver in the wreckage, and to this day, I still don’t know how it got there. The biker would’ve survived without it. But no one listened. No one cared. My father didn’t even pretend to investigate. He just... wrote me off. They said I was drunk, been partying all. Night but that was a lie, yet no one cared. Martha escalated the fallout like she’d been waiting for it. And Darian? He got a free pass. Over and over. “They wanted him,” my father would say. “He didn’t stand a chance. Every girl wants the Luna title. It’s not the same.” It wasn’t the same because Darian was untouchable. I’d only ever loved one girl. Tina Livingston. I’d been loyal, careful, focused. But now, thanks to Martha, I had to break her heart. Just another name sacrificed on the altar of Darian’s future. Martha had destroyed three lives. Maybe four, if Mara had someone before all of this—someone she never got to choose. And yet, I couldn’t even bring myself to hate her. Not fully. She was protecting her son. Ruthless, yes—but my real anger was reserved for the man who allowed her to do it all. My father. The Alpha. The coward. If my mother had lived… maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe she would’ve fought for me. For balance. For justice. But she was gone. And in her absence, Martha filled the void with poison and control. Now here we were. A forced union. A fake marriage. A girl who didn’t want me, and a pack that would celebrate it anyway like it was some kind of alliance—when in truth, it was just another silent war. I moved my things into the smaller of the conjoined rooms and fixed up the larger one for Mara. I wanted her to be comfortable. Or at the very least, able to cope. She wasn’t what I’d accused her of—she wasn’t a gold digger or a social climber. I said those things to provoke, to test, to understand. But now I knew better. She was nineteen. A kid, really. Brave as hll, smart, and stubborn. And stuck. Her parents weren’t to blame either. They had no power, no rank, no options. The offer from my father wasn’t an opportunity—it was a threat in disguise. Because being cast out wasn’t just exile. It was death by slow erasure. When a wolf is stripped of their pack mark, it fades over time. And once it’s gone, they lose their human form. They go feral. Wild. Forgotten. That’s what happens to rogues. There’s no mercy in that system, no redemption. A wolf only belongs to one pack in their lifetime. One. And if that bond is broken, there’s no going back. It was a cruel mechanism, a brutal leash disguised as tradition. One the Alpha family had full control over. And my father wielded it without hesitation. Mara was a victim. Just like I was. But unlike me, she didn’t even have the illusion of choice.
"I'll never love you. You'll never be my true mate. This arrangement is a joke. An insult." My husband sneered. "Understood, Mr. Nighthorn. I'm not looking forward to the wedding either. If I had a choice, I'd have turned it down, but your father left me and my family with two options—accept or go rogue." "Feisty," he said. "I like that. Quick-tempered too." "As long as you don't try to bully me, we won't have a problem. If your father really did buy me, then this is a contract. And once Darian becomes Alpha, you'll release me." I said flatly. He chuckled then—low and bitter. "You still don't get it, do you? That will never happen, Mara. I'll have to claim you eventually. A full binding. For show. For politics. For my father. You'll be mine—publicly, legally, permanently." Something twisted in my chest at those words. A phantom ache. He told me exactly where I stood in this twisted legacy of power, names, and politics. I was never meant to have a voice. —————— That actually made me smile. It was such a him thing to say. “That’s so cool, Rowan,” I said, wide-eyed. Then, on impulse, the words slipped out before I could second-guess them. “Do you mind if I come?” Rowan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at Darian, almost like he needed permission. And Darian—bless him—gave me that soft smile again. “If you go with him,” he said, “who’s going to be my friend and keep me company here?” I knew the answer. We all did. Tiffany. Tiffany would. But if I said that out loud, it would expose everything—my jealousy, my feelings, my pain. It would ruin whatever fragile friendship we still had. So I said nothing. Just sat there, heart breaking quietly behind steady eyes. Mara “I’m sure you’ve got other friends to keep you company,” I said, keeping my voice calm, eyes steady on Tiffany. “Better—and maybe more interesting—company than I could ever be.” Tiffany caught the meaning instantly and smiled, smug and satisfied. “That’s right, Darian,” she purred, looping her arm through his. “I’m all the company you’ll need.” Then, like it was some kind of private joke, she leaned in and licked his earlobe again. I looked away, jaw tight. She wanted to be Luna so badly it was dripping off her. Most of the girls who threw themselves at Darian did. It wasn’t about him. It was about the title, the power, the image. But not me. Even if Darian wasn’t going to be Alpha, I’d still feel this way about him. That was the difference. “I want to come with you, Rowan,” I said suddenly, turning to him. My voice was clearer than I expected. Firm. I needed distance. Space. A whole dam continent between me and Darian if I was going to get over him. He would never see me. Never choose me. And I had to stop holding out hope like it was some kind of twisted comfort blanket. “This trip... it’ll be good for me,” I added, mostly to myself. Darian smiled, watching me a little too closely. “Maybe I’ll come too.” And just like that, the air left my lungs. No. No, he couldn’t. That would ruin everything. I’d just end up exactly where I was—his loyal shadow, his best buddy, watching Tiffany swallow his attention whole. “You’ll bring me along?” Tiffany asked, all wide eyes and sugar-laced eagerness. I could almost hear the flutter of her lashes. I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. If she came too, I’d lose my mind watching her cling to Darian like a barnacle in heat. Her tongue alone would be enough to make me puke somewhere around the border of the first town we hit. “I’ll think about it,” Darian replied, and Tiffany's face fell. She frowned, and then her eyes flicked to me, sharp and accusing, like it was my fault. She wasn’t entirely wrong. But also not right. I didn’t want Darian to come—not because I wanted to hoard him for myself, but because I needed to finally let go of him. We stayed a little longer, had a couple drinks, careful not to go overboard. It was a quiet ending to a loud night. Eventually, we all called it and got ready to leave. “Let’s go hunting tomorrow morning,” Darian said casually as we stepped out into the night. His voice was light, but his eyes were on me. I hesitated. Waiting. Because, of course, I needed to hear what she would say. “I want to come too,” Tiffany piped up, bouncing slightly in her heels like she was volunteering for a game of tag. I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. Darian caught it and laughed. “I guess the three of you will have to go without me,” I said flatly, already turning away. Darian frowned. “Come on, Mara. You and I—we’re a good team.” Oh, how I wished that was true. But in reality? It was just another sweet lie I’d told myself over the years. “You, Rowan, and Tiffany will be a formidable team,” I replied, eyes on the pavement, not bothering to look at her. I could already feel the weight of her glare. I didn’t blame her. If I were her, I wouldn’t like me either. Not when the guy I wanted kept paying attention to someone else. Darian told me to think about it. I wouldn’t. I didn’t need to. I already knew I wasn’t going. When I got home, the house was quiet—everyone asleep. I slipped inside like a ghost and made my way to my room, shutting the door behind me without making a sound. I didn’t want to wake anyone. I didn’t want to talk. All I wanted was to stop loving someone who would never love me back. Morning came too fast. I sat on the edge of my bed, still wrapped in the fog of everything I was trying to forget. The hunt was supposed to be today. Part of me wanted to go—just to breathe outside this house, outside of him. But the thought of Tiffany tagging along made my stomach twist. I already knew she’d spent the night at the Nighthorn mansion. There was no way Darian would leave her behind now. Not after that. I dragged myself downstairs, hungry but not in the mood. I hated shifting when I hadn’t eaten—it made me edgy, short-tempered. I didn’t want to lose it in the woods and end up looking unhinged. What I didn’t expect was to find my parents waiting in the kitchen. They weren’t eating. They weren’t smiling. They were just… there, sitting stiffly at the table with this look in their eyes that made something inside me tighten. My mother, usually bright-eyed and warm, gave me a small, nervous smile. “Morning, Mara. How was your night?” I forced a shrug. “Great,” I lied, trying not to read too much into their mood. She just nodded. My father cleared his throat, and the sound already made my heart beat faster. “Sweetheart, we need to talk to you about something important.” And just like that, my stomach dropped. They didn’t speak in the kitchen. My dad gestured toward the living room, and we all moved, silent as ghosts. I sat on the couch across from them, trying not to let my mind spiral. Then they looked at each other. That kind of look—the silent, mind-link kind of conversation they always had when something was wrong. Something they didn’t want to say out loud. I wasn’t part of it. Not yet. Not until they decided I had to be. “Mara,” my father said slowly, “you know how much we love you, right?” Wrong way to start. My pulse spiked. I swallowed hard. “Yes,” I said, and my voice cracked. He looked down for a moment, then back up at me with tired eyes. “We’ve always wanted the best for you. But… we also have duties to the pack. Responsibilities. And—” “We should’ve told you sooner,” my mother cut in, her voice trembling. “But we wanted you to have your graduation, your moment of celebration, before we… before we said anything.” Her eyes welled up with tears. That’s when I started crying too. Because whatever could make my mother cry like that—whatever they were about to say—it was going to rip something out of me. “Mara,” my father said again, quieter this time, “Alpha Vander Nighthorn has chosen you to be joined with his eldest son, Lucian.” My breath caught. “He’s decided,” he continued, “that since you finished second overall in the academy, top among the female wolves, and since you’re known for your strength, your discipline… that you’re the best choice for Lucian. He believes your character will help shape him into a man fit to stand beside his brother when Darian becomes Alpha. He also believes that your friendship with Darian will help settle the conflict between the brothers and bring unity to the future leadership of this pack.” I was frozen. The words didn’t even register at first. It didn’t feel real. “It’s not a suggestion, Mara,” my father added. “It’s an order. One we had no power to refuse.” That was it. The sound that left my throat wasn’t even human. I screamed. A raw, guttural cry that tore from my chest like something inside me had shattered. Mara “This must be a joke,” I whispered, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice. My eyes burned, and the tears wouldn’t stop. My mother shook her head slowly, her face soaked with grief. “It’s not a joke,” she said, broken. I choked on a sob. “Lucian? Lucian?! He’s a monster. A cruel, vicious bаst3rd. He lies, cheats, bullies anyone weaker than him—and he killed someone, an innocent person. And now you want me to what? Play house with the devil?” I knew they didn’t have a choice. I knew it wasn’t really their fault. But I needed someone to blame, and they were standing right in front of me, and I was drowning. “We had no say,” my father said, voice low and defeated. “They said you’re the strongest female of your generation. They believe you’ll match him. Tame him.” “Enough!” I snapped, standing up so fast the room spun. “You can’t tame people, Dad. You don’t ‘fix’ someone like Lucian. He’s not broken. He’s rotten. He was born that way.” My breath came fast, too fast. My chest felt tight like I was suffocating. “I’m supposed to be Darian’s Gamma! That job—our futures—they’re built on trust, on teamwork. How am I supposed to do that while being shackled to a psychopath?” They had no answers. Just silence. My mother’s silent weeping. My father’s helpless stare. “I’m done. I’m leaving. I don’t want the Gamma position. They can keep it—and let them gift someone else to that monster.” I turned, storming toward the stairs. I didn’t know where I’d go, but anywhere was better than here. Anywhere but thislife. “You can’t leave, Mara,” my father called after me, voice desperate. “If you refuse the bond, Alpha Nighthorn will cast us out. We’ll become rogues. Once the mark of Mooncrest fades, we’ll lose everything—our protection, our humanity. You know what happens to rogues. You’ll turn feral. We all will. They rule this entire country, Mara. There’s no where for you to go,” I stopped in my tracks. Feral. Cast out. Doomed. I turned slowly and looked at my mother. Her shoulders were trembling. She couldn’t even look me in the eyes. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?” I said, my voice shaking with fury and despair. “You’re asking me to throw my life away. You’re asking me to bind myself to someone who might kill me in my sleep.” She nodded through her tears. “I’m sorry.” Lucian wasn’t just cruel—he was dangerous. Even Alpha Vander didn’t trust him to lead, which was why Darian had been groomed from day one to take over. Darian, with his calm and strength and sense of duty. Meanwhile, his older brother was out there, spiraling, and now they wanted me to steady him. They wouldn’t have picked me if I wasn’t so perfect—so well-behaved, so disciplined, so obsessed with Darian that I molded myself into the model warrior. Maybe if I’d been reckless, mean, or a bitter b1tch, they wouldn’t have even considered me. But no. I had played the part. And now, this was my reward: unrequited love, a forced marriage, a future I couldn’t escape. I hated my life in that moment. I was about to turn away again when the doorbell rang. We all froze. My mother rose to answer it, and the scent hit me before she opened the door—him. Darian. He stepped inside, and I almost didn’t recognize him. His eyes were red, brimming with tears. His hands trembled. He looked like someone had carved a hole into his chest and left it gaping. “Mara,” he said softly, his voice cracked and hoarse. He opened his arms. He didn’t need to say anything else. I walked into him, into the arms I had longed for more than I ever admitted, and he held me—tight, like he was the one about to fall apart. My parents quietly stepped away, leaving us in the silence of shared pain. And I broke. I cried, and this time, it wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t polite. It was everything I had been holding in—fear, betrayal, grief, hopelessness—all pouring out while he held me. And still, I knew… even this wouldn’t change anything. “I’m sorry, Mara,” Darian whispered against my hair, his voice thick with something heavier than guilt. “I didn’t know they would do this. I didn’t know he would do this.” And I broke again. “I don’t want to be with Lucian,” I cried, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring me. “I hate him, Darian. I can’t do this. Please… help me.” His arms tightened around me like he wanted to, like he wished he could fix it all with the way he held me—but he didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was barely above a whisper. “I’m not Alpha yet, Mara. My key mark isn’t active yet. I don’t have the power to stop this.” And that—that—hurt more than I expected. Not because he admitted he was powerless but because of the way his voice cracked. There was grief in it. Regret. Something deeper than duty. “I thought…” he started, then paused. “I thought we had time. I thought there’d be more time.” I pulled back just enough to look at him. “Time for what?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mara. I didn’t know.” I stared at him, trying to piece together what he meant. Time for what? Was he finally saying what I’d always hoped he felt? But now wasn’t the time. Not with everything crashing around us. The hug faded. Slowly. Reluctantly. We stood there, inches apart, staring into each other’s tear-streaked faces, both too full of words we couldn’t say. “Listen to me,” Darian said, his voice low but firm. “I will always be there for you. I won’t let him hurt you, Mara. I swear it. If you ever feel unsafe, if he crosses a line—call me. I don’t care what I’m doing. I’ll come. I will come. You are not alone in this.” I blinked back another wave of tears. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to thank someone for a promise that shouldn’t have to exist. “I wish I’d never trained to be your Beta,” I muttered, my voice barely a breath. “If I’d just taken medical classes instead… Alpha Vander wouldn’t have noticed me. He wouldn’t have picked me for his deranged son.” I looked at Darian again. My heart swelled painfully, and I opened my mouth. “Darian…” He met my eyes, hope flickering there. “What is it, Mara?” I hesitated. I wanted to say it. Gods, I wanted to scream it—I love you. I’ve always loved you. But I didn’t. Because now he wasn’t just the boy I trained beside. He was about to become my brother-in-law. And whatever chance there might have been, it had died the moment his father bound my future to Lucian’s. “Nothing,” I said instead. “Nothing but fear.” He pulled me back into his arms without hesitation. I buried my face in his chest and breathed in his scent one last time like it might be enough to last me forever. I didn’t dare ask for more. I didn’t dare reach for what I truly wanted. Not now. Not when I was about to be forced into the hands of someone I despised. Not when Darian had no power to save me. He held me tight, as if letting go would break him, too. Then he kissed the top of my head—soft, lingering—and pulled away. “We’ll still be best friends,” he said gently. “I don’t care what the pack says. You’re still my best friend, Mara. No one’s replacing you.” And there it was. The final nail. Best friend. The words were supposed to be comforting, but they landed like a blade in my chest. His father thought that same friendship was the key to taming Lucian—like I was a tool, a bridge, a sacrificial peace offering. I didn’t want to be Darian’s best friend. I wanted to be his everything. His Luna. His love. His home. But instead, I got Lucian. Unwanted. Unchosen. Trapped. Maybe being feral wouldn’t be so bad. At least then I’d be free. I could run, disappear, let the wilderness swallow me whole. Anything would be better than this slow suffocation. I wanted to leave. I needed to leave. Mara Darian followed me upstairs to my room. For the first time, it felt… wrong. Foreign. Like something had cracked in the familiar walls we’d built around each other. It had always been a little awkward since I started falling for him, but now—now it felt unbearable. I didn’t know what it would be like living in their house. The Nighthorn mansion. Sharing space with Lucian. Walking the same halls as Darian, seeing him every day while wearing the title of someone else’s mate. His brother’s mate. The thought made me feel sick. I didn’t trust my heart not to betray me in some devastating way. “I’ll wait here,” Darian said softly, settling into the chair by my desk while I headed into the bathroom. As soon as the water hit me, the tears came. I sank to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, sobbing so hard my ribs ached. I cried for the life I almost had. For the love I could never confess. For I was being handed like some twisted reward for being too good. And in that cracked, broken place, I thought about running. Disappearing. Going rogue. Letting the world forget I ever existed. But then I remembered what that meant. What it would do to my family. What it would do to me. I dressed in the bathroom, even though modesty had long since evaporated between Darian and me during years of shifting and training together. But things were different now. Everything was different. Even standing in front of him felt like holding a glass that could shatter if either of us moved too fast. “How are you feeling?” he asked when I stepped back into the room. I just nodded, unable to trust my voice. His eyes were still tinged with crimson, like he’d been holding back more tears of his own. “Lucian doesn’t want the union either,” he said suddenly. I looked up, startled. “What?” “That’s how I found out,” he continued. “I overheard him yelling at our father. He was furious. Said he didn’t want you. Didn’t want any of it. And honestly… that’s what scares me the most.” I understood what he meant before he said it. Lucian didn’t want me. Which meant he’d resent me. And with the kind of man he was—violent, spiteful—that resentment wouldn’t just sit quietly in the corner. He’d find a way to punish me for it. “Then why won’t he reject it?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. Darian exhaled slowly, like the weight of it all was dragging him under too. “Because ever since Father chose me as Alpha instead of him, Lucian hasn’t dared to oppose him. I think the shame crushed something inside him. He’s quiet now, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. And…” He hesitated. “Lucian’s in love—with someone else. Has been for a while.” I swallowed hard. That somehow made it worse. I wasn’t just being forced into a bond with a monster—I was a wedge, a weapon used to separate him from someone he actually cared about. A curse he’d wear every day. “This isn’t fair,” I said bitterly. “Not to me. Not to her. Not to anyone.” Darian didn’t argue. “Will I still be your Gamma?” I asked, knowing it was selfish but needing to ask anyway. Because even if I couldn’t be his mate, I still wanted to stand by his side in some way. Any way. “Yes,” he said softly. “Unless you choose to step down, you’ll remain my Gamma.” I shook my head. I couldn’t make that decision yet. Not when everything inside me felt broken and scattered. I just needed time. Space to breathe, to mourn, to accept the weight of what had been forced on me. Darian left quietly, carrying his own sadness like a wound. I watched him go and felt another piece of me fall apart. I stayed in bed the rest of the day. Staring at the ceiling. Crying into my pillow until it was soaked. My parents tried to check on me—brought food, soft words, empty comfort—but I ignored them all. I didn’t want kindness from the people who had let this happen. I didn’t want anyone. If the Alpha had chosen to bind me to Darian, I would have said yes without hesitation. I would have given him everything. But instead, I was being handed over to his brother. Why Lucian? Of all the wolves in this pack, why did fate—or power, or cruelty—choose him? And what the hll was I supposed to do now? Two weeks. Two long, miserable weeks of crying, sulking, and avoiding the world like it had personally betrayed me—because in a way, it had. I refused to go to any gatherings, skipped every function, and barely spoke to anyone who wasn’t Darian. Not that I saw him much. He’d gotten himself into trouble more than once that week, and Alpha Vander had taken it as an excuse to load him up with responsibilities. I missed him. But missing him was a dangerous thing now. Luna Martha Nighthorn came by twice to speak with my parents about the “arrangements.” She was Darian’s mother—not Lucian’s. Lucian’s biological mother had died when he was young. Alpha Vander had bonded with Martha later, and ever since, everyone just assumed she was the mother of both boys. Everyone except Lucian, who never missed a chance to correct them. I didn’t care for the politics of it. I didn’t care about her visit, her soft reassurances, or the way she avoided looking me in the eye. I didn’t care about any of it. I just wanted to disappear. Burn the whole d'amn future and vanish into ash. But I couldn’t. I was sitting on the patio, trying to catch my breath from another heavy day of doing absolutely nothing, when a sleek black car pulled into our driveway. I squinted at the figure stepping out. A young woman—tall, porcelain-skinned, striking brunette. And angry. I stood slowly, assuming she was lost and needed directions. She didn’t waste time. “Are you Mara Thornridge?” she asked, sharp and cold. I nodded, guarded. “You gold-digging b1tch,” she snapped. “What do your parents have on Alpha Vander? Huh?” I blinked, stunned. What? “Do you know how long Lucian and I have been together?” she choked out, her eyes welling up with tears. “We were sweethearts for years. And now I find out you—you’ve been chosen for him? You?” I stood there, frozen, every cell in my body screaming for a break. I had no words. I was still trying to process this marriage from hll myself, and now this? She stepped closer, her voice low and trembling with rage. “How dare you, Mara? I swear, we will make your life a living hll.” And that was it. I snapped. “Watch it,” I growled, the shift stirring beneath my skin. “I don’t give two fks about Lucian. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this. So maybe aim that rage where it belongs—at him, or at his father, or at the Moon Goddess herself. Not me.” She blinked, caught off guard. “If you’re so mad, tell your beloved boyfriend to grow a spine and say something to his father. Trust me, you’d be doing me a huge favor. Because let’s be honest—Lucian isn’t exactly a prize. He’s an entitled, violent аs hole, and I wouldn’t want to be bound to him if he was the last breathing wolf in existence.” She stepped toward me like she was about to swing. I didn’t even flinch—I welcomed it. Hll, I needed it. I let out a low, warning growl, eyes locked on hers. “You need to f'k- off, now. While I’m still being nice. Because if you don’t, I swear on every ancestor in my bloodline, I will tear you apart. And right now? I wouldn’t even regret it.” Something in my voice must’ve landed. She backed away slowly, fury still burning in her eyes, but something else too—fear. She slid into her car and slammed the door, then peeled out of the driveway without another word. I stood there breathing hard, body trembling with all the rage and frustration I’d buried these past two weeks. Now I had to deal with Lucian’s girlfriend too? I wasn’t even officially mated to him yet, and already the drama was spilling into my yard like blood on the snow. And Lucian—he hadn’t shown up. Hadn’t spoken to me. Hadn’t so much as sent a message. I guessed the feeling was mutual. This was going to be hll. And it hadn’t even started yet. Mara “Mara!” my mother called from downstairs. Since the day they dropped the bomb about the arrangement, I’d barely left my room. What was the point? Everyone probably knew by now. The whole pack, maybe even the entire dam country. Mara Thornridge, gifted to Lucian Nighthorn like a prized lamb to the family wolf. And just like that, the threats had started rolling in—anonymous messages from a number I didn’t need to trace. I knew exactly who it was. Lucian’s little banshee. The same girl who’d parked in my driveway and tried to claw my face off with words she probably rehearsed in front of a mirror. None of her threats got to me. Not one. If she ever followed through on a single one of them, I might actually respect her. But I knew the truth—lashing out at me was easier than facing Lucian or confronting Alpha Vander. I was the easier target. The quiet one. The one who hadn’t asked for any of this. I got out of bed wearing the same old pajamas I’d worn for two days. It was already afternoon. I didn’t care. My hair was a mess, my eyes were swollen from days of crying, but the tears had stopped. I wasn’t sad anymore. Just empty. Numb. And numbness? It was better. Numbness didn’t ask questions or demand hope. Darian and I still talked every night. His voice was soft, his words kind, and I hated every second of it. He meant well. He was trying. But I didn’t want kindness from him. Not anymore. I wanted what I could never have. Every call was another reminder that I'd never be more than his best friend. So no, the support wasn’t helping. Not even a little. I shuffled downstairs, preparing to grab something quick and head back to my quiet cave of self-pity. But I froze at the bottom step. Alpha Vander Nighthorn and Lucian were in my living room. Just sitting there. Like this was normal. Like they belonged. I felt my parents' disappointment immediately. The way they looked at my unwashed hair and oversized sleep shirt said it all. But maybe, just maybe, the Alpha would take one look at me and change his mind. Maybe I looked pathetic enough to kill this deal. I stepped into the room, lifting my chin, even though my body screamed to turn and run. “Good afternoon, Alpha. Mr. Nighthorn,” I said evenly, voice dry but polite. Alpha Vander sat upright on the couch, perfectly composed. For a man in his early fifties, he looked ten years younger. Thick dark hair, sharp brown eyes, a well-groomed beard. He radiated power and vanity, and somehow it worked. No wonder women in the pack still swooned over him. He had that whole silver fox, age-like-wine aesthetic locked down. And Lucian? He looked like sin incarnate. Dark hair, frost-blue eyes that could pierce through bone, and a jawline that might have been carved from stone. His shirt clung to his body like it didn’t want to let go—tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, tracing the edges of muscle sculpted to perfection. He wasn’t bulky, not like some of the other warriors. He was lean, cut, deadly. His skin was sun-kissed and flawless, his stare unreadable and cold. Everything about him screamed danger, power, trouble. Everything about him made my skin crawl. And yet… he was undeniably beautiful. If I hadn’t known what was behind that face, I might have stared. Might have been flattered. But now? All I saw was the cage I was about to be locked inside. And he hadn’t even bothered to look at me yet. I swallowed hard when I saw him. It had been a while since I last saw Lucian Nighthorn in person, and I hated myself for even noticing how he looked. His presence was magnetic—he didn’t just walk into a room, he took it. He looked like something out of legend: all dark edges, piercing frost-blue eyes, and sculpted features that belonged on a statue. But no matter how stunning the exterior, it couldn’t mask the ugliness I knew sat underneath. Looks didn’t make a man worth loving. And I didn’t want this union. But what I wanted didn’t matter. “Mara,” Alpha Vander said, dragging my attention away from his son. I stood upright and gave him the proper Gamma salute. My posture stiff, my insides screaming. “Congratulations on your future position as Gamma. Mooncrest and Darian are blessed to have you in the ranks.” “Thank you, Alpha,” I replied, my voice steady. “Lucian,” he said, turning to his son, “get to know your mate. Take a walk while I speak with the Thornridges about the event.” Lucian didn’t respond. He just stood and walked outside, offering no glance, no gesture, no courtesy. The kind of silence that dared you to follow—and warned you not to speak. I didn’t want to go with him. He hadn’t asked. But I wasn’t foolish enough to disobey an Alpha’s command. I followed him out. He was sitting on the patio, staring down the street like the world bored him. I didn’t sit. “Don’t get any ideas, little girl,” he said finally, his voice deep, sharp, arrogant. “This arrangement is a joke. An insult. I’ll never love you. You’ll never be my true mate. Let’s get that straight before the wedding so you don’t embarrass yourself hoping for more.” I cleared my throat, keeping my voice even. “Understood, Mr. Nighthorn. I’m not looking forward to the wedding either. If I had a choice, I’d have turned it down, but your father left me and my family with two options—accept or go rogue. I expect nothing from you. And I will give you nothing in return.” He finally turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. “You really have no pride, do you?” he said. “You think this is some noble sacrifice? My father’s paying your family a fortune for this. You and your parents—just more middle-class shovel-holders, ready to dig for gold.” I inhaled sharply. My hand twitched. Don’t hit him, I told myself. Not yet. His smirk widened. “Feisty,” he said. “I like that. Quick-tempered too. I’m honestly surprised you made it as Gamma. What did you do? Sleep your way there? Must’ve been quite the climb—though Darian doesn’t fancy you, so maybe you figured you’d settle for the older brother. At least then you get the name, the money, the power. That’s what this is about, right? Being a Nighthorn?” He waited for me to crumble. I didn’t. Instead, I leaned in, voice low and laced with venom. “At least I earned my place in this pack. I’m Gamma because I bled for it, not because I was born into a name. You? You’ll always be the brother of the Alpha. Nothing more.” That hit him. His jaw tightened. His hand lifted halfway, shaking—just a breath away from slapping me. His eyes burned, not with fury alone, but with something deeper. Shame. Insecurity. I flinched, but only slightly. Mara Lucian was stronger than Darian. That much was clear. Where Darian led with loyalty, Lucian ruled with intimidation. His presence filled the air like a storm. And for a moment, just a moment, I felt what it would be like to be tied to this man. Not protected. Not cherished. Owned. Lucian dropped his hand, clenched it into a fist instead. Good. I’d struck the nerve I wanted. And I wouldn’t stop there. “We are not equals,” Lucian said coldly, his voice like ice cracking beneath pressure. “You better watch your mouth, Thornridge, or this arrangement will turn ugly real fast.” He dropped back onto the bench like he owned the space, like even sitting was a statement of dominance. I stayed standing, watching him from above, refusing to shrink. “I came here only to lay down a few ground rules,” he continued. “First, you will never be my mate. So don’t expect affection, don’t ask for loyalty, and don’t even think about what mates are ‘entitled’ to. I already have someone. Someone I actually care about.” I laughed—just once, dry and sharp. “You mean the one who threatened me in my own driveway?” I said. “Tell your little girlfriend that as long as she keeps her claws to herself and stays out of my way, we’ll have no problems. I don’t care what you two do behind closed doors.” He went quiet. I could tell he didn’t like my answer. It wasn’t what he expected. But it was the truth, and I wasn’t here to coddle his ego. “In public, we’ll play the part for my father,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Behind closed doors, we’re strangers. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.” “Fine by me,” I said flatly. “As long as you don’t try to bully me, we won’t have a problem. If your father really did buyme, then this is a contract. And once Darian becomes Alpha, you’ll release me.” He chuckled then—low and bitter. “You still don’t get it, do you? That will never happen, Mara. I’ll have to claim you eventually. A full binding. For show. For politics. For my father. You’ll be mine—publicly, legally, permanently.” Something twisted in my chest at those words. A phantom ache. I flinched without meaning to, but I didn’t let him see more than that. “What about your girlfriend?” I asked quietly. “She understands,” he replied, surprisingly calm. “I’ll never be Alpha, and I don’t want the job. We’ll find our way around this. She’ll still have my heart. She’ll have my children.” I stared at him, trying to understand how a person could speak of love and cruelty in the same breath. “I guess you’ve got your future mapped out,” I said. “Good for you. But what about me?” He blinked, caught off guard. His tone lost its bite. “What do you mean?” “I mean, you’ve got the girl. The family plan. The political cover. What about my life? My future?” I asked, voice low but unshaking. He looked at me for a long second. Then gave a dismissive shrug. “You’ll figure it out. If you meet someone, fine. Scr'w whoever you want. Just don’t get pregnant and embarrass me. Keep your mess private.” I stared at him, stunned. He wasn’t done. “I’m sure you already have a few boyfriends on the side. Maybe some officials from the academy you spread your legs for—because no woman’s ever made it as Gamma before. So whatever you did to get there, just keep doing it. That’s the only way you’ll hold onto that title. If someone stronger comes along, you’re out.” I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t need to. Let him think what he wanted. Let him imagine a version of me that matched his twisted assumptions. I wasn’t going to defend my body, my choices, or my worth to him. But inside, something cracked. I’d waited. Saved myself. Dreamed of Darian—not for lvst, but for love. And now I was bound to a man who assumed the worst of me. Who would use me as a shield, a pawn, and nothing more. And yet I didn’t cry. Not anymore. The tears were done. Now, there was only fire. “Well,” Lucian said, brushing imaginary dust from his pants like the conversation was just business. “Since everything’s ironed out, I guess we won’t have issues living as husband and wife.” I gave him a nod. Flat. Numb. Resigned. “Do we sleep in the same room?” I asked, not because I wanted to—but because I needed to know what kind of Hll I’d be walking into. He shook his head. “Not exactly. My room has a conjoined space. You’ll sleep in the one I’m not using.” A connected room. No door. No barrier. Just a wall, maybe some air, and all the silence in the world between us. “I’ve fixed it up for you,” he added. “Just don’t expect luxury. It’s the poorer wing of the mansion. My father doesn’t dote on me the way he does on Darian.” I almost laughed. The poorer wing? I would’ve gladly slept in a shed if it meant not sharing space with the man who thought I’d slept my way into the Gamma rank. “I don’t care about the room,” I said simply. And I didn’t. What I cared about was distance. Physical, emotional, spiritual. As much as I could carve out for myself in a life I never asked for. We headed back into the house. Alpha Vander stood, looking pleased with himself—like a man who had just orchestrated a perfect deal, unaware—or perhaps entirely aware—of the people he was crushing in the process. “Ah, I see the lovebirds have come to an understanding,” he said with a smug grin. “I suppose I’ll see you both at the wedding.” My father stepped forward to shake his hand. “Thank you, Alpha. We are honoured.” Alpha Vander turned to him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aiden, Arya—you’ve raised a strong, beautiful daughter. I originally wanted her for Darian, you know. She’s Luna material, no doubt about it. But in the end, I knew she’d have more impact on Lucian’s life.” Every word scraped against me like sandpaper. “Darian is already gentle,” he went on. “Lucian needs someone like Mara. Someone sweet, with a steady hand. She’ll soften him. She’s perfect.” And that was the moment I felt it—self-loathing. Deep, hot, gnawing. I should’ve seen it sooner. This wasn’t about love or bonds or the Universe’s will. I’d been chosen because I was safe. A tool. A soothing balm they could apply to their most volatile son. I should’ve been reckless. Cold. Difficult. A bad girl. Maybe then I would’ve been considered for Darian. Maybe then, I would’ve stood a chance. But Lucian—he didn’t let his father get away with it. “It’s not about what you want, Father,” he said suddenly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean through the room. Alpha Vander turned to him slowly, like a man used to obedience. “Don’t lie to them,” Lucian continued. “This wasn’t your idea. This was Martha’s doing. Luna Martha didn’t want Darian choosing Mara. She didn’t want him with a Thornridge—didn’t want him marrying middle-class. She wants a girl with money. Status. This whole thing? It’s her fix. Her solution.” The air in the room turned sharp. Lucian kept going. “You’re not doing this to help me,” he said. “You’re doing it to ruin me—and Mara. All to clear the path for Darian to marry someone Martha approves of. You paid them off. That’s not honor. That’s manipulation.” Then he turned and walked out without another word. And I stood there—stunned. Not because I was angry at what he said. But because it was true. So painfully, clearly true. Luna Martha didn’t want me in her family. I wasn’t polished enough. Rich enough. Enough of anything, really. And Darian… he never even had a chance to fight it. I never had a chance at him. No matter how hard I trained, no matter how loyal I was, no matter how much I loved him quietly from a distance—I never stood a chance. Lucian was many things—cold, cruel, arrogant—but in that moment, I saw something else too: honesty. Brutal, unfiltered honesty. And it told me exactly where I stood in this twisted legacy of power, names, and politics. I was never meant to have a voice. Mara Four days had passed since Lucian and his father came to the house, and I still hadn’t found my way out of the haze. I sat in the garden behind our home, staring at nothing. Not the flowers. Not the trees. Just the empty space ahead of me, like it might hold some kind of answer if I looked long enough. Lucian’s words still echoed in my mind—cold, cruel, and then, strangely, honest. The truth was a blade that hadn’t stopped cutting. It wasn’t about me being Luna material or helping Lucian. It was about Darian. About removing me from the equation so his mother could shape his future without interference. I didn’t even hear him approach. “You’ve lost weight,” Darian said softly, sitting beside me. I didn’t reply. What was there to say? He sighed and stood again, pacing. Frustrated. Restless. I knew he wanted to talk. He always did. But I couldn’t give him what he was looking for—not when I felt like my whole life had been bargained away by people who never even asked me what I wanted. “Why didn’t you tell me Lucian came to see you?” he finally asked. I looked up at him, calm on the surface, hollow underneath. “I didn’t think it was necessary.” He stopped pacing. “We’re friends, Mara. Everything is necessary. Everything matters.” He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were tense. I could see the guilt in the way he carried himself, but he didn’t understand. Not yet. “Help me, Darian,” I said, my voice cracking. “Please.” He came to a stop in front of me, eyes full of sorrow. “If I were Alpha, I’d cancel this madness. I swear I would.” “But you’re not,” I whispered. Then I looked him in the eyes, and I said the one thing that had been building in my chest like pressure before a storm. “Your mother set this up.” He frowned, his expression hardening. “Lucian said it in front of your father. And your father didn’t deny it. She was afraid that you and I… that we might end up together. She didn’t want her son marrying someone from a middle-class family. So she pushed this union, forced it, to get me out of your orbit.” Darian’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true. She knows we’re just friends. That there’s nothing between us.” His words landed like stones in my chest. “If I wanted to date you, Mara, I would’ve.” That hurt. I expected it, but it still hurt. “She doesn’t see it that way,” I replied. “To her, I’m a threat to your future. So she ruined mine.” I paused, voice low and shaking. “Please talk to her, Darian. She’s destroying two lives out of fear. Lucian has someone he loves. And me?” My voice broke. “She’s condemning me to a loveless, miserable life. All because I was your friend.” I looked down at my hands, trembling now. “I’ll give up the Gamma position. I’ll leave. Just… help me get out of this.” Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and helpless. “I don’t want to marry your brother. Please.” He sat down beside me again, silent for a long moment. His hand found mine, hesitated, then held it gently. “I’ll talk to her,” he said at last, voice low. “I can’t promise anything, Mara. But I’ll try. I’ll beg her if I have to.” I nodded, even though I wasn’t hopeful. At this point, I just needed to know someone tried. That not everyone stood by and watched my future burn. If Darian hadn’t offered, I might’ve buried myself in silent acceptance. Might’ve forced myself to walk into that cold, loveless match. But Lucian wasn’t just cruel—he was dangerous. He was a murderer. An irresponsible drunk. A walking storm I’d be expected to share a life with. The thought of binding myself to him permanently… it made my skin crawl. We sat in silence for a while after that. Just breathing the same air. Just existing in the same space. Eventually, Darian left. And I was alone again. Sitting in a garden, surrounded by life, while mine slowly withered away. Two days passed. Nothing from Darian. No call. No visit. Not even a message. Just silence. I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling like it might offer some kind of escape. It didn’t. All I saw was the countdown—days slipping away until the wedding. Until my funeral. Because that’s what it felt like. The day I married Lucian would be the day I buried the last of myself. I didn’t know if I’d take the Gamma position when the time came. I doubted it. The fire in me—the one that once pushed me to be the best—was nothing but ash now. Resignation tasted bitter, but it was starting to feel like the only thing I had left. There was a knock at my door. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. I could already smell her—my mother. And the food tray she was balancing in her hands. I didn’t move, didn’t speak, and just like I knew she would, she let herself in. “Mara,” she said gently, placing the tray on the table. “You need to eat something.” I didn’t even look at the food. I looked at her. Cold. Angry. Broken. “How can you and Dad live with yourselves after selling your daughter?” I asked, my voice flat, my expression disgusted. She froze by the table, her eyes lowering, as if even she couldn’t bear to meet mine. “He gave us no choice, Mara,” she whispered. “The money was to ease his conscience.” “And you took it.” My words were a blade. “Spent it, I’m sure. Did it ever occur to you that Lucian might call it off? That Alpha Vander might want his money back?” She turned to face me slowly, her expression tired and tight. “We had no choice,” she repeated. “It was take it… or be cast out. ‘Take it or get out,’ that’s what he said. We were drowning, Mara. The house, the loans—we were about to lose everything.” I blinked, stunned. “So you sold me to pay off your debts? The loans you took for my education?” “No,” she said quickly. “We were ready to let the house go. We planned to move in with my sister. We didn’t expect Alpha Nighthorn to show up. But when he forced the union, when he said it was happening whether we liked it or not... we took the money. We used it to survive.” “And you used me to survive,” I said bitterly. She flinched. I sat up, my eyes sharp now. “What happens if the deal falls apart? If Lucian calls it off and his father wants the money back?” “Why would he?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Because I told Darian,” I said. “I told him what Lucian said. About the truth—how this wasn’t about Lucian needing a wife but about his mother wanting me out of Darian’s life. He promised he’d talk to her. Try to get her to stop this madness.” My mother’s eyes widened, shocked. She hadn’t expected me to do anything. Maybe she thought I’d just quietly crumble. She slowly sat beside me, her body folding like something had broken inside her. Tears slid down her face. “Mara, my darling…” my mother’s voice cracked as she sat beside me. “I didn’t know you would take it this hard.” I didn’t answer. She reached for my hand, but I didn’t move. My eyes stayed locked on the ceiling, dry now, but only because I had nothing left in me. “I’m hurting too,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you to be strong. You’re tougher than this.” I didn’t look at her. “Darian and Rowan left yesterday,” she added carefully. “They won’t be back until it’s time for him to take over the pack.” The words sank in slowly, like poison soaking through my veins. They went on the trip. Without me. Without a word. Darian—the one person I still believed would try to help me—was gone. He didn’t even call. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t tell me that he had failed or that he’d tried at all. The silence in my chest cracked. My heart broke without sound. “I know what you’re thinking,” my mother said, almost defensively. “It was Luna Martha. She forced the trip.” I turned to her now, eyes stinging again. “She forced him?” I asked, though I already believed it. “Yes,” she nodded. “Jason—Darian’s butler—he came by for a check-up. He told me Darian had a terrible argument with Martha. About Lucian. About you. About how unfair this is. And when she couldn’t control the conversation, she controlled him. She made him leave. Told him it was to ‘gain experience.’ Said he’d return a better Alpha.” My lip trembled, but I didn’t speak. It was my fault. I asked him to intervene. I pulled him into this. And now he was gone. Banished under the guise of training. And nothing had changed. Lucian was still my future. And Darian… Darian had become part of the past. I sat in silence as the tears returned—slow, steady, quiet. “I’m sorry, baby,” my mother whispered. “But please… eat something. Don’t let this kill you. You’re one of the strongest wolves this pack has ever seen. A woman winning Gamma? That’s not luck. That’s grit. That’s fire. You will find a way to cope.” I didn’t believe her. Not even a little. She pulled me close, kissed my forehead, then left the room without waiting for a response. I stared at the food. The smell turned my stomach. Fear had coiled itself so tightly around my gut I could barely breathe, let alone eat. I picked at the plate. Flushed it all down the toilet. Washed the dishes in silence. I wanted to fade out of existence. But I couldn’t. I was still here. Trapped in a body with no escape, in a life that no longer felt like mine. They hadn’t even set a date yet. That should’ve been a good thing—more time, more room to plan, to hope—but instead, it made it worse. The anticipation, the waiting. The illusion of freedom. Alpha Vander was “putting things in order,” whatever that meant. Maybe planning some extravagant public affair to mask the fact that the union was a sentence, not a celebration. Forced marriages weren’t supposed to be grand. But this one was. Because it wasn’t about love—it was about control. I climbed back into bed, curled beneath the blanket, and tried to breathe past the panic rising in my throat. Please, I thought. Let time fly. Let it fly fast. Lucian My father was a weak man. Spineless, really. Letting his Luna orchestrate the ruin of two lives just to soothe her own insecurities? That wasn’t leadership—that was cowardice dressed in politics. Where does Martha’s manipulation stop? It was bad enough she turned my father against me—made sure I was never considered fit to be Alpha. But now? She’s bound me to a girl I barely know, all because she couldn't stomach the idea of Darian marrying someone who wasn’t bred from power or money. Mara Thornridge and I? We were just casualties of her fear. Collateral damage in her obsession with keeping Darian’s path clean and elite. When my father dragged me to the Thornridge house, I said what I needed to say. Cold, cruel, calculated—because I needed to understand. Martha told me the Thornridges requested the union, claimed they believed their daughter was too strong not to be Luna. Claimed they wanted her to take her “rightful place.” Said they had agreed to settle for me instead of Darian. All of it? Complete bullsh1t. Everyone knew Mara had a crush on Darian. It wasn’t some secret scandal. Even Darian knew—he just ignored it. Let it stew. Let her orbit him for years. A harmless crush, people said. But what that girl gave up for him wasn’t harmless. She left her original path. Signed up at the academy. Trained harder than anyone expected. Finished second. All for a boy who didn’t have the guts to be honest with her. At first, even I assumed her ambition was calculated—that finishing second was her power play to get chosen as Luna. But after speaking with her, however awkwardly… I realized how wrong I was. She didn’t chase power. She chased purpose. And maybe, quietly, she chased hope. The way she looked at me—guarded, hurt, angry. That wasn’t the gaze of someone who’d schemed her way up. That was someone trying not to drown in something too big for her. And I hated it. I hated how Martha had spun this lie and dragged me into it. I hated how my father let her do it. I hated that Mara—this tough, stubborn, determined girl—was being broken apart by people who claimed to protect the pack. So when we went back inside, I told the truth. I was done playing along. Let the Thornridges hear it all—how this wasn’t about what was best for me or Mara or even Darian. It was about Martha’s ego. About keeping “middle-class blood” away from her precious son. I almost told Mara that Darian had known. That he could’ve stopped this earlier. But I didn’t. Because she already looked like she was barely holding it together. That truth would’ve shattered her. But I blame him too. He knew how she felt. He saw it in her eyes every Dam time she looked at him. And instead of setting her free, he kept her close. He strung her along, let her believe maybe… maybe one day. I heard him brag once—to his friends—that she’d made passes at him. After meeting her, I knew that was a lie. Mara Thornridge doesn’t beg. She’d rather die than admit she’s vulnerable. She would’ve made a great Luna. Not just to Darian—but to the pack. She’s sharp, strong, and smarter than half the men who outranked her. And instead of letting her shine, Martha decided to bury her. Tie her to me. Punish her for something that never even happened. And now they expect her to stand at Darian’s side as Gamma? To give her best while living half-alive? Unbelievable. No one’s asking what this will do to her. No one’s thinking about what she’s being forced to give up just to survive. I didn’t know what to do with Mara. I didn’t want to touch her. I didn’t want to claim her—not because I hated her, but because I respected her. She didn’t ask for this, and I’m not the kind of man who takes what isn’t given freely. I wouldn’t mate with her against her will. I wasn’t like Darian. He wore his charm like armor and left a trail of wreckage behind him—wolves he used, hearts he broke, girls who wound up pregnant and scared. And every time, Father and Martha cleaned it up quietly, buried the mess, and painted him as the perfect heir. Looking back now, I saw it all more clearly than I ever had. Darian—the golden boy, the spoiled prince. Martha’s precious son, her ticket to power, the puppet she dressed up as a leader. And then there was me. An accident at the wrong time, the wrong place, gave her everything she needed to destroy me. The biker didn’t die because of me—not really. My brakes failed. There was silver in the wreckage, and to this day, I still don’t know how it got there. The biker would’ve survived without it. But no one listened. No one cared. My father didn’t even pretend to investigate. He just... wrote me off. They said I was drunk, been partying all. Night but that was a lie, yet no one cared. Martha escalated the fallout like she’d been waiting for it. And Darian? He got a free pass. Over and over. “They wanted him,” my father would say. “He didn’t stand a chance. Every girl wants the Luna title. It’s not the same.” It wasn’t the same because Darian was untouchable. I’d only ever loved one girl. Tina Livingston. I’d been loyal, careful, focused. But now, thanks to Martha, I had to break her heart. Just another name sacrificed on the altar of Darian’s future. Martha had destroyed three lives. Maybe four, if Mara had someone before all of this—someone she never got to choose. And yet, I couldn’t even bring myself to hate her. Not fully. She was protecting her son. Ruthless, yes—but my real anger was reserved for the man who allowed her to do it all. My father. The Alpha. The coward. If my mother had lived… maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe she would’ve fought for me. For balance. For justice. But she was gone. And in her absence, Martha filled the void with poison and control. Now here we were. A forced union. A fake marriage. A girl who didn’t want me, and a pack that would celebrate it anyway like it was some kind of alliance—when in truth, it was just another silent war. I moved my things into the smaller of the conjoined rooms and fixed up the larger one for Mara. I wanted her to be comfortable. Or at the very least, able to cope. She wasn’t what I’d accused her of—she wasn’t a gold digger or a social climber. I said those things to provoke, to test, to understand. But now I knew better. She was nineteen. A kid, really. Brave as hll, smart, and stubborn. And stuck. Her parents weren’t to blame either. They had no power, no rank, no options. The offer from my father wasn’t an opportunity—it was a threat in disguise. Because being cast out wasn’t just exile. It was death by slow erasure. When a wolf is stripped of their pack mark, it fades over time. And once it’s gone, they lose their human form. They go feral. Wild. Forgotten. That’s what happens to rogues. There’s no mercy in that system, no redemption. A wolf only belongs to one pack in their lifetime. One. And if that bond is broken, there’s no going back. It was a cruel mechanism, a brutal leash disguised as tradition. One the Alpha family had full control over. And my father wielded it without hesitation. Mara was a victim. Just like I was. But unlike me, she didn’t even have the illusion of choice.
"I'll never love you. You'll never be my true mate. This arrangement is a joke. An insult." My husband sneered. "Understood, Mr. Nighthorn. I'm not looking forward to the wedding either. If I had a choice, I'd have turned it down, but your father left me and my family with two options—accept or go rogue." "Feisty," he said. "I like that. Quick-tempered too." "As long as you don't try to bully me, we won't have a problem. If your father really did buy me, then this is a contract. And once Darian becomes Alpha, you'll release me." I said flatly. He chuckled then—low and bitter. "You still don't get it, do you? That will never happen, Mara. I'll have to claim you eventually. A full binding. For show. For politics. For my father. You'll be mine—publicly, legally, permanently." Something twisted in my chest at those words. A phantom ache. He told me exactly where I stood in this twisted legacy of power, names, and politics. I was never meant to have a voice. —————— That actually made me smile. It was such a him thing to say. “That’s so cool, Rowan,” I said, wide-eyed. Then, on impulse, the words slipped out before I could second-guess them. “Do you mind if I come?” Rowan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at Darian, almost like he needed permission. And Darian—bless him—gave me that soft smile again. “If you go with him,” he said, “who’s going to be my friend and keep me company here?” I knew the answer. We all did. Tiffany. Tiffany would. But if I said that out loud, it would expose everything—my jealousy, my feelings, my pain. It would ruin whatever fragile friendship we still had. So I said nothing. Just sat there, heart breaking quietly behind steady eyes. Mara “I’m sure you’ve got other friends to keep you company,” I said, keeping my voice calm, eyes steady on Tiffany. “Better—and maybe more interesting—company than I could ever be.” Tiffany caught the meaning instantly and smiled, smug and satisfied. “That’s right, Darian,” she purred, looping her arm through his. “I’m all the company you’ll need.” Then, like it was some kind of private joke, she leaned in and licked his earlobe again. I looked away, jaw tight. She wanted to be Luna so badly it was dripping off her. Most of the girls who threw themselves at Darian did. It wasn’t about him. It was about the title, the power, the image. But not me. Even if Darian wasn’t going to be Alpha, I’d still feel this way about him. That was the difference. “I want to come with you, Rowan,” I said suddenly, turning to him. My voice was clearer than I expected. Firm. I needed distance. Space. A whole dam continent between me and Darian if I was going to get over him. He would never see me. Never choose me. And I had to stop holding out hope like it was some kind of twisted comfort blanket. “This trip... it’ll be good for me,” I added, mostly to myself. Darian smiled, watching me a little too closely. “Maybe I’ll come too.” And just like that, the air left my lungs. No. No, he couldn’t. That would ruin everything. I’d just end up exactly where I was—his loyal shadow, his best buddy, watching Tiffany swallow his attention whole. “You’ll bring me along?” Tiffany asked, all wide eyes and sugar-laced eagerness. I could almost hear the flutter of her lashes. I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. If she came too, I’d lose my mind watching her cling to Darian like a barnacle in heat. Her tongue alone would be enough to make me puke somewhere around the border of the first town we hit. “I’ll think about it,” Darian replied, and Tiffany's face fell. She frowned, and then her eyes flicked to me, sharp and accusing, like it was my fault. She wasn’t entirely wrong. But also not right. I didn’t want Darian to come—not because I wanted to hoard him for myself, but because I needed to finally let go of him. We stayed a little longer, had a couple drinks, careful not to go overboard. It was a quiet ending to a loud night. Eventually, we all called it and got ready to leave. “Let’s go hunting tomorrow morning,” Darian said casually as we stepped out into the night. His voice was light, but his eyes were on me. I hesitated. Waiting. Because, of course, I needed to hear what she would say. “I want to come too,” Tiffany piped up, bouncing slightly in her heels like she was volunteering for a game of tag. I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. Darian caught it and laughed. “I guess the three of you will have to go without me,” I said flatly, already turning away. Darian frowned. “Come on, Mara. You and I—we’re a good team.” Oh, how I wished that was true. But in reality? It was just another sweet lie I’d told myself over the years. “You, Rowan, and Tiffany will be a formidable team,” I replied, eyes on the pavement, not bothering to look at her. I could already feel the weight of her glare. I didn’t blame her. If I were her, I wouldn’t like me either. Not when the guy I wanted kept paying attention to someone else. Darian told me to think about it. I wouldn’t. I didn’t need to. I already knew I wasn’t going. When I got home, the house was quiet—everyone asleep. I slipped inside like a ghost and made my way to my room, shutting the door behind me without making a sound. I didn’t want to wake anyone. I didn’t want to talk. All I wanted was to stop loving someone who would never love me back. Morning came too fast. I sat on the edge of my bed, still wrapped in the fog of everything I was trying to forget. The hunt was supposed to be today. Part of me wanted to go—just to breathe outside this house, outside of him. But the thought of Tiffany tagging along made my stomach twist. I already knew she’d spent the night at the Nighthorn mansion. There was no way Darian would leave her behind now. Not after that. I dragged myself downstairs, hungry but not in the mood. I hated shifting when I hadn’t eaten—it made me edgy, short-tempered. I didn’t want to lose it in the woods and end up looking unhinged. What I didn’t expect was to find my parents waiting in the kitchen. They weren’t eating. They weren’t smiling. They were just… there, sitting stiffly at the table with this look in their eyes that made something inside me tighten. My mother, usually bright-eyed and warm, gave me a small, nervous smile. “Morning, Mara. How was your night?” I forced a shrug. “Great,” I lied, trying not to read too much into their mood. She just nodded. My father cleared his throat, and the sound already made my heart beat faster. “Sweetheart, we need to talk to you about something important.” And just like that, my stomach dropped. They didn’t speak in the kitchen. My dad gestured toward the living room, and we all moved, silent as ghosts. I sat on the couch across from them, trying not to let my mind spiral. Then they looked at each other. That kind of look—the silent, mind-link kind of conversation they always had when something was wrong. Something they didn’t want to say out loud. I wasn’t part of it. Not yet. Not until they decided I had to be. “Mara,” my father said slowly, “you know how much we love you, right?” Wrong way to start. My pulse spiked. I swallowed hard. “Yes,” I said, and my voice cracked. He looked down for a moment, then back up at me with tired eyes. “We’ve always wanted the best for you. But… we also have duties to the pack. Responsibilities. And—” “We should’ve told you sooner,” my mother cut in, her voice trembling. “But we wanted you to have your graduation, your moment of celebration, before we… before we said anything.” Her eyes welled up with tears. That’s when I started crying too. Because whatever could make my mother cry like that—whatever they were about to say—it was going to rip something out of me. “Mara,” my father said again, quieter this time, “Alpha Vander Nighthorn has chosen you to be joined with his eldest son, Lucian.” My breath caught. “He’s decided,” he continued, “that since you finished second overall in the academy, top among the female wolves, and since you’re known for your strength, your discipline… that you’re the best choice for Lucian. He believes your character will help shape him into a man fit to stand beside his brother when Darian becomes Alpha. He also believes that your friendship with Darian will help settle the conflict between the brothers and bring unity to the future leadership of this pack.” I was frozen. The words didn’t even register at first. It didn’t feel real. “It’s not a suggestion, Mara,” my father added. “It’s an order. One we had no power to refuse.” That was it. The sound that left my throat wasn’t even human. I screamed. A raw, guttural cry that tore from my chest like something inside me had shattered. Mara “This must be a joke,” I whispered, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice. My eyes burned, and the tears wouldn’t stop. My mother shook her head slowly, her face soaked with grief. “It’s not a joke,” she said, broken. I choked on a sob. “Lucian? Lucian?! He’s a monster. A cruel, vicious bаst3rd. He lies, cheats, bullies anyone weaker than him—and he killed someone, an innocent person. And now you want me to what? Play house with the devil?” I knew they didn’t have a choice. I knew it wasn’t really their fault. But I needed someone to blame, and they were standing right in front of me, and I was drowning. “We had no say,” my father said, voice low and defeated. “They said you’re the strongest female of your generation. They believe you’ll match him. Tame him.” “Enough!” I snapped, standing up so fast the room spun. “You can’t tame people, Dad. You don’t ‘fix’ someone like Lucian. He’s not broken. He’s rotten. He was born that way.” My breath came fast, too fast. My chest felt tight like I was suffocating. “I’m supposed to be Darian’s Gamma! That job—our futures—they’re built on trust, on teamwork. How am I supposed to do that while being shackled to a psychopath?” They had no answers. Just silence. My mother’s silent weeping. My father’s helpless stare. “I’m done. I’m leaving. I don’t want the Gamma position. They can keep it—and let them gift someone else to that monster.” I turned, storming toward the stairs. I didn’t know where I’d go, but anywhere was better than here. Anywhere but thislife. “You can’t leave, Mara,” my father called after me, voice desperate. “If you refuse the bond, Alpha Nighthorn will cast us out. We’ll become rogues. Once the mark of Mooncrest fades, we’ll lose everything—our protection, our humanity. You know what happens to rogues. You’ll turn feral. We all will. They rule this entire country, Mara. There’s no where for you to go,” I stopped in my tracks. Feral. Cast out. Doomed. I turned slowly and looked at my mother. Her shoulders were trembling. She couldn’t even look me in the eyes. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?” I said, my voice shaking with fury and despair. “You’re asking me to throw my life away. You’re asking me to bind myself to someone who might kill me in my sleep.” She nodded through her tears. “I’m sorry.” Lucian wasn’t just cruel—he was dangerous. Even Alpha Vander didn’t trust him to lead, which was why Darian had been groomed from day one to take over. Darian, with his calm and strength and sense of duty. Meanwhile, his older brother was out there, spiraling, and now they wanted me to steady him. They wouldn’t have picked me if I wasn’t so perfect—so well-behaved, so disciplined, so obsessed with Darian that I molded myself into the model warrior. Maybe if I’d been reckless, mean, or a bitter b1tch, they wouldn’t have even considered me. But no. I had played the part. And now, this was my reward: unrequited love, a forced marriage, a future I couldn’t escape. I hated my life in that moment. I was about to turn away again when the doorbell rang. We all froze. My mother rose to answer it, and the scent hit me before she opened the door—him. Darian. He stepped inside, and I almost didn’t recognize him. His eyes were red, brimming with tears. His hands trembled. He looked like someone had carved a hole into his chest and left it gaping. “Mara,” he said softly, his voice cracked and hoarse. He opened his arms. He didn’t need to say anything else. I walked into him, into the arms I had longed for more than I ever admitted, and he held me—tight, like he was the one about to fall apart. My parents quietly stepped away, leaving us in the silence of shared pain. And I broke. I cried, and this time, it wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t polite. It was everything I had been holding in—fear, betrayal, grief, hopelessness—all pouring out while he held me. And still, I knew… even this wouldn’t change anything. “I’m sorry, Mara,” Darian whispered against my hair, his voice thick with something heavier than guilt. “I didn’t know they would do this. I didn’t know he would do this.” And I broke again. “I don’t want to be with Lucian,” I cried, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring me. “I hate him, Darian. I can’t do this. Please… help me.” His arms tightened around me like he wanted to, like he wished he could fix it all with the way he held me—but he didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was barely above a whisper. “I’m not Alpha yet, Mara. My key mark isn’t active yet. I don’t have the power to stop this.” And that—that—hurt more than I expected. Not because he admitted he was powerless but because of the way his voice cracked. There was grief in it. Regret. Something deeper than duty. “I thought…” he started, then paused. “I thought we had time. I thought there’d be more time.” I pulled back just enough to look at him. “Time for what?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mara. I didn’t know.” I stared at him, trying to piece together what he meant. Time for what? Was he finally saying what I’d always hoped he felt? But now wasn’t the time. Not with everything crashing around us. The hug faded. Slowly. Reluctantly. We stood there, inches apart, staring into each other’s tear-streaked faces, both too full of words we couldn’t say. “Listen to me,” Darian said, his voice low but firm. “I will always be there for you. I won’t let him hurt you, Mara. I swear it. If you ever feel unsafe, if he crosses a line—call me. I don’t care what I’m doing. I’ll come. I will come. You are not alone in this.” I blinked back another wave of tears. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to thank someone for a promise that shouldn’t have to exist. “I wish I’d never trained to be your Beta,” I muttered, my voice barely a breath. “If I’d just taken medical classes instead… Alpha Vander wouldn’t have noticed me. He wouldn’t have picked me for his deranged son.” I looked at Darian again. My heart swelled painfully, and I opened my mouth. “Darian…” He met my eyes, hope flickering there. “What is it, Mara?” I hesitated. I wanted to say it. Gods, I wanted to scream it—I love you. I’ve always loved you. But I didn’t. Because now he wasn’t just the boy I trained beside. He was about to become my brother-in-law. And whatever chance there might have been, it had died the moment his father bound my future to Lucian’s. “Nothing,” I said instead. “Nothing but fear.” He pulled me back into his arms without hesitation. I buried my face in his chest and breathed in his scent one last time like it might be enough to last me forever. I didn’t dare ask for more. I didn’t dare reach for what I truly wanted. Not now. Not when I was about to be forced into the hands of someone I despised. Not when Darian had no power to save me. He held me tight, as if letting go would break him, too. Then he kissed the top of my head—soft, lingering—and pulled away. “We’ll still be best friends,” he said gently. “I don’t care what the pack says. You’re still my best friend, Mara. No one’s replacing you.” And there it was. The final nail. Best friend. The words were supposed to be comforting, but they landed like a blade in my chest. His father thought that same friendship was the key to taming Lucian—like I was a tool, a bridge, a sacrificial peace offering. I didn’t want to be Darian’s best friend. I wanted to be his everything. His Luna. His love. His home. But instead, I got Lucian. Unwanted. Unchosen. Trapped. Maybe being feral wouldn’t be so bad. At least then I’d be free. I could run, disappear, let the wilderness swallow me whole. Anything would be better than this slow suffocation. I wanted to leave. I needed to leave. Mara Darian followed me upstairs to my room. For the first time, it felt… wrong. Foreign. Like something had cracked in the familiar walls we’d built around each other. It had always been a little awkward since I started falling for him, but now—now it felt unbearable. I didn’t know what it would be like living in their house. The Nighthorn mansion. Sharing space with Lucian. Walking the same halls as Darian, seeing him every day while wearing the title of someone else’s mate. His brother’s mate. The thought made me feel sick. I didn’t trust my heart not to betray me in some devastating way. “I’ll wait here,” Darian said softly, settling into the chair by my desk while I headed into the bathroom. As soon as the water hit me, the tears came. I sank to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, sobbing so hard my ribs ached. I cried for the life I almost had. For the love I could never confess. For I was being handed like some twisted reward for being too good. And in that cracked, broken place, I thought about running. Disappearing. Going rogue. Letting the world forget I ever existed. But then I remembered what that meant. What it would do to my family. What it would do to me. I dressed in the bathroom, even though modesty had long since evaporated between Darian and me during years of shifting and training together. But things were different now. Everything was different. Even standing in front of him felt like holding a glass that could shatter if either of us moved too fast. “How are you feeling?” he asked when I stepped back into the room. I just nodded, unable to trust my voice. His eyes were still tinged with crimson, like he’d been holding back more tears of his own. “Lucian doesn’t want the union either,” he said suddenly. I looked up, startled. “What?” “That’s how I found out,” he continued. “I overheard him yelling at our father. He was furious. Said he didn’t want you. Didn’t want any of it. And honestly… that’s what scares me the most.” I understood what he meant before he said it. Lucian didn’t want me. Which meant he’d resent me. And with the kind of man he was—violent, spiteful—that resentment wouldn’t just sit quietly in the corner. He’d find a way to punish me for it. “Then why won’t he reject it?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. Darian exhaled slowly, like the weight of it all was dragging him under too. “Because ever since Father chose me as Alpha instead of him, Lucian hasn’t dared to oppose him. I think the shame crushed something inside him. He’s quiet now, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. And…” He hesitated. “Lucian’s in love—with someone else. Has been for a while.” I swallowed hard. That somehow made it worse. I wasn’t just being forced into a bond with a monster—I was a wedge, a weapon used to separate him from someone he actually cared about. A curse he’d wear every day. “This isn’t fair,” I said bitterly. “Not to me. Not to her. Not to anyone.” Darian didn’t argue. “Will I still be your Gamma?” I asked, knowing it was selfish but needing to ask anyway. Because even if I couldn’t be his mate, I still wanted to stand by his side in some way. Any way. “Yes,” he said softly. “Unless you choose to step down, you’ll remain my Gamma.” I shook my head. I couldn’t make that decision yet. Not when everything inside me felt broken and scattered. I just needed time. Space to breathe, to mourn, to accept the weight of what had been forced on me. Darian left quietly, carrying his own sadness like a wound. I watched him go and felt another piece of me fall apart. I stayed in bed the rest of the day. Staring at the ceiling. Crying into my pillow until it was soaked. My parents tried to check on me—brought food, soft words, empty comfort—but I ignored them all. I didn’t want kindness from the people who had let this happen. I didn’t want anyone. If the Alpha had chosen to bind me to Darian, I would have said yes without hesitation. I would have given him everything. But instead, I was being handed over to his brother. Why Lucian? Of all the wolves in this pack, why did fate—or power, or cruelty—choose him? And what the hll was I supposed to do now? Two weeks. Two long, miserable weeks of crying, sulking, and avoiding the world like it had personally betrayed me—because in a way, it had. I refused to go to any gatherings, skipped every function, and barely spoke to anyone who wasn’t Darian. Not that I saw him much. He’d gotten himself into trouble more than once that week, and Alpha Vander had taken it as an excuse to load him up with responsibilities. I missed him. But missing him was a dangerous thing now. Luna Martha Nighthorn came by twice to speak with my parents about the “arrangements.” She was Darian’s mother—not Lucian’s. Lucian’s biological mother had died when he was young. Alpha Vander had bonded with Martha later, and ever since, everyone just assumed she was the mother of both boys. Everyone except Lucian, who never missed a chance to correct them. I didn’t care for the politics of it. I didn’t care about her visit, her soft reassurances, or the way she avoided looking me in the eye. I didn’t care about any of it. I just wanted to disappear. Burn the whole d'amn future and vanish into ash. But I couldn’t. I was sitting on the patio, trying to catch my breath from another heavy day of doing absolutely nothing, when a sleek black car pulled into our driveway. I squinted at the figure stepping out. A young woman—tall, porcelain-skinned, striking brunette. And angry. I stood slowly, assuming she was lost and needed directions. She didn’t waste time. “Are you Mara Thornridge?” she asked, sharp and cold. I nodded, guarded. “You gold-digging b1tch,” she snapped. “What do your parents have on Alpha Vander? Huh?” I blinked, stunned. What? “Do you know how long Lucian and I have been together?” she choked out, her eyes welling up with tears. “We were sweethearts for years. And now I find out you—you’ve been chosen for him? You?” I stood there, frozen, every cell in my body screaming for a break. I had no words. I was still trying to process this marriage from hll myself, and now this? She stepped closer, her voice low and trembling with rage. “How dare you, Mara? I swear, we will make your life a living hll.” And that was it. I snapped. “Watch it,” I growled, the shift stirring beneath my skin. “I don’t give two fks about Lucian. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this. So maybe aim that rage where it belongs—at him, or at his father, or at the Moon Goddess herself. Not me.” She blinked, caught off guard. “If you’re so mad, tell your beloved boyfriend to grow a spine and say something to his father. Trust me, you’d be doing me a huge favor. Because let’s be honest—Lucian isn’t exactly a prize. He’s an entitled, violent аs hole, and I wouldn’t want to be bound to him if he was the last breathing wolf in existence.” She stepped toward me like she was about to swing. I didn’t even flinch—I welcomed it. Hll, I needed it. I let out a low, warning growl, eyes locked on hers. “You need to f'k- off, now. While I’m still being nice. Because if you don’t, I swear on every ancestor in my bloodline, I will tear you apart. And right now? I wouldn’t even regret it.” Something in my voice must’ve landed. She backed away slowly, fury still burning in her eyes, but something else too—fear. She slid into her car and slammed the door, then peeled out of the driveway without another word. I stood there breathing hard, body trembling with all the rage and frustration I’d buried these past two weeks. Now I had to deal with Lucian’s girlfriend too? I wasn’t even officially mated to him yet, and already the drama was spilling into my yard like blood on the snow. And Lucian—he hadn’t shown up. Hadn’t spoken to me. Hadn’t so much as sent a message. I guessed the feeling was mutual. This was going to be hll. And it hadn’t even started yet. Mara “Mara!” my mother called from downstairs. Since the day they dropped the bomb about the arrangement, I’d barely left my room. What was the point? Everyone probably knew by now. The whole pack, maybe even the entire dam country. Mara Thornridge, gifted to Lucian Nighthorn like a prized lamb to the family wolf. And just like that, the threats had started rolling in—anonymous messages from a number I didn’t need to trace. I knew exactly who it was. Lucian’s little banshee. The same girl who’d parked in my driveway and tried to claw my face off with words she probably rehearsed in front of a mirror. None of her threats got to me. Not one. If she ever followed through on a single one of them, I might actually respect her. But I knew the truth—lashing out at me was easier than facing Lucian or confronting Alpha Vander. I was the easier target. The quiet one. The one who hadn’t asked for any of this. I got out of bed wearing the same old pajamas I’d worn for two days. It was already afternoon. I didn’t care. My hair was a mess, my eyes were swollen from days of crying, but the tears had stopped. I wasn’t sad anymore. Just empty. Numb. And numbness? It was better. Numbness didn’t ask questions or demand hope. Darian and I still talked every night. His voice was soft, his words kind, and I hated every second of it. He meant well. He was trying. But I didn’t want kindness from him. Not anymore. I wanted what I could never have. Every call was another reminder that I'd never be more than his best friend. So no, the support wasn’t helping. Not even a little. I shuffled downstairs, preparing to grab something quick and head back to my quiet cave of self-pity. But I froze at the bottom step. Alpha Vander Nighthorn and Lucian were in my living room. Just sitting there. Like this was normal. Like they belonged. I felt my parents' disappointment immediately. The way they looked at my unwashed hair and oversized sleep shirt said it all. But maybe, just maybe, the Alpha would take one look at me and change his mind. Maybe I looked pathetic enough to kill this deal. I stepped into the room, lifting my chin, even though my body screamed to turn and run. “Good afternoon, Alpha. Mr. Nighthorn,” I said evenly, voice dry but polite. Alpha Vander sat upright on the couch, perfectly composed. For a man in his early fifties, he looked ten years younger. Thick dark hair, sharp brown eyes, a well-groomed beard. He radiated power and vanity, and somehow it worked. No wonder women in the pack still swooned over him. He had that whole silver fox, age-like-wine aesthetic locked down. And Lucian? He looked like sin incarnate. Dark hair, frost-blue eyes that could pierce through bone, and a jawline that might have been carved from stone. His shirt clung to his body like it didn’t want to let go—tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, tracing the edges of muscle sculpted to perfection. He wasn’t bulky, not like some of the other warriors. He was lean, cut, deadly. His skin was sun-kissed and flawless, his stare unreadable and cold. Everything about him screamed danger, power, trouble. Everything about him made my skin crawl. And yet… he was undeniably beautiful. If I hadn’t known what was behind that face, I might have stared. Might have been flattered. But now? All I saw was the cage I was about to be locked inside. And he hadn’t even bothered to look at me yet. I swallowed hard when I saw him. It had been a while since I last saw Lucian Nighthorn in person, and I hated myself for even noticing how he looked. His presence was magnetic—he didn’t just walk into a room, he took it. He looked like something out of legend: all dark edges, piercing frost-blue eyes, and sculpted features that belonged on a statue. But no matter how stunning the exterior, it couldn’t mask the ugliness I knew sat underneath. Looks didn’t make a man worth loving. And I didn’t want this union. But what I wanted didn’t matter. “Mara,” Alpha Vander said, dragging my attention away from his son. I stood upright and gave him the proper Gamma salute. My posture stiff, my insides screaming. “Congratulations on your future position as Gamma. Mooncrest and Darian are blessed to have you in the ranks.” “Thank you, Alpha,” I replied, my voice steady. “Lucian,” he said, turning to his son, “get to know your mate. Take a walk while I speak with the Thornridges about the event.” Lucian didn’t respond. He just stood and walked outside, offering no glance, no gesture, no courtesy. The kind of silence that dared you to follow—and warned you not to speak. I didn’t want to go with him. He hadn’t asked. But I wasn’t foolish enough to disobey an Alpha’s command. I followed him out. He was sitting on the patio, staring down the street like the world bored him. I didn’t sit. “Don’t get any ideas, little girl,” he said finally, his voice deep, sharp, arrogant. “This arrangement is a joke. An insult. I’ll never love you. You’ll never be my true mate. Let’s get that straight before the wedding so you don’t embarrass yourself hoping for more.” I cleared my throat, keeping my voice even. “Understood, Mr. Nighthorn. I’m not looking forward to the wedding either. If I had a choice, I’d have turned it down, but your father left me and my family with two options—accept or go rogue. I expect nothing from you. And I will give you nothing in return.” He finally turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. “You really have no pride, do you?” he said. “You think this is some noble sacrifice? My father’s paying your family a fortune for this. You and your parents—just more middle-class shovel-holders, ready to dig for gold.” I inhaled sharply. My hand twitched. Don’t hit him, I told myself. Not yet. His smirk widened. “Feisty,” he said. “I like that. Quick-tempered too. I’m honestly surprised you made it as Gamma. What did you do? Sleep your way there? Must’ve been quite the climb—though Darian doesn’t fancy you, so maybe you figured you’d settle for the older brother. At least then you get the name, the money, the power. That’s what this is about, right? Being a Nighthorn?” He waited for me to crumble. I didn’t. Instead, I leaned in, voice low and laced with venom. “At least I earned my place in this pack. I’m Gamma because I bled for it, not because I was born into a name. You? You’ll always be the brother of the Alpha. Nothing more.” That hit him. His jaw tightened. His hand lifted halfway, shaking—just a breath away from slapping me. His eyes burned, not with fury alone, but with something deeper. Shame. Insecurity. I flinched, but only slightly. Mara Lucian was stronger than Darian. That much was clear. Where Darian led with loyalty, Lucian ruled with intimidation. His presence filled the air like a storm. And for a moment, just a moment, I felt what it would be like to be tied to this man. Not protected. Not cherished. Owned. Lucian dropped his hand, clenched it into a fist instead. Good. I’d struck the nerve I wanted. And I wouldn’t stop there. “We are not equals,” Lucian said coldly, his voice like ice cracking beneath pressure. “You better watch your mouth, Thornridge, or this arrangement will turn ugly real fast.” He dropped back onto the bench like he owned the space, like even sitting was a statement of dominance. I stayed standing, watching him from above, refusing to shrink. “I came here only to lay down a few ground rules,” he continued. “First, you will never be my mate. So don’t expect affection, don’t ask for loyalty, and don’t even think about what mates are ‘entitled’ to. I already have someone. Someone I actually care about.” I laughed—just once, dry and sharp. “You mean the one who threatened me in my own driveway?” I said. “Tell your little girlfriend that as long as she keeps her claws to herself and stays out of my way, we’ll have no problems. I don’t care what you two do behind closed doors.” He went quiet. I could tell he didn’t like my answer. It wasn’t what he expected. But it was the truth, and I wasn’t here to coddle his ego. “In public, we’ll play the part for my father,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Behind closed doors, we’re strangers. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.” “Fine by me,” I said flatly. “As long as you don’t try to bully me, we won’t have a problem. If your father really did buyme, then this is a contract. And once Darian becomes Alpha, you’ll release me.” He chuckled then—low and bitter. “You still don’t get it, do you? That will never happen, Mara. I’ll have to claim you eventually. A full binding. For show. For politics. For my father. You’ll be mine—publicly, legally, permanently.” Something twisted in my chest at those words. A phantom ache. I flinched without meaning to, but I didn’t let him see more than that. “What about your girlfriend?” I asked quietly. “She understands,” he replied, surprisingly calm. “I’ll never be Alpha, and I don’t want the job. We’ll find our way around this. She’ll still have my heart. She’ll have my children.” I stared at him, trying to understand how a person could speak of love and cruelty in the same breath. “I guess you’ve got your future mapped out,” I said. “Good for you. But what about me?” He blinked, caught off guard. His tone lost its bite. “What do you mean?” “I mean, you’ve got the girl. The family plan. The political cover. What about my life? My future?” I asked, voice low but unshaking. He looked at me for a long second. Then gave a dismissive shrug. “You’ll figure it out. If you meet someone, fine. Scr'w whoever you want. Just don’t get pregnant and embarrass me. Keep your mess private.” I stared at him, stunned. He wasn’t done. “I’m sure you already have a few boyfriends on the side. Maybe some officials from the academy you spread your legs for—because no woman’s ever made it as Gamma before. So whatever you did to get there, just keep doing it. That’s the only way you’ll hold onto that title. If someone stronger comes along, you’re out.” I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t need to. Let him think what he wanted. Let him imagine a version of me that matched his twisted assumptions. I wasn’t going to defend my body, my choices, or my worth to him. But inside, something cracked. I’d waited. Saved myself. Dreamed of Darian—not for lvst, but for love. And now I was bound to a man who assumed the worst of me. Who would use me as a shield, a pawn, and nothing more. And yet I didn’t cry. Not anymore. The tears were done. Now, there was only fire. “Well,” Lucian said, brushing imaginary dust from his pants like the conversation was just business. “Since everything’s ironed out, I guess we won’t have issues living as husband and wife.” I gave him a nod. Flat. Numb. Resigned. “Do we sleep in the same room?” I asked, not because I wanted to—but because I needed to know what kind of Hll I’d be walking into. He shook his head. “Not exactly. My room has a conjoined space. You’ll sleep in the one I’m not using.” A connected room. No door. No barrier. Just a wall, maybe some air, and all the silence in the world between us. “I’ve fixed it up for you,” he added. “Just don’t expect luxury. It’s the poorer wing of the mansion. My father doesn’t dote on me the way he does on Darian.” I almost laughed. The poorer wing? I would’ve gladly slept in a shed if it meant not sharing space with the man who thought I’d slept my way into the Gamma rank. “I don’t care about the room,” I said simply. And I didn’t. What I cared about was distance. Physical, emotional, spiritual. As much as I could carve out for myself in a life I never asked for. We headed back into the house. Alpha Vander stood, looking pleased with himself—like a man who had just orchestrated a perfect deal, unaware—or perhaps entirely aware—of the people he was crushing in the process. “Ah, I see the lovebirds have come to an understanding,” he said with a smug grin. “I suppose I’ll see you both at the wedding.” My father stepped forward to shake his hand. “Thank you, Alpha. We are honoured.” Alpha Vander turned to him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aiden, Arya—you’ve raised a strong, beautiful daughter. I originally wanted her for Darian, you know. She’s Luna material, no doubt about it. But in the end, I knew she’d have more impact on Lucian’s life.” Every word scraped against me like sandpaper. “Darian is already gentle,” he went on. “Lucian needs someone like Mara. Someone sweet, with a steady hand. She’ll soften him. She’s perfect.” And that was the moment I felt it—self-loathing. Deep, hot, gnawing. I should’ve seen it sooner. This wasn’t about love or bonds or the Universe’s will. I’d been chosen because I was safe. A tool. A soothing balm they could apply to their most volatile son. I should’ve been reckless. Cold. Difficult. A bad girl. Maybe then I would’ve been considered for Darian. Maybe then, I would’ve stood a chance. But Lucian—he didn’t let his father get away with it. “It’s not about what you want, Father,” he said suddenly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean through the room. Alpha Vander turned to him slowly, like a man used to obedience. “Don’t lie to them,” Lucian continued. “This wasn’t your idea. This was Martha’s doing. Luna Martha didn’t want Darian choosing Mara. She didn’t want him with a Thornridge—didn’t want him marrying middle-class. She wants a girl with money. Status. This whole thing? It’s her fix. Her solution.” The air in the room turned sharp. Lucian kept going. “You’re not doing this to help me,” he said. “You’re doing it to ruin me—and Mara. All to clear the path for Darian to marry someone Martha approves of. You paid them off. That’s not honor. That’s manipulation.” Then he turned and walked out without another word. And I stood there—stunned. Not because I was angry at what he said. But because it was true. So painfully, clearly true. Luna Martha didn’t want me in her family. I wasn’t polished enough. Rich enough. Enough of anything, really. And Darian… he never even had a chance to fight it. I never had a chance at him. No matter how hard I trained, no matter how loyal I was, no matter how much I loved him quietly from a distance—I never stood a chance. Lucian was many things—cold, cruel, arrogant—but in that moment, I saw something else too: honesty. Brutal, unfiltered honesty. And it told me exactly where I stood in this twisted legacy of power, names, and politics. I was never meant to have a voice. Mara Four days had passed since Lucian and his father came to the house, and I still hadn’t found my way out of the haze. I sat in the garden behind our home, staring at nothing. Not the flowers. Not the trees. Just the empty space ahead of me, like it might hold some kind of answer if I looked long enough. Lucian’s words still echoed in my mind—cold, cruel, and then, strangely, honest. The truth was a blade that hadn’t stopped cutting. It wasn’t about me being Luna material or helping Lucian. It was about Darian. About removing me from the equation so his mother could shape his future without interference. I didn’t even hear him approach. “You’ve lost weight,” Darian said softly, sitting beside me. I didn’t reply. What was there to say? He sighed and stood again, pacing. Frustrated. Restless. I knew he wanted to talk. He always did. But I couldn’t give him what he was looking for—not when I felt like my whole life had been bargained away by people who never even asked me what I wanted. “Why didn’t you tell me Lucian came to see you?” he finally asked. I looked up at him, calm on the surface, hollow underneath. “I didn’t think it was necessary.” He stopped pacing. “We’re friends, Mara. Everything is necessary. Everything matters.” He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were tense. I could see the guilt in the way he carried himself, but he didn’t understand. Not yet. “Help me, Darian,” I said, my voice cracking. “Please.” He came to a stop in front of me, eyes full of sorrow. “If I were Alpha, I’d cancel this madness. I swear I would.” “But you’re not,” I whispered. Then I looked him in the eyes, and I said the one thing that had been building in my chest like pressure before a storm. “Your mother set this up.” He frowned, his expression hardening. “Lucian said it in front of your father. And your father didn’t deny it. She was afraid that you and I… that we might end up together. She didn’t want her son marrying someone from a middle-class family. So she pushed this union, forced it, to get me out of your orbit.” Darian’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true. She knows we’re just friends. That there’s nothing between us.” His words landed like stones in my chest. “If I wanted to date you, Mara, I would’ve.” That hurt. I expected it, but it still hurt. “She doesn’t see it that way,” I replied. “To her, I’m a threat to your future. So she ruined mine.” I paused, voice low and shaking. “Please talk to her, Darian. She’s destroying two lives out of fear. Lucian has someone he loves. And me?” My voice broke. “She’s condemning me to a loveless, miserable life. All because I was your friend.” I looked down at my hands, trembling now. “I’ll give up the Gamma position. I’ll leave. Just… help me get out of this.” Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and helpless. “I don’t want to marry your brother. Please.” He sat down beside me again, silent for a long moment. His hand found mine, hesitated, then held it gently. “I’ll talk to her,” he said at last, voice low. “I can’t promise anything, Mara. But I’ll try. I’ll beg her if I have to.” I nodded, even though I wasn’t hopeful. At this point, I just needed to know someone tried. That not everyone stood by and watched my future burn. If Darian hadn’t offered, I might’ve buried myself in silent acceptance. Might’ve forced myself to walk into that cold, loveless match. But Lucian wasn’t just cruel—he was dangerous. He was a murderer. An irresponsible drunk. A walking storm I’d be expected to share a life with. The thought of binding myself to him permanently… it made my skin crawl. We sat in silence for a while after that. Just breathing the same air. Just existing in the same space. Eventually, Darian left. And I was alone again. Sitting in a garden, surrounded by life, while mine slowly withered away. Two days passed. Nothing from Darian. No call. No visit. Not even a message. Just silence. I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling like it might offer some kind of escape. It didn’t. All I saw was the countdown—days slipping away until the wedding. Until my funeral. Because that’s what it felt like. The day I married Lucian would be the day I buried the last of myself. I didn’t know if I’d take the Gamma position when the time came. I doubted it. The fire in me—the one that once pushed me to be the best—was nothing but ash now. Resignation tasted bitter, but it was starting to feel like the only thing I had left. There was a knock at my door. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. I could already smell her—my mother. And the food tray she was balancing in her hands. I didn’t move, didn’t speak, and just like I knew she would, she let herself in. “Mara,” she said gently, placing the tray on the table. “You need to eat something.” I didn’t even look at the food. I looked at her. Cold. Angry. Broken. “How can you and Dad live with yourselves after selling your daughter?” I asked, my voice flat, my expression disgusted. She froze by the table, her eyes lowering, as if even she couldn’t bear to meet mine. “He gave us no choice, Mara,” she whispered. “The money was to ease his conscience.” “And you took it.” My words were a blade. “Spent it, I’m sure. Did it ever occur to you that Lucian might call it off? That Alpha Vander might want his money back?” She turned to face me slowly, her expression tired and tight. “We had no choice,” she repeated. “It was take it… or be cast out. ‘Take it or get out,’ that’s what he said. We were drowning, Mara. The house, the loans—we were about to lose everything.” I blinked, stunned. “So you sold me to pay off your debts? The loans you took for my education?” “No,” she said quickly. “We were ready to let the house go. We planned to move in with my sister. We didn’t expect Alpha Nighthorn to show up. But when he forced the union, when he said it was happening whether we liked it or not... we took the money. We used it to survive.” “And you used me to survive,” I said bitterly. She flinched. I sat up, my eyes sharp now. “What happens if the deal falls apart? If Lucian calls it off and his father wants the money back?” “Why would he?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Because I told Darian,” I said. “I told him what Lucian said. About the truth—how this wasn’t about Lucian needing a wife but about his mother wanting me out of Darian’s life. He promised he’d talk to her. Try to get her to stop this madness.” My mother’s eyes widened, shocked. She hadn’t expected me to do anything. Maybe she thought I’d just quietly crumble. She slowly sat beside me, her body folding like something had broken inside her. Tears slid down her face. “Mara, my darling…” my mother’s voice cracked as she sat beside me. “I didn’t know you would take it this hard.” I didn’t answer. She reached for my hand, but I didn’t move. My eyes stayed locked on the ceiling, dry now, but only because I had nothing left in me. “I’m hurting too,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you to be strong. You’re tougher than this.” I didn’t look at her. “Darian and Rowan left yesterday,” she added carefully. “They won’t be back until it’s time for him to take over the pack.” The words sank in slowly, like poison soaking through my veins. They went on the trip. Without me. Without a word. Darian—the one person I still believed would try to help me—was gone. He didn’t even call. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t tell me that he had failed or that he’d tried at all. The silence in my chest cracked. My heart broke without sound. “I know what you’re thinking,” my mother said, almost defensively. “It was Luna Martha. She forced the trip.” I turned to her now, eyes stinging again. “She forced him?” I asked, though I already believed it. “Yes,” she nodded. “Jason—Darian’s butler—he came by for a check-up. He told me Darian had a terrible argument with Martha. About Lucian. About you. About how unfair this is. And when she couldn’t control the conversation, she controlled him. She made him leave. Told him it was to ‘gain experience.’ Said he’d return a better Alpha.” My lip trembled, but I didn’t speak. It was my fault. I asked him to intervene. I pulled him into this. And now he was gone. Banished under the guise of training. And nothing had changed. Lucian was still my future. And Darian… Darian had become part of the past. I sat in silence as the tears returned—slow, steady, quiet. “I’m sorry, baby,” my mother whispered. “But please… eat something. Don’t let this kill you. You’re one of the strongest wolves this pack has ever seen. A woman winning Gamma? That’s not luck. That’s grit. That’s fire. You will find a way to cope.” I didn’t believe her. Not even a little. She pulled me close, kissed my forehead, then left the room without waiting for a response. I stared at the food. The smell turned my stomach. Fear had coiled itself so tightly around my gut I could barely breathe, let alone eat. I picked at the plate. Flushed it all down the toilet. Washed the dishes in silence. I wanted to fade out of existence. But I couldn’t. I was still here. Trapped in a body with no escape, in a life that no longer felt like mine. They hadn’t even set a date yet. That should’ve been a good thing—more time, more room to plan, to hope—but instead, it made it worse. The anticipation, the waiting. The illusion of freedom. Alpha Vander was “putting things in order,” whatever that meant. Maybe planning some extravagant public affair to mask the fact that the union was a sentence, not a celebration. Forced marriages weren’t supposed to be grand. But this one was. Because it wasn’t about love—it was about control. I climbed back into bed, curled beneath the blanket, and tried to breathe past the panic rising in my throat. Please, I thought. Let time fly. Let it fly fast. Lucian My father was a weak man. Spineless, really. Letting his Luna orchestrate the ruin of two lives just to soothe her own insecurities? That wasn’t leadership—that was cowardice dressed in politics. Where does Martha’s manipulation stop? It was bad enough she turned my father against me—made sure I was never considered fit to be Alpha. But now? She’s bound me to a girl I barely know, all because she couldn't stomach the idea of Darian marrying someone who wasn’t bred from power or money. Mara Thornridge and I? We were just casualties of her fear. Collateral damage in her obsession with keeping Darian’s path clean and elite. When my father dragged me to the Thornridge house, I said what I needed to say. Cold, cruel, calculated—because I needed to understand. Martha told me the Thornridges requested the union, claimed they believed their daughter was too strong not to be Luna. Claimed they wanted her to take her “rightful place.” Said they had agreed to settle for me instead of Darian. All of it? Complete bullsh1t. Everyone knew Mara had a crush on Darian. It wasn’t some secret scandal. Even Darian knew—he just ignored it. Let it stew. Let her orbit him for years. A harmless crush, people said. But what that girl gave up for him wasn’t harmless. She left her original path. Signed up at the academy. Trained harder than anyone expected. Finished second. All for a boy who didn’t have the guts to be honest with her. At first, even I assumed her ambition was calculated—that finishing second was her power play to get chosen as Luna. But after speaking with her, however awkwardly… I realized how wrong I was. She didn’t chase power. She chased purpose. And maybe, quietly, she chased hope. The way she looked at me—guarded, hurt, angry. That wasn’t the gaze of someone who’d schemed her way up. That was someone trying not to drown in something too big for her. And I hated it. I hated how Martha had spun this lie and dragged me into it. I hated how my father let her do it. I hated that Mara—this tough, stubborn, determined girl—was being broken apart by people who claimed to protect the pack. So when we went back inside, I told the truth. I was done playing along. Let the Thornridges hear it all—how this wasn’t about what was best for me or Mara or even Darian. It was about Martha’s ego. About keeping “middle-class blood” away from her precious son. I almost told Mara that Darian had known. That he could’ve stopped this earlier. But I didn’t. Because she already looked like she was barely holding it together. That truth would’ve shattered her. But I blame him too. He knew how she felt. He saw it in her eyes every Dam time she looked at him. And instead of setting her free, he kept her close. He strung her along, let her believe maybe… maybe one day. I heard him brag once—to his friends—that she’d made passes at him. After meeting her, I knew that was a lie. Mara Thornridge doesn’t beg. She’d rather die than admit she’s vulnerable. She would’ve made a great Luna. Not just to Darian—but to the pack. She’s sharp, strong, and smarter than half the men who outranked her. And instead of letting her shine, Martha decided to bury her. Tie her to me. Punish her for something that never even happened. And now they expect her to stand at Darian’s side as Gamma? To give her best while living half-alive? Unbelievable. No one’s asking what this will do to her. No one’s thinking about what she’s being forced to give up just to survive. I didn’t know what to do with Mara. I didn’t want to touch her. I didn’t want to claim her—not because I hated her, but because I respected her. She didn’t ask for this, and I’m not the kind of man who takes what isn’t given freely. I wouldn’t mate with her against her will. I wasn’t like Darian. He wore his charm like armor and left a trail of wreckage behind him—wolves he used, hearts he broke, girls who wound up pregnant and scared. And every time, Father and Martha cleaned it up quietly, buried the mess, and painted him as the perfect heir. Looking back now, I saw it all more clearly than I ever had. Darian—the golden boy, the spoiled prince. Martha’s precious son, her ticket to power, the puppet she dressed up as a leader. And then there was me. An accident at the wrong time, the wrong place, gave her everything she needed to destroy me. The biker didn’t die because of me—not really. My brakes failed. There was silver in the wreckage, and to this day, I still don’t know how it got there. The biker would’ve survived without it. But no one listened. No one cared. My father didn’t even pretend to investigate. He just... wrote me off. They said I was drunk, been partying all. Night but that was a lie, yet no one cared. Martha escalated the fallout like she’d been waiting for it. And Darian? He got a free pass. Over and over. “They wanted him,” my father would say. “He didn’t stand a chance. Every girl wants the Luna title. It’s not the same.” It wasn’t the same because Darian was untouchable. I’d only ever loved one girl. Tina Livingston. I’d been loyal, careful, focused. But now, thanks to Martha, I had to break her heart. Just another name sacrificed on the altar of Darian’s future. Martha had destroyed three lives. Maybe four, if Mara had someone before all of this—someone she never got to choose. And yet, I couldn’t even bring myself to hate her. Not fully. She was protecting her son. Ruthless, yes—but my real anger was reserved for the man who allowed her to do it all. My father. The Alpha. The coward. If my mother had lived… maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe she would’ve fought for me. For balance. For justice. But she was gone. And in her absence, Martha filled the void with poison and control. Now here we were. A forced union. A fake marriage. A girl who didn’t want me, and a pack that would celebrate it anyway like it was some kind of alliance—when in truth, it was just another silent war. I moved my things into the smaller of the conjoined rooms and fixed up the larger one for Mara. I wanted her to be comfortable. Or at the very least, able to cope. She wasn’t what I’d accused her of—she wasn’t a gold digger or a social climber. I said those things to provoke, to test, to understand. But now I knew better. She was nineteen. A kid, really. Brave as hll, smart, and stubborn. And stuck. Her parents weren’t to blame either. They had no power, no rank, no options. The offer from my father wasn’t an opportunity—it was a threat in disguise. Because being cast out wasn’t just exile. It was death by slow erasure. When a wolf is stripped of their pack mark, it fades over time. And once it’s gone, they lose their human form. They go feral. Wild. Forgotten. That’s what happens to rogues. There’s no mercy in that system, no redemption. A wolf only belongs to one pack in their lifetime. One. And if that bond is broken, there’s no going back. It was a cruel mechanism, a brutal leash disguised as tradition. One the Alpha family had full control over. And my father wielded it without hesitation. Mara was a victim. Just like I was. But unlike me, she didn’t even have the illusion of choice.
"I'll never love you. You'll never be my true mate. This arrangement is a joke. An insult." My husband sneered. "Understood, Mr. Nighthorn. I'm not looking forward to the wedding either. If I had a choice, I'd have turned it down, but your father left me and my family with two options—accept or go rogue." "Feisty," he said. "I like that. Quick-tempered too." "As long as you don't try to bully me, we won't have a problem. If your father really did buy me, then this is a contract. And once Darian becomes Alpha, you'll release me." I said flatly. He chuckled then—low and bitter. "You still don't get it, do you? That will never happen, Mara. I'll have to claim you eventually. A full binding. For show. For politics. For my father. You'll be mine—publicly, legally, permanently." Something twisted in my chest at those words. A phantom ache. He told me exactly where I stood in this twisted legacy of power, names, and politics. I was never meant to have a voice. —————— That actually made me smile. It was such a him thing to say. “That’s so cool, Rowan,” I said, wide-eyed. Then, on impulse, the words slipped out before I could second-guess them. “Do you mind if I come?” Rowan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at Darian, almost like he needed permission. And Darian—bless him—gave me that soft smile again. “If you go with him,” he said, “who’s going to be my friend and keep me company here?” I knew the answer. We all did. Tiffany. Tiffany would. But if I said that out loud, it would expose everything—my jealousy, my feelings, my pain. It would ruin whatever fragile friendship we still had. So I said nothing. Just sat there, heart breaking quietly behind steady eyes. Mara “I’m sure you’ve got other friends to keep you company,” I said, keeping my voice calm, eyes steady on Tiffany. “Better—and maybe more interesting—company than I could ever be.” Tiffany caught the meaning instantly and smiled, smug and satisfied. “That’s right, Darian,” she purred, looping her arm through his. “I’m all the company you’ll need.” Then, like it was some kind of private joke, she leaned in and licked his earlobe again. I looked away, jaw tight. She wanted to be Luna so badly it was dripping off her. Most of the girls who threw themselves at Darian did. It wasn’t about him. It was about the title, the power, the image. But not me. Even if Darian wasn’t going to be Alpha, I’d still feel this way about him. That was the difference. “I want to come with you, Rowan,” I said suddenly, turning to him. My voice was clearer than I expected. Firm. I needed distance. Space. A whole dam continent between me and Darian if I was going to get over him. He would never see me. Never choose me. And I had to stop holding out hope like it was some kind of twisted comfort blanket. “This trip... it’ll be good for me,” I added, mostly to myself. Darian smiled, watching me a little too closely. “Maybe I’ll come too.” And just like that, the air left my lungs. No. No, he couldn’t. That would ruin everything. I’d just end up exactly where I was—his loyal shadow, his best buddy, watching Tiffany swallow his attention whole. “You’ll bring me along?” Tiffany asked, all wide eyes and sugar-laced eagerness. I could almost hear the flutter of her lashes. I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. If she came too, I’d lose my mind watching her cling to Darian like a barnacle in heat. Her tongue alone would be enough to make me puke somewhere around the border of the first town we hit. “I’ll think about it,” Darian replied, and Tiffany's face fell. She frowned, and then her eyes flicked to me, sharp and accusing, like it was my fault. She wasn’t entirely wrong. But also not right. I didn’t want Darian to come—not because I wanted to hoard him for myself, but because I needed to finally let go of him. We stayed a little longer, had a couple drinks, careful not to go overboard. It was a quiet ending to a loud night. Eventually, we all called it and got ready to leave. “Let’s go hunting tomorrow morning,” Darian said casually as we stepped out into the night. His voice was light, but his eyes were on me. I hesitated. Waiting. Because, of course, I needed to hear what she would say. “I want to come too,” Tiffany piped up, bouncing slightly in her heels like she was volunteering for a game of tag. I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. Darian caught it and laughed. “I guess the three of you will have to go without me,” I said flatly, already turning away. Darian frowned. “Come on, Mara. You and I—we’re a good team.” Oh, how I wished that was true. But in reality? It was just another sweet lie I’d told myself over the years. “You, Rowan, and Tiffany will be a formidable team,” I replied, eyes on the pavement, not bothering to look at her. I could already feel the weight of her glare. I didn’t blame her. If I were her, I wouldn’t like me either. Not when the guy I wanted kept paying attention to someone else. Darian told me to think about it. I wouldn’t. I didn’t need to. I already knew I wasn’t going. When I got home, the house was quiet—everyone asleep. I slipped inside like a ghost and made my way to my room, shutting the door behind me without making a sound. I didn’t want to wake anyone. I didn’t want to talk. All I wanted was to stop loving someone who would never love me back. Morning came too fast. I sat on the edge of my bed, still wrapped in the fog of everything I was trying to forget. The hunt was supposed to be today. Part of me wanted to go—just to breathe outside this house, outside of him. But the thought of Tiffany tagging along made my stomach twist. I already knew she’d spent the night at the Nighthorn mansion. There was no way Darian would leave her behind now. Not after that. I dragged myself downstairs, hungry but not in the mood. I hated shifting when I hadn’t eaten—it made me edgy, short-tempered. I didn’t want to lose it in the woods and end up looking unhinged. What I didn’t expect was to find my parents waiting in the kitchen. They weren’t eating. They weren’t smiling. They were just… there, sitting stiffly at the table with this look in their eyes that made something inside me tighten. My mother, usually bright-eyed and warm, gave me a small, nervous smile. “Morning, Mara. How was your night?” I forced a shrug. “Great,” I lied, trying not to read too much into their mood. She just nodded. My father cleared his throat, and the sound already made my heart beat faster. “Sweetheart, we need to talk to you about something important.” And just like that, my stomach dropped. They didn’t speak in the kitchen. My dad gestured toward the living room, and we all moved, silent as ghosts. I sat on the couch across from them, trying not to let my mind spiral. Then they looked at each other. That kind of look—the silent, mind-link kind of conversation they always had when something was wrong. Something they didn’t want to say out loud. I wasn’t part of it. Not yet. Not until they decided I had to be. “Mara,” my father said slowly, “you know how much we love you, right?” Wrong way to start. My pulse spiked. I swallowed hard. “Yes,” I said, and my voice cracked. He looked down for a moment, then back up at me with tired eyes. “We’ve always wanted the best for you. But… we also have duties to the pack. Responsibilities. And—” “We should’ve told you sooner,” my mother cut in, her voice trembling. “But we wanted you to have your graduation, your moment of celebration, before we… before we said anything.” Her eyes welled up with tears. That’s when I started crying too. Because whatever could make my mother cry like that—whatever they were about to say—it was going to rip something out of me. “Mara,” my father said again, quieter this time, “Alpha Vander Nighthorn has chosen you to be joined with his eldest son, Lucian.” My breath caught. “He’s decided,” he continued, “that since you finished second overall in the academy, top among the female wolves, and since you’re known for your strength, your discipline… that you’re the best choice for Lucian. He believes your character will help shape him into a man fit to stand beside his brother when Darian becomes Alpha. He also believes that your friendship with Darian will help settle the conflict between the brothers and bring unity to the future leadership of this pack.” I was frozen. The words didn’t even register at first. It didn’t feel real. “It’s not a suggestion, Mara,” my father added. “It’s an order. One we had no power to refuse.” That was it. The sound that left my throat wasn’t even human. I screamed. A raw, guttural cry that tore from my chest like something inside me had shattered. Mara “This must be a joke,” I whispered, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice. My eyes burned, and the tears wouldn’t stop. My mother shook her head slowly, her face soaked with grief. “It’s not a joke,” she said, broken. I choked on a sob. “Lucian? Lucian?! He’s a monster. A cruel, vicious bаst3rd. He lies, cheats, bullies anyone weaker than him—and he killed someone, an innocent person. And now you want me to what? Play house with the devil?” I knew they didn’t have a choice. I knew it wasn’t really their fault. But I needed someone to blame, and they were standing right in front of me, and I was drowning. “We had no say,” my father said, voice low and defeated. “They said you’re the strongest female of your generation. They believe you’ll match him. Tame him.” “Enough!” I snapped, standing up so fast the room spun. “You can’t tame people, Dad. You don’t ‘fix’ someone like Lucian. He’s not broken. He’s rotten. He was born that way.” My breath came fast, too fast. My chest felt tight like I was suffocating. “I’m supposed to be Darian’s Gamma! That job—our futures—they’re built on trust, on teamwork. How am I supposed to do that while being shackled to a psychopath?” They had no answers. Just silence. My mother’s silent weeping. My father’s helpless stare. “I’m done. I’m leaving. I don’t want the Gamma position. They can keep it—and let them gift someone else to that monster.” I turned, storming toward the stairs. I didn’t know where I’d go, but anywhere was better than here. Anywhere but thislife. “You can’t leave, Mara,” my father called after me, voice desperate. “If you refuse the bond, Alpha Nighthorn will cast us out. We’ll become rogues. Once the mark of Mooncrest fades, we’ll lose everything—our protection, our humanity. You know what happens to rogues. You’ll turn feral. We all will. They rule this entire country, Mara. There’s no where for you to go,” I stopped in my tracks. Feral. Cast out. Doomed. I turned slowly and looked at my mother. Her shoulders were trembling. She couldn’t even look me in the eyes. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?” I said, my voice shaking with fury and despair. “You’re asking me to throw my life away. You’re asking me to bind myself to someone who might kill me in my sleep.” She nodded through her tears. “I’m sorry.” Lucian wasn’t just cruel—he was dangerous. Even Alpha Vander didn’t trust him to lead, which was why Darian had been groomed from day one to take over. Darian, with his calm and strength and sense of duty. Meanwhile, his older brother was out there, spiraling, and now they wanted me to steady him. They wouldn’t have picked me if I wasn’t so perfect—so well-behaved, so disciplined, so obsessed with Darian that I molded myself into the model warrior. Maybe if I’d been reckless, mean, or a bitter b1tch, they wouldn’t have even considered me. But no. I had played the part. And now, this was my reward: unrequited love, a forced marriage, a future I couldn’t escape. I hated my life in that moment. I was about to turn away again when the doorbell rang. We all froze. My mother rose to answer it, and the scent hit me before she opened the door—him. Darian. He stepped inside, and I almost didn’t recognize him. His eyes were red, brimming with tears. His hands trembled. He looked like someone had carved a hole into his chest and left it gaping. “Mara,” he said softly, his voice cracked and hoarse. He opened his arms. He didn’t need to say anything else. I walked into him, into the arms I had longed for more than I ever admitted, and he held me—tight, like he was the one about to fall apart. My parents quietly stepped away, leaving us in the silence of shared pain. And I broke. I cried, and this time, it wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t polite. It was everything I had been holding in—fear, betrayal, grief, hopelessness—all pouring out while he held me. And still, I knew… even this wouldn’t change anything. “I’m sorry, Mara,” Darian whispered against my hair, his voice thick with something heavier than guilt. “I didn’t know they would do this. I didn’t know he would do this.” And I broke again. “I don’t want to be with Lucian,” I cried, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring me. “I hate him, Darian. I can’t do this. Please… help me.” His arms tightened around me like he wanted to, like he wished he could fix it all with the way he held me—but he didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was barely above a whisper. “I’m not Alpha yet, Mara. My key mark isn’t active yet. I don’t have the power to stop this.” And that—that—hurt more than I expected. Not because he admitted he was powerless but because of the way his voice cracked. There was grief in it. Regret. Something deeper than duty. “I thought…” he started, then paused. “I thought we had time. I thought there’d be more time.” I pulled back just enough to look at him. “Time for what?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mara. I didn’t know.” I stared at him, trying to piece together what he meant. Time for what? Was he finally saying what I’d always hoped he felt? But now wasn’t the time. Not with everything crashing around us. The hug faded. Slowly. Reluctantly. We stood there, inches apart, staring into each other’s tear-streaked faces, both too full of words we couldn’t say. “Listen to me,” Darian said, his voice low but firm. “I will always be there for you. I won’t let him hurt you, Mara. I swear it. If you ever feel unsafe, if he crosses a line—call me. I don’t care what I’m doing. I’ll come. I will come. You are not alone in this.” I blinked back another wave of tears. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to thank someone for a promise that shouldn’t have to exist. “I wish I’d never trained to be your Beta,” I muttered, my voice barely a breath. “If I’d just taken medical classes instead… Alpha Vander wouldn’t have noticed me. He wouldn’t have picked me for his deranged son.” I looked at Darian again. My heart swelled painfully, and I opened my mouth. “Darian…” He met my eyes, hope flickering there. “What is it, Mara?” I hesitated. I wanted to say it. Gods, I wanted to scream it—I love you. I’ve always loved you. But I didn’t. Because now he wasn’t just the boy I trained beside. He was about to become my brother-in-law. And whatever chance there might have been, it had died the moment his father bound my future to Lucian’s. “Nothing,” I said instead. “Nothing but fear.” He pulled me back into his arms without hesitation. I buried my face in his chest and breathed in his scent one last time like it might be enough to last me forever. I didn’t dare ask for more. I didn’t dare reach for what I truly wanted. Not now. Not when I was about to be forced into the hands of someone I despised. Not when Darian had no power to save me. He held me tight, as if letting go would break him, too. Then he kissed the top of my head—soft, lingering—and pulled away. “We’ll still be best friends,” he said gently. “I don’t care what the pack says. You’re still my best friend, Mara. No one’s replacing you.” And there it was. The final nail. Best friend. The words were supposed to be comforting, but they landed like a blade in my chest. His father thought that same friendship was the key to taming Lucian—like I was a tool, a bridge, a sacrificial peace offering. I didn’t want to be Darian’s best friend. I wanted to be his everything. His Luna. His love. His home. But instead, I got Lucian. Unwanted. Unchosen. Trapped. Maybe being feral wouldn’t be so bad. At least then I’d be free. I could run, disappear, let the wilderness swallow me whole. Anything would be better than this slow suffocation. I wanted to leave. I needed to leave. Mara Darian followed me upstairs to my room. For the first time, it felt… wrong. Foreign. Like something had cracked in the familiar walls we’d built around each other. It had always been a little awkward since I started falling for him, but now—now it felt unbearable. I didn’t know what it would be like living in their house. The Nighthorn mansion. Sharing space with Lucian. Walking the same halls as Darian, seeing him every day while wearing the title of someone else’s mate. His brother’s mate. The thought made me feel sick. I didn’t trust my heart not to betray me in some devastating way. “I’ll wait here,” Darian said softly, settling into the chair by my desk while I headed into the bathroom. As soon as the water hit me, the tears came. I sank to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, sobbing so hard my ribs ached. I cried for the life I almost had. For the love I could never confess. For I was being handed like some twisted reward for being too good. And in that cracked, broken place, I thought about running. Disappearing. Going rogue. Letting the world forget I ever existed. But then I remembered what that meant. What it would do to my family. What it would do to me. I dressed in the bathroom, even though modesty had long since evaporated between Darian and me during years of shifting and training together. But things were different now. Everything was different. Even standing in front of him felt like holding a glass that could shatter if either of us moved too fast. “How are you feeling?” he asked when I stepped back into the room. I just nodded, unable to trust my voice. His eyes were still tinged with crimson, like he’d been holding back more tears of his own. “Lucian doesn’t want the union either,” he said suddenly. I looked up, startled. “What?” “That’s how I found out,” he continued. “I overheard him yelling at our father. He was furious. Said he didn’t want you. Didn’t want any of it. And honestly… that’s what scares me the most.” I understood what he meant before he said it. Lucian didn’t want me. Which meant he’d resent me. And with the kind of man he was—violent, spiteful—that resentment wouldn’t just sit quietly in the corner. He’d find a way to punish me for it. “Then why won’t he reject it?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. Darian exhaled slowly, like the weight of it all was dragging him under too. “Because ever since Father chose me as Alpha instead of him, Lucian hasn’t dared to oppose him. I think the shame crushed something inside him. He’s quiet now, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. And…” He hesitated. “Lucian’s in love—with someone else. Has been for a while.” I swallowed hard. That somehow made it worse. I wasn’t just being forced into a bond with a monster—I was a wedge, a weapon used to separate him from someone he actually cared about. A curse he’d wear every day. “This isn’t fair,” I said bitterly. “Not to me. Not to her. Not to anyone.” Darian didn’t argue. “Will I still be your Gamma?” I asked, knowing it was selfish but needing to ask anyway. Because even if I couldn’t be his mate, I still wanted to stand by his side in some way. Any way. “Yes,” he said softly. “Unless you choose to step down, you’ll remain my Gamma.” I shook my head. I couldn’t make that decision yet. Not when everything inside me felt broken and scattered. I just needed time. Space to breathe, to mourn, to accept the weight of what had been forced on me. Darian left quietly, carrying his own sadness like a wound. I watched him go and felt another piece of me fall apart. I stayed in bed the rest of the day. Staring at the ceiling. Crying into my pillow until it was soaked. My parents tried to check on me—brought food, soft words, empty comfort—but I ignored them all. I didn’t want kindness from the people who had let this happen. I didn’t want anyone. If the Alpha had chosen to bind me to Darian, I would have said yes without hesitation. I would have given him everything. But instead, I was being handed over to his brother. Why Lucian? Of all the wolves in this pack, why did fate—or power, or cruelty—choose him? And what the hll was I supposed to do now? Two weeks. Two long, miserable weeks of crying, sulking, and avoiding the world like it had personally betrayed me—because in a way, it had. I refused to go to any gatherings, skipped every function, and barely spoke to anyone who wasn’t Darian. Not that I saw him much. He’d gotten himself into trouble more than once that week, and Alpha Vander had taken it as an excuse to load him up with responsibilities. I missed him. But missing him was a dangerous thing now. Luna Martha Nighthorn came by twice to speak with my parents about the “arrangements.” She was Darian’s mother—not Lucian’s. Lucian’s biological mother had died when he was young. Alpha Vander had bonded with Martha later, and ever since, everyone just assumed she was the mother of both boys. Everyone except Lucian, who never missed a chance to correct them. I didn’t care for the politics of it. I didn’t care about her visit, her soft reassurances, or the way she avoided looking me in the eye. I didn’t care about any of it. I just wanted to disappear. Burn the whole d'amn future and vanish into ash. But I couldn’t. I was sitting on the patio, trying to catch my breath from another heavy day of doing absolutely nothing, when a sleek black car pulled into our driveway. I squinted at the figure stepping out. A young woman—tall, porcelain-skinned, striking brunette. And angry. I stood slowly, assuming she was lost and needed directions. She didn’t waste time. “Are you Mara Thornridge?” she asked, sharp and cold. I nodded, guarded. “You gold-digging b1tch,” she snapped. “What do your parents have on Alpha Vander? Huh?” I blinked, stunned. What? “Do you know how long Lucian and I have been together?” she choked out, her eyes welling up with tears. “We were sweethearts for years. And now I find out you—you’ve been chosen for him? You?” I stood there, frozen, every cell in my body screaming for a break. I had no words. I was still trying to process this marriage from hll myself, and now this? She stepped closer, her voice low and trembling with rage. “How dare you, Mara? I swear, we will make your life a living hll.” And that was it. I snapped. “Watch it,” I growled, the shift stirring beneath my skin. “I don’t give two fks about Lucian. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this. So maybe aim that rage where it belongs—at him, or at his father, or at the Moon Goddess herself. Not me.” She blinked, caught off guard. “If you’re so mad, tell your beloved boyfriend to grow a spine and say something to his father. Trust me, you’d be doing me a huge favor. Because let’s be honest—Lucian isn’t exactly a prize. He’s an entitled, violent аs hole, and I wouldn’t want to be bound to him if he was the last breathing wolf in existence.” She stepped toward me like she was about to swing. I didn’t even flinch—I welcomed it. Hll, I needed it. I let out a low, warning growl, eyes locked on hers. “You need to f'k- off, now. While I’m still being nice. Because if you don’t, I swear on every ancestor in my bloodline, I will tear you apart. And right now? I wouldn’t even regret it.” Something in my voice must’ve landed. She backed away slowly, fury still burning in her eyes, but something else too—fear. She slid into her car and slammed the door, then peeled out of the driveway without another word. I stood there breathing hard, body trembling with all the rage and frustration I’d buried these past two weeks. Now I had to deal with Lucian’s girlfriend too? I wasn’t even officially mated to him yet, and already the drama was spilling into my yard like blood on the snow. And Lucian—he hadn’t shown up. Hadn’t spoken to me. Hadn’t so much as sent a message. I guessed the feeling was mutual. This was going to be hll. And it hadn’t even started yet. Mara “Mara!” my mother called from downstairs. Since the day they dropped the bomb about the arrangement, I’d barely left my room. What was the point? Everyone probably knew by now. The whole pack, maybe even the entire dam country. Mara Thornridge, gifted to Lucian Nighthorn like a prized lamb to the family wolf. And just like that, the threats had started rolling in—anonymous messages from a number I didn’t need to trace. I knew exactly who it was. Lucian’s little banshee. The same girl who’d parked in my driveway and tried to claw my face off with words she probably rehearsed in front of a mirror. None of her threats got to me. Not one. If she ever followed through on a single one of them, I might actually respect her. But I knew the truth—lashing out at me was easier than facing Lucian or confronting Alpha Vander. I was the easier target. The quiet one. The one who hadn’t asked for any of this. I got out of bed wearing the same old pajamas I’d worn for two days. It was already afternoon. I didn’t care. My hair was a mess, my eyes were swollen from days of crying, but the tears had stopped. I wasn’t sad anymore. Just empty. Numb. And numbness? It was better. Numbness didn’t ask questions or demand hope. Darian and I still talked every night. His voice was soft, his words kind, and I hated every second of it. He meant well. He was trying. But I didn’t want kindness from him. Not anymore. I wanted what I could never have. Every call was another reminder that I'd never be more than his best friend. So no, the support wasn’t helping. Not even a little. I shuffled downstairs, preparing to grab something quick and head back to my quiet cave of self-pity. But I froze at the bottom step. Alpha Vander Nighthorn and Lucian were in my living room. Just sitting there. Like this was normal. Like they belonged. I felt my parents' disappointment immediately. The way they looked at my unwashed hair and oversized sleep shirt said it all. But maybe, just maybe, the Alpha would take one look at me and change his mind. Maybe I looked pathetic enough to kill this deal. I stepped into the room, lifting my chin, even though my body screamed to turn and run. “Good afternoon, Alpha. Mr. Nighthorn,” I said evenly, voice dry but polite. Alpha Vander sat upright on the couch, perfectly composed. For a man in his early fifties, he looked ten years younger. Thick dark hair, sharp brown eyes, a well-groomed beard. He radiated power and vanity, and somehow it worked. No wonder women in the pack still swooned over him. He had that whole silver fox, age-like-wine aesthetic locked down. And Lucian? He looked like sin incarnate. Dark hair, frost-blue eyes that could pierce through bone, and a jawline that might have been carved from stone. His shirt clung to his body like it didn’t want to let go—tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, tracing the edges of muscle sculpted to perfection. He wasn’t bulky, not like some of the other warriors. He was lean, cut, deadly. His skin was sun-kissed and flawless, his stare unreadable and cold. Everything about him screamed danger, power, trouble. Everything about him made my skin crawl. And yet… he was undeniably beautiful. If I hadn’t known what was behind that face, I might have stared. Might have been flattered. But now? All I saw was the cage I was about to be locked inside. And he hadn’t even bothered to look at me yet. I swallowed hard when I saw him. It had been a while since I last saw Lucian Nighthorn in person, and I hated myself for even noticing how he looked. His presence was magnetic—he didn’t just walk into a room, he took it. He looked like something out of legend: all dark edges, piercing frost-blue eyes, and sculpted features that belonged on a statue. But no matter how stunning the exterior, it couldn’t mask the ugliness I knew sat underneath. Looks didn’t make a man worth loving. And I didn’t want this union. But what I wanted didn’t matter. “Mara,” Alpha Vander said, dragging my attention away from his son. I stood upright and gave him the proper Gamma salute. My posture stiff, my insides screaming. “Congratulations on your future position as Gamma. Mooncrest and Darian are blessed to have you in the ranks.” “Thank you, Alpha,” I replied, my voice steady. “Lucian,” he said, turning to his son, “get to know your mate. Take a walk while I speak with the Thornridges about the event.” Lucian didn’t respond. He just stood and walked outside, offering no glance, no gesture, no courtesy. The kind of silence that dared you to follow—and warned you not to speak. I didn’t want to go with him. He hadn’t asked. But I wasn’t foolish enough to disobey an Alpha’s command. I followed him out. He was sitting on the patio, staring down the street like the world bored him. I didn’t sit. “Don’t get any ideas, little girl,” he said finally, his voice deep, sharp, arrogant. “This arrangement is a joke. An insult. I’ll never love you. You’ll never be my true mate. Let’s get that straight before the wedding so you don’t embarrass yourself hoping for more.” I cleared my throat, keeping my voice even. “Understood, Mr. Nighthorn. I’m not looking forward to the wedding either. If I had a choice, I’d have turned it down, but your father left me and my family with two options—accept or go rogue. I expect nothing from you. And I will give you nothing in return.” He finally turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. “You really have no pride, do you?” he said. “You think this is some noble sacrifice? My father’s paying your family a fortune for this. You and your parents—just more middle-class shovel-holders, ready to dig for gold.” I inhaled sharply. My hand twitched. Don’t hit him, I told myself. Not yet. His smirk widened. “Feisty,” he said. “I like that. Quick-tempered too. I’m honestly surprised you made it as Gamma. What did you do? Sleep your way there? Must’ve been quite the climb—though Darian doesn’t fancy you, so maybe you figured you’d settle for the older brother. At least then you get the name, the money, the power. That’s what this is about, right? Being a Nighthorn?” He waited for me to crumble. I didn’t. Instead, I leaned in, voice low and laced with venom. “At least I earned my place in this pack. I’m Gamma because I bled for it, not because I was born into a name. You? You’ll always be the brother of the Alpha. Nothing more.” That hit him. His jaw tightened. His hand lifted halfway, shaking—just a breath away from slapping me. His eyes burned, not with fury alone, but with something deeper. Shame. Insecurity. I flinched, but only slightly. Mara Lucian was stronger than Darian. That much was clear. Where Darian led with loyalty, Lucian ruled with intimidation. His presence filled the air like a storm. And for a moment, just a moment, I felt what it would be like to be tied to this man. Not protected. Not cherished. Owned. Lucian dropped his hand, clenched it into a fist instead. Good. I’d struck the nerve I wanted. And I wouldn’t stop there. “We are not equals,” Lucian said coldly, his voice like ice cracking beneath pressure. “You better watch your mouth, Thornridge, or this arrangement will turn ugly real fast.” He dropped back onto the bench like he owned the space, like even sitting was a statement of dominance. I stayed standing, watching him from above, refusing to shrink. “I came here only to lay down a few ground rules,” he continued. “First, you will never be my mate. So don’t expect affection, don’t ask for loyalty, and don’t even think about what mates are ‘entitled’ to. I already have someone. Someone I actually care about.” I laughed—just once, dry and sharp. “You mean the one who threatened me in my own driveway?” I said. “Tell your little girlfriend that as long as she keeps her claws to herself and stays out of my way, we’ll have no problems. I don’t care what you two do behind closed doors.” He went quiet. I could tell he didn’t like my answer. It wasn’t what he expected. But it was the truth, and I wasn’t here to coddle his ego. “In public, we’ll play the part for my father,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Behind closed doors, we’re strangers. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.” “Fine by me,” I said flatly. “As long as you don’t try to bully me, we won’t have a problem. If your father really did buyme, then this is a contract. And once Darian becomes Alpha, you’ll release me.” He chuckled then—low and bitter. “You still don’t get it, do you? That will never happen, Mara. I’ll have to claim you eventually. A full binding. For show. For politics. For my father. You’ll be mine—publicly, legally, permanently.” Something twisted in my chest at those words. A phantom ache. I flinched without meaning to, but I didn’t let him see more than that. “What about your girlfriend?” I asked quietly. “She understands,” he replied, surprisingly calm. “I’ll never be Alpha, and I don’t want the job. We’ll find our way around this. She’ll still have my heart. She’ll have my children.” I stared at him, trying to understand how a person could speak of love and cruelty in the same breath. “I guess you’ve got your future mapped out,” I said. “Good for you. But what about me?” He blinked, caught off guard. His tone lost its bite. “What do you mean?” “I mean, you’ve got the girl. The family plan. The political cover. What about my life? My future?” I asked, voice low but unshaking. He looked at me for a long second. Then gave a dismissive shrug. “You’ll figure it out. If you meet someone, fine. Scr'w whoever you want. Just don’t get pregnant and embarrass me. Keep your mess private.” I stared at him, stunned. He wasn’t done. “I’m sure you already have a few boyfriends on the side. Maybe some officials from the academy you spread your legs for—because no woman’s ever made it as Gamma before. So whatever you did to get there, just keep doing it. That’s the only way you’ll hold onto that title. If someone stronger comes along, you’re out.” I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t need to. Let him think what he wanted. Let him imagine a version of me that matched his twisted assumptions. I wasn’t going to defend my body, my choices, or my worth to him. But inside, something cracked. I’d waited. Saved myself. Dreamed of Darian—not for lvst, but for love. And now I was bound to a man who assumed the worst of me. Who would use me as a shield, a pawn, and nothing more. And yet I didn’t cry. Not anymore. The tears were done. Now, there was only fire. “Well,” Lucian said, brushing imaginary dust from his pants like the conversation was just business. “Since everything’s ironed out, I guess we won’t have issues living as husband and wife.” I gave him a nod. Flat. Numb. Resigned. “Do we sleep in the same room?” I asked, not because I wanted to—but because I needed to know what kind of Hll I’d be walking into. He shook his head. “Not exactly. My room has a conjoined space. You’ll sleep in the one I’m not using.” A connected room. No door. No barrier. Just a wall, maybe some air, and all the silence in the world between us. “I’ve fixed it up for you,” he added. “Just don’t expect luxury. It’s the poorer wing of the mansion. My father doesn’t dote on me the way he does on Darian.” I almost laughed. The poorer wing? I would’ve gladly slept in a shed if it meant not sharing space with the man who thought I’d slept my way into the Gamma rank. “I don’t care about the room,” I said simply. And I didn’t. What I cared about was distance. Physical, emotional, spiritual. As much as I could carve out for myself in a life I never asked for. We headed back into the house. Alpha Vander stood, looking pleased with himself—like a man who had just orchestrated a perfect deal, unaware—or perhaps entirely aware—of the people he was crushing in the process. “Ah, I see the lovebirds have come to an understanding,” he said with a smug grin. “I suppose I’ll see you both at the wedding.” My father stepped forward to shake his hand. “Thank you, Alpha. We are honoured.” Alpha Vander turned to him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aiden, Arya—you’ve raised a strong, beautiful daughter. I originally wanted her for Darian, you know. She’s Luna material, no doubt about it. But in the end, I knew she’d have more impact on Lucian’s life.” Every word scraped against me like sandpaper. “Darian is already gentle,” he went on. “Lucian needs someone like Mara. Someone sweet, with a steady hand. She’ll soften him. She’s perfect.” And that was the moment I felt it—self-loathing. Deep, hot, gnawing. I should’ve seen it sooner. This wasn’t about love or bonds or the Universe’s will. I’d been chosen because I was safe. A tool. A soothing balm they could apply to their most volatile son. I should’ve been reckless. Cold. Difficult. A bad girl. Maybe then I would’ve been considered for Darian. Maybe then, I would’ve stood a chance. But Lucian—he didn’t let his father get away with it. “It’s not about what you want, Father,” he said suddenly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean through the room. Alpha Vander turned to him slowly, like a man used to obedience. “Don’t lie to them,” Lucian continued. “This wasn’t your idea. This was Martha’s doing. Luna Martha didn’t want Darian choosing Mara. She didn’t want him with a Thornridge—didn’t want him marrying middle-class. She wants a girl with money. Status. This whole thing? It’s her fix. Her solution.” The air in the room turned sharp. Lucian kept going. “You’re not doing this to help me,” he said. “You’re doing it to ruin me—and Mara. All to clear the path for Darian to marry someone Martha approves of. You paid them off. That’s not honor. That’s manipulation.” Then he turned and walked out without another word. And I stood there—stunned. Not because I was angry at what he said. But because it was true. So painfully, clearly true. Luna Martha didn’t want me in her family. I wasn’t polished enough. Rich enough. Enough of anything, really. And Darian… he never even had a chance to fight it. I never had a chance at him. No matter how hard I trained, no matter how loyal I was, no matter how much I loved him quietly from a distance—I never stood a chance. Lucian was many things—cold, cruel, arrogant—but in that moment, I saw something else too: honesty. Brutal, unfiltered honesty. And it told me exactly where I stood in this twisted legacy of power, names, and politics. I was never meant to have a voice. Mara Four days had passed since Lucian and his father came to the house, and I still hadn’t found my way out of the haze. I sat in the garden behind our home, staring at nothing. Not the flowers. Not the trees. Just the empty space ahead of me, like it might hold some kind of answer if I looked long enough. Lucian’s words still echoed in my mind—cold, cruel, and then, strangely, honest. The truth was a blade that hadn’t stopped cutting. It wasn’t about me being Luna material or helping Lucian. It was about Darian. About removing me from the equation so his mother could shape his future without interference. I didn’t even hear him approach. “You’ve lost weight,” Darian said softly, sitting beside me. I didn’t reply. What was there to say? He sighed and stood again, pacing. Frustrated. Restless. I knew he wanted to talk. He always did. But I couldn’t give him what he was looking for—not when I felt like my whole life had been bargained away by people who never even asked me what I wanted. “Why didn’t you tell me Lucian came to see you?” he finally asked. I looked up at him, calm on the surface, hollow underneath. “I didn’t think it was necessary.” He stopped pacing. “We’re friends, Mara. Everything is necessary. Everything matters.” He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were tense. I could see the guilt in the way he carried himself, but he didn’t understand. Not yet. “Help me, Darian,” I said, my voice cracking. “Please.” He came to a stop in front of me, eyes full of sorrow. “If I were Alpha, I’d cancel this madness. I swear I would.” “But you’re not,” I whispered. Then I looked him in the eyes, and I said the one thing that had been building in my chest like pressure before a storm. “Your mother set this up.” He frowned, his expression hardening. “Lucian said it in front of your father. And your father didn’t deny it. She was afraid that you and I… that we might end up together. She didn’t want her son marrying someone from a middle-class family. So she pushed this union, forced it, to get me out of your orbit.” Darian’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true. She knows we’re just friends. That there’s nothing between us.” His words landed like stones in my chest. “If I wanted to date you, Mara, I would’ve.” That hurt. I expected it, but it still hurt. “She doesn’t see it that way,” I replied. “To her, I’m a threat to your future. So she ruined mine.” I paused, voice low and shaking. “Please talk to her, Darian. She’s destroying two lives out of fear. Lucian has someone he loves. And me?” My voice broke. “She’s condemning me to a loveless, miserable life. All because I was your friend.” I looked down at my hands, trembling now. “I’ll give up the Gamma position. I’ll leave. Just… help me get out of this.” Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and helpless. “I don’t want to marry your brother. Please.” He sat down beside me again, silent for a long moment. His hand found mine, hesitated, then held it gently. “I’ll talk to her,” he said at last, voice low. “I can’t promise anything, Mara. But I’ll try. I’ll beg her if I have to.” I nodded, even though I wasn’t hopeful. At this point, I just needed to know someone tried. That not everyone stood by and watched my future burn. If Darian hadn’t offered, I might’ve buried myself in silent acceptance. Might’ve forced myself to walk into that cold, loveless match. But Lucian wasn’t just cruel—he was dangerous. He was a murderer. An irresponsible drunk. A walking storm I’d be expected to share a life with. The thought of binding myself to him permanently… it made my skin crawl. We sat in silence for a while after that. Just breathing the same air. Just existing in the same space. Eventually, Darian left. And I was alone again. Sitting in a garden, surrounded by life, while mine slowly withered away. Two days passed. Nothing from Darian. No call. No visit. Not even a message. Just silence. I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling like it might offer some kind of escape. It didn’t. All I saw was the countdown—days slipping away until the wedding. Until my funeral. Because that’s what it felt like. The day I married Lucian would be the day I buried the last of myself. I didn’t know if I’d take the Gamma position when the time came. I doubted it. The fire in me—the one that once pushed me to be the best—was nothing but ash now. Resignation tasted bitter, but it was starting to feel like the only thing I had left. There was a knock at my door. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. I could already smell her—my mother. And the food tray she was balancing in her hands. I didn’t move, didn’t speak, and just like I knew she would, she let herself in. “Mara,” she said gently, placing the tray on the table. “You need to eat something.” I didn’t even look at the food. I looked at her. Cold. Angry. Broken. “How can you and Dad live with yourselves after selling your daughter?” I asked, my voice flat, my expression disgusted. She froze by the table, her eyes lowering, as if even she couldn’t bear to meet mine. “He gave us no choice, Mara,” she whispered. “The money was to ease his conscience.” “And you took it.” My words were a blade. “Spent it, I’m sure. Did it ever occur to you that Lucian might call it off? That Alpha Vander might want his money back?” She turned to face me slowly, her expression tired and tight. “We had no choice,” she repeated. “It was take it… or be cast out. ‘Take it or get out,’ that’s what he said. We were drowning, Mara. The house, the loans—we were about to lose everything.” I blinked, stunned. “So you sold me to pay off your debts? The loans you took for my education?” “No,” she said quickly. “We were ready to let the house go. We planned to move in with my sister. We didn’t expect Alpha Nighthorn to show up. But when he forced the union, when he said it was happening whether we liked it or not... we took the money. We used it to survive.” “And you used me to survive,” I said bitterly. She flinched. I sat up, my eyes sharp now. “What happens if the deal falls apart? If Lucian calls it off and his father wants the money back?” “Why would he?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Because I told Darian,” I said. “I told him what Lucian said. About the truth—how this wasn’t about Lucian needing a wife but about his mother wanting me out of Darian’s life. He promised he’d talk to her. Try to get her to stop this madness.” My mother’s eyes widened, shocked. She hadn’t expected me to do anything. Maybe she thought I’d just quietly crumble. She slowly sat beside me, her body folding like something had broken inside her. Tears slid down her face. “Mara, my darling…” my mother’s voice cracked as she sat beside me. “I didn’t know you would take it this hard.” I didn’t answer. She reached for my hand, but I didn’t move. My eyes stayed locked on the ceiling, dry now, but only because I had nothing left in me. “I’m hurting too,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you to be strong. You’re tougher than this.” I didn’t look at her. “Darian and Rowan left yesterday,” she added carefully. “They won’t be back until it’s time for him to take over the pack.” The words sank in slowly, like poison soaking through my veins. They went on the trip. Without me. Without a word. Darian—the one person I still believed would try to help me—was gone. He didn’t even call. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t tell me that he had failed or that he’d tried at all. The silence in my chest cracked. My heart broke without sound. “I know what you’re thinking,” my mother said, almost defensively. “It was Luna Martha. She forced the trip.” I turned to her now, eyes stinging again. “She forced him?” I asked, though I already believed it. “Yes,” she nodded. “Jason—Darian’s butler—he came by for a check-up. He told me Darian had a terrible argument with Martha. About Lucian. About you. About how unfair this is. And when she couldn’t control the conversation, she controlled him. She made him leave. Told him it was to ‘gain experience.’ Said he’d return a better Alpha.” My lip trembled, but I didn’t speak. It was my fault. I asked him to intervene. I pulled him into this. And now he was gone. Banished under the guise of training. And nothing had changed. Lucian was still my future. And Darian… Darian had become part of the past. I sat in silence as the tears returned—slow, steady, quiet. “I’m sorry, baby,” my mother whispered. “But please… eat something. Don’t let this kill you. You’re one of the strongest wolves this pack has ever seen. A woman winning Gamma? That’s not luck. That’s grit. That’s fire. You will find a way to cope.” I didn’t believe her. Not even a little. She pulled me close, kissed my forehead, then left the room without waiting for a response. I stared at the food. The smell turned my stomach. Fear had coiled itself so tightly around my gut I could barely breathe, let alone eat. I picked at the plate. Flushed it all down the toilet. Washed the dishes in silence. I wanted to fade out of existence. But I couldn’t. I was still here. Trapped in a body with no escape, in a life that no longer felt like mine. They hadn’t even set a date yet. That should’ve been a good thing—more time, more room to plan, to hope—but instead, it made it worse. The anticipation, the waiting. The illusion of freedom. Alpha Vander was “putting things in order,” whatever that meant. Maybe planning some extravagant public affair to mask the fact that the union was a sentence, not a celebration. Forced marriages weren’t supposed to be grand. But this one was. Because it wasn’t about love—it was about control. I climbed back into bed, curled beneath the blanket, and tried to breathe past the panic rising in my throat. Please, I thought. Let time fly. Let it fly fast. Lucian My father was a weak man. Spineless, really. Letting his Luna orchestrate the ruin of two lives just to soothe her own insecurities? That wasn’t leadership—that was cowardice dressed in politics. Where does Martha’s manipulation stop? It was bad enough she turned my father against me—made sure I was never considered fit to be Alpha. But now? She’s bound me to a girl I barely know, all because she couldn't stomach the idea of Darian marrying someone who wasn’t bred from power or money. Mara Thornridge and I? We were just casualties of her fear. Collateral damage in her obsession with keeping Darian’s path clean and elite. When my father dragged me to the Thornridge house, I said what I needed to say. Cold, cruel, calculated—because I needed to understand. Martha told me the Thornridges requested the union, claimed they believed their daughter was too strong not to be Luna. Claimed they wanted her to take her “rightful place.” Said they had agreed to settle for me instead of Darian. All of it? Complete bullsh1t. Everyone knew Mara had a crush on Darian. It wasn’t some secret scandal. Even Darian knew—he just ignored it. Let it stew. Let her orbit him for years. A harmless crush, people said. But what that girl gave up for him wasn’t harmless. She left her original path. Signed up at the academy. Trained harder than anyone expected. Finished second. All for a boy who didn’t have the guts to be honest with her. At first, even I assumed her ambition was calculated—that finishing second was her power play to get chosen as Luna. But after speaking with her, however awkwardly… I realized how wrong I was. She didn’t chase power. She chased purpose. And maybe, quietly, she chased hope. The way she looked at me—guarded, hurt, angry. That wasn’t the gaze of someone who’d schemed her way up. That was someone trying not to drown in something too big for her. And I hated it. I hated how Martha had spun this lie and dragged me into it. I hated how my father let her do it. I hated that Mara—this tough, stubborn, determined girl—was being broken apart by people who claimed to protect the pack. So when we went back inside, I told the truth. I was done playing along. Let the Thornridges hear it all—how this wasn’t about what was best for me or Mara or even Darian. It was about Martha’s ego. About keeping “middle-class blood” away from her precious son. I almost told Mara that Darian had known. That he could’ve stopped this earlier. But I didn’t. Because she already looked like she was barely holding it together. That truth would’ve shattered her. But I blame him too. He knew how she felt. He saw it in her eyes every Dam time she looked at him. And instead of setting her free, he kept her close. He strung her along, let her believe maybe… maybe one day. I heard him brag once—to his friends—that she’d made passes at him. After meeting her, I knew that was a lie. Mara Thornridge doesn’t beg. She’d rather die than admit she’s vulnerable. She would’ve made a great Luna. Not just to Darian—but to the pack. She’s sharp, strong, and smarter than half the men who outranked her. And instead of letting her shine, Martha decided to bury her. Tie her to me. Punish her for something that never even happened. And now they expect her to stand at Darian’s side as Gamma? To give her best while living half-alive? Unbelievable. No one’s asking what this will do to her. No one’s thinking about what she’s being forced to give up just to survive. I didn’t know what to do with Mara. I didn’t want to touch her. I didn’t want to claim her—not because I hated her, but because I respected her. She didn’t ask for this, and I’m not the kind of man who takes what isn’t given freely. I wouldn’t mate with her against her will. I wasn’t like Darian. He wore his charm like armor and left a trail of wreckage behind him—wolves he used, hearts he broke, girls who wound up pregnant and scared. And every time, Father and Martha cleaned it up quietly, buried the mess, and painted him as the perfect heir. Looking back now, I saw it all more clearly than I ever had. Darian—the golden boy, the spoiled prince. Martha’s precious son, her ticket to power, the puppet she dressed up as a leader. And then there was me. An accident at the wrong time, the wrong place, gave her everything she needed to destroy me. The biker didn’t die because of me—not really. My brakes failed. There was silver in the wreckage, and to this day, I still don’t know how it got there. The biker would’ve survived without it. But no one listened. No one cared. My father didn’t even pretend to investigate. He just... wrote me off. They said I was drunk, been partying all. Night but that was a lie, yet no one cared. Martha escalated the fallout like she’d been waiting for it. And Darian? He got a free pass. Over and over. “They wanted him,” my father would say. “He didn’t stand a chance. Every girl wants the Luna title. It’s not the same.” It wasn’t the same because Darian was untouchable. I’d only ever loved one girl. Tina Livingston. I’d been loyal, careful, focused. But now, thanks to Martha, I had to break her heart. Just another name sacrificed on the altar of Darian’s future. Martha had destroyed three lives. Maybe four, if Mara had someone before all of this—someone she never got to choose. And yet, I couldn’t even bring myself to hate her. Not fully. She was protecting her son. Ruthless, yes—but my real anger was reserved for the man who allowed her to do it all. My father. The Alpha. The coward. If my mother had lived… maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe she would’ve fought for me. For balance. For justice. But she was gone. And in her absence, Martha filled the void with poison and control. Now here we were. A forced union. A fake marriage. A girl who didn’t want me, and a pack that would celebrate it anyway like it was some kind of alliance—when in truth, it was just another silent war. I moved my things into the smaller of the conjoined rooms and fixed up the larger one for Mara. I wanted her to be comfortable. Or at the very least, able to cope. She wasn’t what I’d accused her of—she wasn’t a gold digger or a social climber. I said those things to provoke, to test, to understand. But now I knew better. She was nineteen. A kid, really. Brave as hll, smart, and stubborn. And stuck. Her parents weren’t to blame either. They had no power, no rank, no options. The offer from my father wasn’t an opportunity—it was a threat in disguise. Because being cast out wasn’t just exile. It was death by slow erasure. When a wolf is stripped of their pack mark, it fades over time. And once it’s gone, they lose their human form. They go feral. Wild. Forgotten. That’s what happens to rogues. There’s no mercy in that system, no redemption. A wolf only belongs to one pack in their lifetime. One. And if that bond is broken, there’s no going back. It was a cruel mechanism, a brutal leash disguised as tradition. One the Alpha family had full control over. And my father wielded it without hesitation. Mara was a victim. Just like I was. But unlike me, she didn’t even have the illusion of choice.
"I'll never love you. You'll never be my true mate. This arrangement is a joke. An insult." My husband sneered. "Understood, Mr. Nighthorn. I'm not looking forward to the wedding either. If I had a choice, I'd have turned it down, but your father left me and my family with two options—accept or go rogue." "Feisty," he said. "I like that. Quick-tempered too." "As long as you don't try to bully me, we won't have a problem. If your father really did buy me, then this is a contract. And once Darian becomes Alpha, you'll release me." I said flatly. He chuckled then—low and bitter. "You still don't get it, do you? That will never happen, Mara. I'll have to claim you eventually. A full binding. For show. For politics. For my father. You'll be mine—publicly, legally, permanently." Something twisted in my chest at those words. A phantom ache. He told me exactly where I stood in this twisted legacy of power, names, and politics. I was never meant to have a voice. —————— That actually made me smile. It was such a him thing to say. “That’s so cool, Rowan,” I said, wide-eyed. Then, on impulse, the words slipped out before I could second-guess them. “Do you mind if I come?” Rowan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at Darian, almost like he needed permission. And Darian—bless him—gave me that soft smile again. “If you go with him,” he said, “who’s going to be my friend and keep me company here?” I knew the answer. We all did. Tiffany. Tiffany would. But if I said that out loud, it would expose everything—my jealousy, my feelings, my pain. It would ruin whatever fragile friendship we still had. So I said nothing. Just sat there, heart breaking quietly behind steady eyes. Mara “I’m sure you’ve got other friends to keep you company,” I said, keeping my voice calm, eyes steady on Tiffany. “Better—and maybe more interesting—company than I could ever be.” Tiffany caught the meaning instantly and smiled, smug and satisfied. “That’s right, Darian,” she purred, looping her arm through his. “I’m all the company you’ll need.” Then, like it was some kind of private joke, she leaned in and licked his earlobe again. I looked away, jaw tight. She wanted to be Luna so badly it was dripping off her. Most of the girls who threw themselves at Darian did. It wasn’t about him. It was about the title, the power, the image. But not me. Even if Darian wasn’t going to be Alpha, I’d still feel this way about him. That was the difference. “I want to come with you, Rowan,” I said suddenly, turning to him. My voice was clearer than I expected. Firm. I needed distance. Space. A whole dam continent between me and Darian if I was going to get over him. He would never see me. Never choose me. And I had to stop holding out hope like it was some kind of twisted comfort blanket. “This trip... it’ll be good for me,” I added, mostly to myself. Darian smiled, watching me a little too closely. “Maybe I’ll come too.” And just like that, the air left my lungs. No. No, he couldn’t. That would ruin everything. I’d just end up exactly where I was—his loyal shadow, his best buddy, watching Tiffany swallow his attention whole. “You’ll bring me along?” Tiffany asked, all wide eyes and sugar-laced eagerness. I could almost hear the flutter of her lashes. I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. If she came too, I’d lose my mind watching her cling to Darian like a barnacle in heat. Her tongue alone would be enough to make me puke somewhere around the border of the first town we hit. “I’ll think about it,” Darian replied, and Tiffany's face fell. She frowned, and then her eyes flicked to me, sharp and accusing, like it was my fault. She wasn’t entirely wrong. But also not right. I didn’t want Darian to come—not because I wanted to hoard him for myself, but because I needed to finally let go of him. We stayed a little longer, had a couple drinks, careful not to go overboard. It was a quiet ending to a loud night. Eventually, we all called it and got ready to leave. “Let’s go hunting tomorrow morning,” Darian said casually as we stepped out into the night. His voice was light, but his eyes were on me. I hesitated. Waiting. Because, of course, I needed to hear what she would say. “I want to come too,” Tiffany piped up, bouncing slightly in her heels like she was volunteering for a game of tag. I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. Darian caught it and laughed. “I guess the three of you will have to go without me,” I said flatly, already turning away. Darian frowned. “Come on, Mara. You and I—we’re a good team.” Oh, how I wished that was true. But in reality? It was just another sweet lie I’d told myself over the years. “You, Rowan, and Tiffany will be a formidable team,” I replied, eyes on the pavement, not bothering to look at her. I could already feel the weight of her glare. I didn’t blame her. If I were her, I wouldn’t like me either. Not when the guy I wanted kept paying attention to someone else. Darian told me to think about it. I wouldn’t. I didn’t need to. I already knew I wasn’t going. When I got home, the house was quiet—everyone asleep. I slipped inside like a ghost and made my way to my room, shutting the door behind me without making a sound. I didn’t want to wake anyone. I didn’t want to talk. All I wanted was to stop loving someone who would never love me back. Morning came too fast. I sat on the edge of my bed, still wrapped in the fog of everything I was trying to forget. The hunt was supposed to be today. Part of me wanted to go—just to breathe outside this house, outside of him. But the thought of Tiffany tagging along made my stomach twist. I already knew she’d spent the night at the Nighthorn mansion. There was no way Darian would leave her behind now. Not after that. I dragged myself downstairs, hungry but not in the mood. I hated shifting when I hadn’t eaten—it made me edgy, short-tempered. I didn’t want to lose it in the woods and end up looking unhinged. What I didn’t expect was to find my parents waiting in the kitchen. They weren’t eating. They weren’t smiling. They were just… there, sitting stiffly at the table with this look in their eyes that made something inside me tighten. My mother, usually bright-eyed and warm, gave me a small, nervous smile. “Morning, Mara. How was your night?” I forced a shrug. “Great,” I lied, trying not to read too much into their mood. She just nodded. My father cleared his throat, and the sound already made my heart beat faster. “Sweetheart, we need to talk to you about something important.” And just like that, my stomach dropped. They didn’t speak in the kitchen. My dad gestured toward the living room, and we all moved, silent as ghosts. I sat on the couch across from them, trying not to let my mind spiral. Then they looked at each other. That kind of look—the silent, mind-link kind of conversation they always had when something was wrong. Something they didn’t want to say out loud. I wasn’t part of it. Not yet. Not until they decided I had to be. “Mara,” my father said slowly, “you know how much we love you, right?” Wrong way to start. My pulse spiked. I swallowed hard. “Yes,” I said, and my voice cracked. He looked down for a moment, then back up at me with tired eyes. “We’ve always wanted the best for you. But… we also have duties to the pack. Responsibilities. And—” “We should’ve told you sooner,” my mother cut in, her voice trembling. “But we wanted you to have your graduation, your moment of celebration, before we… before we said anything.” Her eyes welled up with tears. That’s when I started crying too. Because whatever could make my mother cry like that—whatever they were about to say—it was going to rip something out of me. “Mara,” my father said again, quieter this time, “Alpha Vander Nighthorn has chosen you to be joined with his eldest son, Lucian.” My breath caught. “He’s decided,” he continued, “that since you finished second overall in the academy, top among the female wolves, and since you’re known for your strength, your discipline… that you’re the best choice for Lucian. He believes your character will help shape him into a man fit to stand beside his brother when Darian becomes Alpha. He also believes that your friendship with Darian will help settle the conflict between the brothers and bring unity to the future leadership of this pack.” I was frozen. The words didn’t even register at first. It didn’t feel real. “It’s not a suggestion, Mara,” my father added. “It’s an order. One we had no power to refuse.” That was it. The sound that left my throat wasn’t even human. I screamed. A raw, guttural cry that tore from my chest like something inside me had shattered. Mara “This must be a joke,” I whispered, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice. My eyes burned, and the tears wouldn’t stop. My mother shook her head slowly, her face soaked with grief. “It’s not a joke,” she said, broken. I choked on a sob. “Lucian? Lucian?! He’s a monster. A cruel, vicious bаst3rd. He lies, cheats, bullies anyone weaker than him—and he killed someone, an innocent person. And now you want me to what? Play house with the devil?” I knew they didn’t have a choice. I knew it wasn’t really their fault. But I needed someone to blame, and they were standing right in front of me, and I was drowning. “We had no say,” my father said, voice low and defeated. “They said you’re the strongest female of your generation. They believe you’ll match him. Tame him.” “Enough!” I snapped, standing up so fast the room spun. “You can’t tame people, Dad. You don’t ‘fix’ someone like Lucian. He’s not broken. He’s rotten. He was born that way.” My breath came fast, too fast. My chest felt tight like I was suffocating. “I’m supposed to be Darian’s Gamma! That job—our futures—they’re built on trust, on teamwork. How am I supposed to do that while being shackled to a psychopath?” They had no answers. Just silence. My mother’s silent weeping. My father’s helpless stare. “I’m done. I’m leaving. I don’t want the Gamma position. They can keep it—and let them gift someone else to that monster.” I turned, storming toward the stairs. I didn’t know where I’d go, but anywhere was better than here. Anywhere but thislife. “You can’t leave, Mara,” my father called after me, voice desperate. “If you refuse the bond, Alpha Nighthorn will cast us out. We’ll become rogues. Once the mark of Mooncrest fades, we’ll lose everything—our protection, our humanity. You know what happens to rogues. You’ll turn feral. We all will. They rule this entire country, Mara. There’s no where for you to go,” I stopped in my tracks. Feral. Cast out. Doomed. I turned slowly and looked at my mother. Her shoulders were trembling. She couldn’t even look me in the eyes. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?” I said, my voice shaking with fury and despair. “You’re asking me to throw my life away. You’re asking me to bind myself to someone who might kill me in my sleep.” She nodded through her tears. “I’m sorry.” Lucian wasn’t just cruel—he was dangerous. Even Alpha Vander didn’t trust him to lead, which was why Darian had been groomed from day one to take over. Darian, with his calm and strength and sense of duty. Meanwhile, his older brother was out there, spiraling, and now they wanted me to steady him. They wouldn’t have picked me if I wasn’t so perfect—so well-behaved, so disciplined, so obsessed with Darian that I molded myself into the model warrior. Maybe if I’d been reckless, mean, or a bitter b1tch, they wouldn’t have even considered me. But no. I had played the part. And now, this was my reward: unrequited love, a forced marriage, a future I couldn’t escape. I hated my life in that moment. I was about to turn away again when the doorbell rang. We all froze. My mother rose to answer it, and the scent hit me before she opened the door—him. Darian. He stepped inside, and I almost didn’t recognize him. His eyes were red, brimming with tears. His hands trembled. He looked like someone had carved a hole into his chest and left it gaping. “Mara,” he said softly, his voice cracked and hoarse. He opened his arms. He didn’t need to say anything else. I walked into him, into the arms I had longed for more than I ever admitted, and he held me—tight, like he was the one about to fall apart. My parents quietly stepped away, leaving us in the silence of shared pain. And I broke. I cried, and this time, it wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t polite. It was everything I had been holding in—fear, betrayal, grief, hopelessness—all pouring out while he held me. And still, I knew… even this wouldn’t change anything. “I’m sorry, Mara,” Darian whispered against my hair, his voice thick with something heavier than guilt. “I didn’t know they would do this. I didn’t know he would do this.” And I broke again. “I don’t want to be with Lucian,” I cried, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring me. “I hate him, Darian. I can’t do this. Please… help me.” His arms tightened around me like he wanted to, like he wished he could fix it all with the way he held me—but he didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was barely above a whisper. “I’m not Alpha yet, Mara. My key mark isn’t active yet. I don’t have the power to stop this.” And that—that—hurt more than I expected. Not because he admitted he was powerless but because of the way his voice cracked. There was grief in it. Regret. Something deeper than duty. “I thought…” he started, then paused. “I thought we had time. I thought there’d be more time.” I pulled back just enough to look at him. “Time for what?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mara. I didn’t know.” I stared at him, trying to piece together what he meant. Time for what? Was he finally saying what I’d always hoped he felt? But now wasn’t the time. Not with everything crashing around us. The hug faded. Slowly. Reluctantly. We stood there, inches apart, staring into each other’s tear-streaked faces, both too full of words we couldn’t say. “Listen to me,” Darian said, his voice low but firm. “I will always be there for you. I won’t let him hurt you, Mara. I swear it. If you ever feel unsafe, if he crosses a line—call me. I don’t care what I’m doing. I’ll come. I will come. You are not alone in this.” I blinked back another wave of tears. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to thank someone for a promise that shouldn’t have to exist. “I wish I’d never trained to be your Beta,” I muttered, my voice barely a breath. “If I’d just taken medical classes instead… Alpha Vander wouldn’t have noticed me. He wouldn’t have picked me for his deranged son.” I looked at Darian again. My heart swelled painfully, and I opened my mouth. “Darian…” He met my eyes, hope flickering there. “What is it, Mara?” I hesitated. I wanted to say it. Gods, I wanted to scream it—I love you. I’ve always loved you. But I didn’t. Because now he wasn’t just the boy I trained beside. He was about to become my brother-in-law. And whatever chance there might have been, it had died the moment his father bound my future to Lucian’s. “Nothing,” I said instead. “Nothing but fear.” He pulled me back into his arms without hesitation. I buried my face in his chest and breathed in his scent one last time like it might be enough to last me forever. I didn’t dare ask for more. I didn’t dare reach for what I truly wanted. Not now. Not when I was about to be forced into the hands of someone I despised. Not when Darian had no power to save me. He held me tight, as if letting go would break him, too. Then he kissed the top of my head—soft, lingering—and pulled away. “We’ll still be best friends,” he said gently. “I don’t care what the pack says. You’re still my best friend, Mara. No one’s replacing you.” And there it was. The final nail. Best friend. The words were supposed to be comforting, but they landed like a blade in my chest. His father thought that same friendship was the key to taming Lucian—like I was a tool, a bridge, a sacrificial peace offering. I didn’t want to be Darian’s best friend. I wanted to be his everything. His Luna. His love. His home. But instead, I got Lucian. Unwanted. Unchosen. Trapped. Maybe being feral wouldn’t be so bad. At least then I’d be free. I could run, disappear, let the wilderness swallow me whole. Anything would be better than this slow suffocation. I wanted to leave. I needed to leave. Mara Darian followed me upstairs to my room. For the first time, it felt… wrong. Foreign. Like something had cracked in the familiar walls we’d built around each other. It had always been a little awkward since I started falling for him, but now—now it felt unbearable. I didn’t know what it would be like living in their house. The Nighthorn mansion. Sharing space with Lucian. Walking the same halls as Darian, seeing him every day while wearing the title of someone else’s mate. His brother’s mate. The thought made me feel sick. I didn’t trust my heart not to betray me in some devastating way. “I’ll wait here,” Darian said softly, settling into the chair by my desk while I headed into the bathroom. As soon as the water hit me, the tears came. I sank to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, sobbing so hard my ribs ached. I cried for the life I almost had. For the love I could never confess. For I was being handed like some twisted reward for being too good. And in that cracked, broken place, I thought about running. Disappearing. Going rogue. Letting the world forget I ever existed. But then I remembered what that meant. What it would do to my family. What it would do to me. I dressed in the bathroom, even though modesty had long since evaporated between Darian and me during years of shifting and training together. But things were different now. Everything was different. Even standing in front of him felt like holding a glass that could shatter if either of us moved too fast. “How are you feeling?” he asked when I stepped back into the room. I just nodded, unable to trust my voice. His eyes were still tinged with crimson, like he’d been holding back more tears of his own. “Lucian doesn’t want the union either,” he said suddenly. I looked up, startled. “What?” “That’s how I found out,” he continued. “I overheard him yelling at our father. He was furious. Said he didn’t want you. Didn’t want any of it. And honestly… that’s what scares me the most.” I understood what he meant before he said it. Lucian didn’t want me. Which meant he’d resent me. And with the kind of man he was—violent, spiteful—that resentment wouldn’t just sit quietly in the corner. He’d find a way to punish me for it. “Then why won’t he reject it?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. Darian exhaled slowly, like the weight of it all was dragging him under too. “Because ever since Father chose me as Alpha instead of him, Lucian hasn’t dared to oppose him. I think the shame crushed something inside him. He’s quiet now, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. And…” He hesitated. “Lucian’s in love—with someone else. Has been for a while.” I swallowed hard. That somehow made it worse. I wasn’t just being forced into a bond with a monster—I was a wedge, a weapon used to separate him from someone he actually cared about. A curse he’d wear every day. “This isn’t fair,” I said bitterly. “Not to me. Not to her. Not to anyone.” Darian didn’t argue. “Will I still be your Gamma?” I asked, knowing it was selfish but needing to ask anyway. Because even if I couldn’t be his mate, I still wanted to stand by his side in some way. Any way. “Yes,” he said softly. “Unless you choose to step down, you’ll remain my Gamma.” I shook my head. I couldn’t make that decision yet. Not when everything inside me felt broken and scattered. I just needed time. Space to breathe, to mourn, to accept the weight of what had been forced on me. Darian left quietly, carrying his own sadness like a wound. I watched him go and felt another piece of me fall apart. I stayed in bed the rest of the day. Staring at the ceiling. Crying into my pillow until it was soaked. My parents tried to check on me—brought food, soft words, empty comfort—but I ignored them all. I didn’t want kindness from the people who had let this happen. I didn’t want anyone. If the Alpha had chosen to bind me to Darian, I would have said yes without hesitation. I would have given him everything. But instead, I was being handed over to his brother. Why Lucian? Of all the wolves in this pack, why did fate—or power, or cruelty—choose him? And what the hll was I supposed to do now? Two weeks. Two long, miserable weeks of crying, sulking, and avoiding the world like it had personally betrayed me—because in a way, it had. I refused to go to any gatherings, skipped every function, and barely spoke to anyone who wasn’t Darian. Not that I saw him much. He’d gotten himself into trouble more than once that week, and Alpha Vander had taken it as an excuse to load him up with responsibilities. I missed him. But missing him was a dangerous thing now. Luna Martha Nighthorn came by twice to speak with my parents about the “arrangements.” She was Darian’s mother—not Lucian’s. Lucian’s biological mother had died when he was young. Alpha Vander had bonded with Martha later, and ever since, everyone just assumed she was the mother of both boys. Everyone except Lucian, who never missed a chance to correct them. I didn’t care for the politics of it. I didn’t care about her visit, her soft reassurances, or the way she avoided looking me in the eye. I didn’t care about any of it. I just wanted to disappear. Burn the whole d'amn future and vanish into ash. But I couldn’t. I was sitting on the patio, trying to catch my breath from another heavy day of doing absolutely nothing, when a sleek black car pulled into our driveway. I squinted at the figure stepping out. A young woman—tall, porcelain-skinned, striking brunette. And angry. I stood slowly, assuming she was lost and needed directions. She didn’t waste time. “Are you Mara Thornridge?” she asked, sharp and cold. I nodded, guarded. “You gold-digging b1tch,” she snapped. “What do your parents have on Alpha Vander? Huh?” I blinked, stunned. What? “Do you know how long Lucian and I have been together?” she choked out, her eyes welling up with tears. “We were sweethearts for years. And now I find out you—you’ve been chosen for him? You?” I stood there, frozen, every cell in my body screaming for a break. I had no words. I was still trying to process this marriage from hll myself, and now this? She stepped closer, her voice low and trembling with rage. “How dare you, Mara? I swear, we will make your life a living hll.” And that was it. I snapped. “Watch it,” I growled, the shift stirring beneath my skin. “I don’t give two fks about Lucian. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this. So maybe aim that rage where it belongs—at him, or at his father, or at the Moon Goddess herself. Not me.” She blinked, caught off guard. “If you’re so mad, tell your beloved boyfriend to grow a spine and say something to his father. Trust me, you’d be doing me a huge favor. Because let’s be honest—Lucian isn’t exactly a prize. He’s an entitled, violent аs hole, and I wouldn’t want to be bound to him if he was the last breathing wolf in existence.” She stepped toward me like she was about to swing. I didn’t even flinch—I welcomed it. Hll, I needed it. I let out a low, warning growl, eyes locked on hers. “You need to f'k- off, now. While I’m still being nice. Because if you don’t, I swear on every ancestor in my bloodline, I will tear you apart. And right now? I wouldn’t even regret it.” Something in my voice must’ve landed. She backed away slowly, fury still burning in her eyes, but something else too—fear. She slid into her car and slammed the door, then peeled out of the driveway without another word. I stood there breathing hard, body trembling with all the rage and frustration I’d buried these past two weeks. Now I had to deal with Lucian’s girlfriend too? I wasn’t even officially mated to him yet, and already the drama was spilling into my yard like blood on the snow. And Lucian—he hadn’t shown up. Hadn’t spoken to me. Hadn’t so much as sent a message. I guessed the feeling was mutual. This was going to be hll. And it hadn’t even started yet. Mara “Mara!” my mother called from downstairs. Since the day they dropped the bomb about the arrangement, I’d barely left my room. What was the point? Everyone probably knew by now. The whole pack, maybe even the entire dam country. Mara Thornridge, gifted to Lucian Nighthorn like a prized lamb to the family wolf. And just like that, the threats had started rolling in—anonymous messages from a number I didn’t need to trace. I knew exactly who it was. Lucian’s little banshee. The same girl who’d parked in my driveway and tried to claw my face off with words she probably rehearsed in front of a mirror. None of her threats got to me. Not one. If she ever followed through on a single one of them, I might actually respect her. But I knew the truth—lashing out at me was easier than facing Lucian or confronting Alpha Vander. I was the easier target. The quiet one. The one who hadn’t asked for any of this. I got out of bed wearing the same old pajamas I’d worn for two days. It was already afternoon. I didn’t care. My hair was a mess, my eyes were swollen from days of crying, but the tears had stopped. I wasn’t sad anymore. Just empty. Numb. And numbness? It was better. Numbness didn’t ask questions or demand hope. Darian and I still talked every night. His voice was soft, his words kind, and I hated every second of it. He meant well. He was trying. But I didn’t want kindness from him. Not anymore. I wanted what I could never have. Every call was another reminder that I'd never be more than his best friend. So no, the support wasn’t helping. Not even a little. I shuffled downstairs, preparing to grab something quick and head back to my quiet cave of self-pity. But I froze at the bottom step. Alpha Vander Nighthorn and Lucian were in my living room. Just sitting there. Like this was normal. Like they belonged. I felt my parents' disappointment immediately. The way they looked at my unwashed hair and oversized sleep shirt said it all. But maybe, just maybe, the Alpha would take one look at me and change his mind. Maybe I looked pathetic enough to kill this deal. I stepped into the room, lifting my chin, even though my body screamed to turn and run. “Good afternoon, Alpha. Mr. Nighthorn,” I said evenly, voice dry but polite. Alpha Vander sat upright on the couch, perfectly composed. For a man in his early fifties, he looked ten years younger. Thick dark hair, sharp brown eyes, a well-groomed beard. He radiated power and vanity, and somehow it worked. No wonder women in the pack still swooned over him. He had that whole silver fox, age-like-wine aesthetic locked down. And Lucian? He looked like sin incarnate. Dark hair, frost-blue eyes that could pierce through bone, and a jawline that might have been carved from stone. His shirt clung to his body like it didn’t want to let go—tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, tracing the edges of muscle sculpted to perfection. He wasn’t bulky, not like some of the other warriors. He was lean, cut, deadly. His skin was sun-kissed and flawless, his stare unreadable and cold. Everything about him screamed danger, power, trouble. Everything about him made my skin crawl. And yet… he was undeniably beautiful. If I hadn’t known what was behind that face, I might have stared. Might have been flattered. But now? All I saw was the cage I was about to be locked inside. And he hadn’t even bothered to look at me yet. I swallowed hard when I saw him. It had been a while since I last saw Lucian Nighthorn in person, and I hated myself for even noticing how he looked. His presence was magnetic—he didn’t just walk into a room, he took it. He looked like something out of legend: all dark edges, piercing frost-blue eyes, and sculpted features that belonged on a statue. But no matter how stunning the exterior, it couldn’t mask the ugliness I knew sat underneath. Looks didn’t make a man worth loving. And I didn’t want this union. But what I wanted didn’t matter. “Mara,” Alpha Vander said, dragging my attention away from his son. I stood upright and gave him the proper Gamma salute. My posture stiff, my insides screaming. “Congratulations on your future position as Gamma. Mooncrest and Darian are blessed to have you in the ranks.” “Thank you, Alpha,” I replied, my voice steady. “Lucian,” he said, turning to his son, “get to know your mate. Take a walk while I speak with the Thornridges about the event.” Lucian didn’t respond. He just stood and walked outside, offering no glance, no gesture, no courtesy. The kind of silence that dared you to follow—and warned you not to speak. I didn’t want to go with him. He hadn’t asked. But I wasn’t foolish enough to disobey an Alpha’s command. I followed him out. He was sitting on the patio, staring down the street like the world bored him. I didn’t sit. “Don’t get any ideas, little girl,” he said finally, his voice deep, sharp, arrogant. “This arrangement is a joke. An insult. I’ll never love you. You’ll never be my true mate. Let’s get that straight before the wedding so you don’t embarrass yourself hoping for more.” I cleared my throat, keeping my voice even. “Understood, Mr. Nighthorn. I’m not looking forward to the wedding either. If I had a choice, I’d have turned it down, but your father left me and my family with two options—accept or go rogue. I expect nothing from you. And I will give you nothing in return.” He finally turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. “You really have no pride, do you?” he said. “You think this is some noble sacrifice? My father’s paying your family a fortune for this. You and your parents—just more middle-class shovel-holders, ready to dig for gold.” I inhaled sharply. My hand twitched. Don’t hit him, I told myself. Not yet. His smirk widened. “Feisty,” he said. “I like that. Quick-tempered too. I’m honestly surprised you made it as Gamma. What did you do? Sleep your way there? Must’ve been quite the climb—though Darian doesn’t fancy you, so maybe you figured you’d settle for the older brother. At least then you get the name, the money, the power. That’s what this is about, right? Being a Nighthorn?” He waited for me to crumble. I didn’t. Instead, I leaned in, voice low and laced with venom. “At least I earned my place in this pack. I’m Gamma because I bled for it, not because I was born into a name. You? You’ll always be the brother of the Alpha. Nothing more.” That hit him. His jaw tightened. His hand lifted halfway, shaking—just a breath away from slapping me. His eyes burned, not with fury alone, but with something deeper. Shame. Insecurity. I flinched, but only slightly. Mara Lucian was stronger than Darian. That much was clear. Where Darian led with loyalty, Lucian ruled with intimidation. His presence filled the air like a storm. And for a moment, just a moment, I felt what it would be like to be tied to this man. Not protected. Not cherished. Owned. Lucian dropped his hand, clenched it into a fist instead. Good. I’d struck the nerve I wanted. And I wouldn’t stop there. “We are not equals,” Lucian said coldly, his voice like ice cracking beneath pressure. “You better watch your mouth, Thornridge, or this arrangement will turn ugly real fast.” He dropped back onto the bench like he owned the space, like even sitting was a statement of dominance. I stayed standing, watching him from above, refusing to shrink. “I came here only to lay down a few ground rules,” he continued. “First, you will never be my mate. So don’t expect affection, don’t ask for loyalty, and don’t even think about what mates are ‘entitled’ to. I already have someone. Someone I actually care about.” I laughed—just once, dry and sharp. “You mean the one who threatened me in my own driveway?” I said. “Tell your little girlfriend that as long as she keeps her claws to herself and stays out of my way, we’ll have no problems. I don’t care what you two do behind closed doors.” He went quiet. I could tell he didn’t like my answer. It wasn’t what he expected. But it was the truth, and I wasn’t here to coddle his ego. “In public, we’ll play the part for my father,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Behind closed doors, we’re strangers. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.” “Fine by me,” I said flatly. “As long as you don’t try to bully me, we won’t have a problem. If your father really did buyme, then this is a contract. And once Darian becomes Alpha, you’ll release me.” He chuckled then—low and bitter. “You still don’t get it, do you? That will never happen, Mara. I’ll have to claim you eventually. A full binding. For show. For politics. For my father. You’ll be mine—publicly, legally, permanently.” Something twisted in my chest at those words. A phantom ache. I flinched without meaning to, but I didn’t let him see more than that. “What about your girlfriend?” I asked quietly. “She understands,” he replied, surprisingly calm. “I’ll never be Alpha, and I don’t want the job. We’ll find our way around this. She’ll still have my heart. She’ll have my children.” I stared at him, trying to understand how a person could speak of love and cruelty in the same breath. “I guess you’ve got your future mapped out,” I said. “Good for you. But what about me?” He blinked, caught off guard. His tone lost its bite. “What do you mean?” “I mean, you’ve got the girl. The family plan. The political cover. What about my life? My future?” I asked, voice low but unshaking. He looked at me for a long second. Then gave a dismissive shrug. “You’ll figure it out. If you meet someone, fine. Scr'w whoever you want. Just don’t get pregnant and embarrass me. Keep your mess private.” I stared at him, stunned. He wasn’t done. “I’m sure you already have a few boyfriends on the side. Maybe some officials from the academy you spread your legs for—because no woman’s ever made it as Gamma before. So whatever you did to get there, just keep doing it. That’s the only way you’ll hold onto that title. If someone stronger comes along, you’re out.” I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t need to. Let him think what he wanted. Let him imagine a version of me that matched his twisted assumptions. I wasn’t going to defend my body, my choices, or my worth to him. But inside, something cracked. I’d waited. Saved myself. Dreamed of Darian—not for lvst, but for love. And now I was bound to a man who assumed the worst of me. Who would use me as a shield, a pawn, and nothing more. And yet I didn’t cry. Not anymore. The tears were done. Now, there was only fire. “Well,” Lucian said, brushing imaginary dust from his pants like the conversation was just business. “Since everything’s ironed out, I guess we won’t have issues living as husband and wife.” I gave him a nod. Flat. Numb. Resigned. “Do we sleep in the same room?” I asked, not because I wanted to—but because I needed to know what kind of Hll I’d be walking into. He shook his head. “Not exactly. My room has a conjoined space. You’ll sleep in the one I’m not using.” A connected room. No door. No barrier. Just a wall, maybe some air, and all the silence in the world between us. “I’ve fixed it up for you,” he added. “Just don’t expect luxury. It’s the poorer wing of the mansion. My father doesn’t dote on me the way he does on Darian.” I almost laughed. The poorer wing? I would’ve gladly slept in a shed if it meant not sharing space with the man who thought I’d slept my way into the Gamma rank. “I don’t care about the room,” I said simply. And I didn’t. What I cared about was distance. Physical, emotional, spiritual. As much as I could carve out for myself in a life I never asked for. We headed back into the house. Alpha Vander stood, looking pleased with himself—like a man who had just orchestrated a perfect deal, unaware—or perhaps entirely aware—of the people he was crushing in the process. “Ah, I see the lovebirds have come to an understanding,” he said with a smug grin. “I suppose I’ll see you both at the wedding.” My father stepped forward to shake his hand. “Thank you, Alpha. We are honoured.” Alpha Vander turned to him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aiden, Arya—you’ve raised a strong, beautiful daughter. I originally wanted her for Darian, you know. She’s Luna material, no doubt about it. But in the end, I knew she’d have more impact on Lucian’s life.” Every word scraped against me like sandpaper. “Darian is already gentle,” he went on. “Lucian needs someone like Mara. Someone sweet, with a steady hand. She’ll soften him. She’s perfect.” And that was the moment I felt it—self-loathing. Deep, hot, gnawing. I should’ve seen it sooner. This wasn’t about love or bonds or the Universe’s will. I’d been chosen because I was safe. A tool. A soothing balm they could apply to their most volatile son. I should’ve been reckless. Cold. Difficult. A bad girl. Maybe then I would’ve been considered for Darian. Maybe then, I would’ve stood a chance. But Lucian—he didn’t let his father get away with it. “It’s not about what you want, Father,” he said suddenly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean through the room. Alpha Vander turned to him slowly, like a man used to obedience. “Don’t lie to them,” Lucian continued. “This wasn’t your idea. This was Martha’s doing. Luna Martha didn’t want Darian choosing Mara. She didn’t want him with a Thornridge—didn’t want him marrying middle-class. She wants a girl with money. Status. This whole thing? It’s her fix. Her solution.” The air in the room turned sharp. Lucian kept going. “You’re not doing this to help me,” he said. “You’re doing it to ruin me—and Mara. All to clear the path for Darian to marry someone Martha approves of. You paid them off. That’s not honor. That’s manipulation.” Then he turned and walked out without another word. And I stood there—stunned. Not because I was angry at what he said. But because it was true. So painfully, clearly true. Luna Martha didn’t want me in her family. I wasn’t polished enough. Rich enough. Enough of anything, really. And Darian… he never even had a chance to fight it. I never had a chance at him. No matter how hard I trained, no matter how loyal I was, no matter how much I loved him quietly from a distance—I never stood a chance. Lucian was many things—cold, cruel, arrogant—but in that moment, I saw something else too: honesty. Brutal, unfiltered honesty. And it told me exactly where I stood in this twisted legacy of power, names, and politics. I was never meant to have a voice. Mara Four days had passed since Lucian and his father came to the house, and I still hadn’t found my way out of the haze. I sat in the garden behind our home, staring at nothing. Not the flowers. Not the trees. Just the empty space ahead of me, like it might hold some kind of answer if I looked long enough. Lucian’s words still echoed in my mind—cold, cruel, and then, strangely, honest. The truth was a blade that hadn’t stopped cutting. It wasn’t about me being Luna material or helping Lucian. It was about Darian. About removing me from the equation so his mother could shape his future without interference. I didn’t even hear him approach. “You’ve lost weight,” Darian said softly, sitting beside me. I didn’t reply. What was there to say? He sighed and stood again, pacing. Frustrated. Restless. I knew he wanted to talk. He always did. But I couldn’t give him what he was looking for—not when I felt like my whole life had been bargained away by people who never even asked me what I wanted. “Why didn’t you tell me Lucian came to see you?” he finally asked. I looked up at him, calm on the surface, hollow underneath. “I didn’t think it was necessary.” He stopped pacing. “We’re friends, Mara. Everything is necessary. Everything matters.” He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were tense. I could see the guilt in the way he carried himself, but he didn’t understand. Not yet. “Help me, Darian,” I said, my voice cracking. “Please.” He came to a stop in front of me, eyes full of sorrow. “If I were Alpha, I’d cancel this madness. I swear I would.” “But you’re not,” I whispered. Then I looked him in the eyes, and I said the one thing that had been building in my chest like pressure before a storm. “Your mother set this up.” He frowned, his expression hardening. “Lucian said it in front of your father. And your father didn’t deny it. She was afraid that you and I… that we might end up together. She didn’t want her son marrying someone from a middle-class family. So she pushed this union, forced it, to get me out of your orbit.” Darian’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true. She knows we’re just friends. That there’s nothing between us.” His words landed like stones in my chest. “If I wanted to date you, Mara, I would’ve.” That hurt. I expected it, but it still hurt. “She doesn’t see it that way,” I replied. “To her, I’m a threat to your future. So she ruined mine.” I paused, voice low and shaking. “Please talk to her, Darian. She’s destroying two lives out of fear. Lucian has someone he loves. And me?” My voice broke. “She’s condemning me to a loveless, miserable life. All because I was your friend.” I looked down at my hands, trembling now. “I’ll give up the Gamma position. I’ll leave. Just… help me get out of this.” Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and helpless. “I don’t want to marry your brother. Please.” He sat down beside me again, silent for a long moment. His hand found mine, hesitated, then held it gently. “I’ll talk to her,” he said at last, voice low. “I can’t promise anything, Mara. But I’ll try. I’ll beg her if I have to.” I nodded, even though I wasn’t hopeful. At this point, I just needed to know someone tried. That not everyone stood by and watched my future burn. If Darian hadn’t offered, I might’ve buried myself in silent acceptance. Might’ve forced myself to walk into that cold, loveless match. But Lucian wasn’t just cruel—he was dangerous. He was a murderer. An irresponsible drunk. A walking storm I’d be expected to share a life with. The thought of binding myself to him permanently… it made my skin crawl. We sat in silence for a while after that. Just breathing the same air. Just existing in the same space. Eventually, Darian left. And I was alone again. Sitting in a garden, surrounded by life, while mine slowly withered away. Two days passed. Nothing from Darian. No call. No visit. Not even a message. Just silence. I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling like it might offer some kind of escape. It didn’t. All I saw was the countdown—days slipping away until the wedding. Until my funeral. Because that’s what it felt like. The day I married Lucian would be the day I buried the last of myself. I didn’t know if I’d take the Gamma position when the time came. I doubted it. The fire in me—the one that once pushed me to be the best—was nothing but ash now. Resignation tasted bitter, but it was starting to feel like the only thing I had left. There was a knock at my door. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. I could already smell her—my mother. And the food tray she was balancing in her hands. I didn’t move, didn’t speak, and just like I knew she would, she let herself in. “Mara,” she said gently, placing the tray on the table. “You need to eat something.” I didn’t even look at the food. I looked at her. Cold. Angry. Broken. “How can you and Dad live with yourselves after selling your daughter?” I asked, my voice flat, my expression disgusted. She froze by the table, her eyes lowering, as if even she couldn’t bear to meet mine. “He gave us no choice, Mara,” she whispered. “The money was to ease his conscience.” “And you took it.” My words were a blade. “Spent it, I’m sure. Did it ever occur to you that Lucian might call it off? That Alpha Vander might want his money back?” She turned to face me slowly, her expression tired and tight. “We had no choice,” she repeated. “It was take it… or be cast out. ‘Take it or get out,’ that’s what he said. We were drowning, Mara. The house, the loans—we were about to lose everything.” I blinked, stunned. “So you sold me to pay off your debts? The loans you took for my education?” “No,” she said quickly. “We were ready to let the house go. We planned to move in with my sister. We didn’t expect Alpha Nighthorn to show up. But when he forced the union, when he said it was happening whether we liked it or not... we took the money. We used it to survive.” “And you used me to survive,” I said bitterly. She flinched. I sat up, my eyes sharp now. “What happens if the deal falls apart? If Lucian calls it off and his father wants the money back?” “Why would he?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Because I told Darian,” I said. “I told him what Lucian said. About the truth—how this wasn’t about Lucian needing a wife but about his mother wanting me out of Darian’s life. He promised he’d talk to her. Try to get her to stop this madness.” My mother’s eyes widened, shocked. She hadn’t expected me to do anything. Maybe she thought I’d just quietly crumble. She slowly sat beside me, her body folding like something had broken inside her. Tears slid down her face. “Mara, my darling…” my mother’s voice cracked as she sat beside me. “I didn’t know you would take it this hard.” I didn’t answer. She reached for my hand, but I didn’t move. My eyes stayed locked on the ceiling, dry now, but only because I had nothing left in me. “I’m hurting too,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you to be strong. You’re tougher than this.” I didn’t look at her. “Darian and Rowan left yesterday,” she added carefully. “They won’t be back until it’s time for him to take over the pack.” The words sank in slowly, like poison soaking through my veins. They went on the trip. Without me. Without a word. Darian—the one person I still believed would try to help me—was gone. He didn’t even call. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t tell me that he had failed or that he’d tried at all. The silence in my chest cracked. My heart broke without sound. “I know what you’re thinking,” my mother said, almost defensively. “It was Luna Martha. She forced the trip.” I turned to her now, eyes stinging again. “She forced him?” I asked, though I already believed it. “Yes,” she nodded. “Jason—Darian’s butler—he came by for a check-up. He told me Darian had a terrible argument with Martha. About Lucian. About you. About how unfair this is. And when she couldn’t control the conversation, she controlled him. She made him leave. Told him it was to ‘gain experience.’ Said he’d return a better Alpha.” My lip trembled, but I didn’t speak. It was my fault. I asked him to intervene. I pulled him into this. And now he was gone. Banished under the guise of training. And nothing had changed. Lucian was still my future. And Darian… Darian had become part of the past. I sat in silence as the tears returned—slow, steady, quiet. “I’m sorry, baby,” my mother whispered. “But please… eat something. Don’t let this kill you. You’re one of the strongest wolves this pack has ever seen. A woman winning Gamma? That’s not luck. That’s grit. That’s fire. You will find a way to cope.” I didn’t believe her. Not even a little. She pulled me close, kissed my forehead, then left the room without waiting for a response. I stared at the food. The smell turned my stomach. Fear had coiled itself so tightly around my gut I could barely breathe, let alone eat. I picked at the plate. Flushed it all down the toilet. Washed the dishes in silence. I wanted to fade out of existence. But I couldn’t. I was still here. Trapped in a body with no escape, in a life that no longer felt like mine. They hadn’t even set a date yet. That should’ve been a good thing—more time, more room to plan, to hope—but instead, it made it worse. The anticipation, the waiting. The illusion of freedom. Alpha Vander was “putting things in order,” whatever that meant. Maybe planning some extravagant public affair to mask the fact that the union was a sentence, not a celebration. Forced marriages weren’t supposed to be grand. But this one was. Because it wasn’t about love—it was about control. I climbed back into bed, curled beneath the blanket, and tried to breathe past the panic rising in my throat. Please, I thought. Let time fly. Let it fly fast. Lucian My father was a weak man. Spineless, really. Letting his Luna orchestrate the ruin of two lives just to soothe her own insecurities? That wasn’t leadership—that was cowardice dressed in politics. Where does Martha’s manipulation stop? It was bad enough she turned my father against me—made sure I was never considered fit to be Alpha. But now? She’s bound me to a girl I barely know, all because she couldn't stomach the idea of Darian marrying someone who wasn’t bred from power or money. Mara Thornridge and I? We were just casualties of her fear. Collateral damage in her obsession with keeping Darian’s path clean and elite. When my father dragged me to the Thornridge house, I said what I needed to say. Cold, cruel, calculated—because I needed to understand. Martha told me the Thornridges requested the union, claimed they believed their daughter was too strong not to be Luna. Claimed they wanted her to take her “rightful place.” Said they had agreed to settle for me instead of Darian. All of it? Complete bullsh1t. Everyone knew Mara had a crush on Darian. It wasn’t some secret scandal. Even Darian knew—he just ignored it. Let it stew. Let her orbit him for years. A harmless crush, people said. But what that girl gave up for him wasn’t harmless. She left her original path. Signed up at the academy. Trained harder than anyone expected. Finished second. All for a boy who didn’t have the guts to be honest with her. At first, even I assumed her ambition was calculated—that finishing second was her power play to get chosen as Luna. But after speaking with her, however awkwardly… I realized how wrong I was. She didn’t chase power. She chased purpose. And maybe, quietly, she chased hope. The way she looked at me—guarded, hurt, angry. That wasn’t the gaze of someone who’d schemed her way up. That was someone trying not to drown in something too big for her. And I hated it. I hated how Martha had spun this lie and dragged me into it. I hated how my father let her do it. I hated that Mara—this tough, stubborn, determined girl—was being broken apart by people who claimed to protect the pack. So when we went back inside, I told the truth. I was done playing along. Let the Thornridges hear it all—how this wasn’t about what was best for me or Mara or even Darian. It was about Martha’s ego. About keeping “middle-class blood” away from her precious son. I almost told Mara that Darian had known. That he could’ve stopped this earlier. But I didn’t. Because she already looked like she was barely holding it together. That truth would’ve shattered her. But I blame him too. He knew how she felt. He saw it in her eyes every Dam time she looked at him. And instead of setting her free, he kept her close. He strung her along, let her believe maybe… maybe one day. I heard him brag once—to his friends—that she’d made passes at him. After meeting her, I knew that was a lie. Mara Thornridge doesn’t beg. She’d rather die than admit she’s vulnerable. She would’ve made a great Luna. Not just to Darian—but to the pack. She’s sharp, strong, and smarter than half the men who outranked her. And instead of letting her shine, Martha decided to bury her. Tie her to me. Punish her for something that never even happened. And now they expect her to stand at Darian’s side as Gamma? To give her best while living half-alive? Unbelievable. No one’s asking what this will do to her. No one’s thinking about what she’s being forced to give up just to survive. I didn’t know what to do with Mara. I didn’t want to touch her. I didn’t want to claim her—not because I hated her, but because I respected her. She didn’t ask for this, and I’m not the kind of man who takes what isn’t given freely. I wouldn’t mate with her against her will. I wasn’t like Darian. He wore his charm like armor and left a trail of wreckage behind him—wolves he used, hearts he broke, girls who wound up pregnant and scared. And every time, Father and Martha cleaned it up quietly, buried the mess, and painted him as the perfect heir. Looking back now, I saw it all more clearly than I ever had. Darian—the golden boy, the spoiled prince. Martha’s precious son, her ticket to power, the puppet she dressed up as a leader. And then there was me. An accident at the wrong time, the wrong place, gave her everything she needed to destroy me. The biker didn’t die because of me—not really. My brakes failed. There was silver in the wreckage, and to this day, I still don’t know how it got there. The biker would’ve survived without it. But no one listened. No one cared. My father didn’t even pretend to investigate. He just... wrote me off. They said I was drunk, been partying all. Night but that was a lie, yet no one cared. Martha escalated the fallout like she’d been waiting for it. And Darian? He got a free pass. Over and over. “They wanted him,” my father would say. “He didn’t stand a chance. Every girl wants the Luna title. It’s not the same.” It wasn’t the same because Darian was untouchable. I’d only ever loved one girl. Tina Livingston. I’d been loyal, careful, focused. But now, thanks to Martha, I had to break her heart. Just another name sacrificed on the altar of Darian’s future. Martha had destroyed three lives. Maybe four, if Mara had someone before all of this—someone she never got to choose. And yet, I couldn’t even bring myself to hate her. Not fully. She was protecting her son. Ruthless, yes—but my real anger was reserved for the man who allowed her to do it all. My father. The Alpha. The coward. If my mother had lived… maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe she would’ve fought for me. For balance. For justice. But she was gone. And in her absence, Martha filled the void with poison and control. Now here we were. A forced union. A fake marriage. A girl who didn’t want me, and a pack that would celebrate it anyway like it was some kind of alliance—when in truth, it was just another silent war. I moved my things into the smaller of the conjoined rooms and fixed up the larger one for Mara. I wanted her to be comfortable. Or at the very least, able to cope. She wasn’t what I’d accused her of—she wasn’t a gold digger or a social climber. I said those things to provoke, to test, to understand. But now I knew better. She was nineteen. A kid, really. Brave as hll, smart, and stubborn. And stuck. Her parents weren’t to blame either. They had no power, no rank, no options. The offer from my father wasn’t an opportunity—it was a threat in disguise. Because being cast out wasn’t just exile. It was death by slow erasure. When a wolf is stripped of their pack mark, it fades over time. And once it’s gone, they lose their human form. They go feral. Wild. Forgotten. That’s what happens to rogues. There’s no mercy in that system, no redemption. A wolf only belongs to one pack in their lifetime. One. And if that bond is broken, there’s no going back. It was a cruel mechanism, a brutal leash disguised as tradition. One the Alpha family had full control over. And my father wielded it without hesitation. Mara was a victim. Just like I was. But unlike me, she didn’t even have the illusion of choice.
"I'll never love you. You'll never be my true mate. This arrangement is a joke. An insult." My husband sneered. "Understood, Mr. Nighthorn. I'm not looking forward to the wedding either. If I had a choice, I'd have turned it down, but your father left me and my family with two options—accept or go rogue." "Feisty," he said. "I like that. Quick-tempered too." "As long as you don't try to bully me, we won't have a problem. If your father really did buy me, then this is a contract. And once Darian becomes Alpha, you'll release me." I said flatly. He chuckled then—low and bitter. "You still don't get it, do you? That will never happen, Mara. I'll have to claim you eventually. A full binding. For show. For politics. For my father. You'll be mine—publicly, legally, permanently." Something twisted in my chest at those words. A phantom ache. He told me exactly where I stood in this twisted legacy of power, names, and politics. I was never meant to have a voice. —————— That actually made me smile. It was such a him thing to say. “That’s so cool, Rowan,” I said, wide-eyed. Then, on impulse, the words slipped out before I could second-guess them. “Do you mind if I come?” Rowan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at Darian, almost like he needed permission. And Darian—bless him—gave me that soft smile again. “If you go with him,” he said, “who’s going to be my friend and keep me company here?” I knew the answer. We all did. Tiffany. Tiffany would. But if I said that out loud, it would expose everything—my jealousy, my feelings, my pain. It would ruin whatever fragile friendship we still had. So I said nothing. Just sat there, heart breaking quietly behind steady eyes. Mara “I’m sure you’ve got other friends to keep you company,” I said, keeping my voice calm, eyes steady on Tiffany. “Better—and maybe more interesting—company than I could ever be.” Tiffany caught the meaning instantly and smiled, smug and satisfied. “That’s right, Darian,” she purred, looping her arm through his. “I’m all the company you’ll need.” Then, like it was some kind of private joke, she leaned in and licked his earlobe again. I looked away, jaw tight. She wanted to be Luna so badly it was dripping off her. Most of the girls who threw themselves at Darian did. It wasn’t about him. It was about the title, the power, the image. But not me. Even if Darian wasn’t going to be Alpha, I’d still feel this way about him. That was the difference. “I want to come with you, Rowan,” I said suddenly, turning to him. My voice was clearer than I expected. Firm. I needed distance. Space. A whole dam continent between me and Darian if I was going to get over him. He would never see me. Never choose me. And I had to stop holding out hope like it was some kind of twisted comfort blanket. “This trip... it’ll be good for me,” I added, mostly to myself. Darian smiled, watching me a little too closely. “Maybe I’ll come too.” And just like that, the air left my lungs. No. No, he couldn’t. That would ruin everything. I’d just end up exactly where I was—his loyal shadow, his best buddy, watching Tiffany swallow his attention whole. “You’ll bring me along?” Tiffany asked, all wide eyes and sugar-laced eagerness. I could almost hear the flutter of her lashes. I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. If she came too, I’d lose my mind watching her cling to Darian like a barnacle in heat. Her tongue alone would be enough to make me puke somewhere around the border of the first town we hit. “I’ll think about it,” Darian replied, and Tiffany's face fell. She frowned, and then her eyes flicked to me, sharp and accusing, like it was my fault. She wasn’t entirely wrong. But also not right. I didn’t want Darian to come—not because I wanted to hoard him for myself, but because I needed to finally let go of him. We stayed a little longer, had a couple drinks, careful not to go overboard. It was a quiet ending to a loud night. Eventually, we all called it and got ready to leave. “Let’s go hunting tomorrow morning,” Darian said casually as we stepped out into the night. His voice was light, but his eyes were on me. I hesitated. Waiting. Because, of course, I needed to hear what she would say. “I want to come too,” Tiffany piped up, bouncing slightly in her heels like she was volunteering for a game of tag. I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. Darian caught it and laughed. “I guess the three of you will have to go without me,” I said flatly, already turning away. Darian frowned. “Come on, Mara. You and I—we’re a good team.” Oh, how I wished that was true. But in reality? It was just another sweet lie I’d told myself over the years. “You, Rowan, and Tiffany will be a formidable team,” I replied, eyes on the pavement, not bothering to look at her. I could already feel the weight of her glare. I didn’t blame her. If I were her, I wouldn’t like me either. Not when the guy I wanted kept paying attention to someone else. Darian told me to think about it. I wouldn’t. I didn’t need to. I already knew I wasn’t going. When I got home, the house was quiet—everyone asleep. I slipped inside like a ghost and made my way to my room, shutting the door behind me without making a sound. I didn’t want to wake anyone. I didn’t want to talk. All I wanted was to stop loving someone who would never love me back. Morning came too fast. I sat on the edge of my bed, still wrapped in the fog of everything I was trying to forget. The hunt was supposed to be today. Part of me wanted to go—just to breathe outside this house, outside of him. But the thought of Tiffany tagging along made my stomach twist. I already knew she’d spent the night at the Nighthorn mansion. There was no way Darian would leave her behind now. Not after that. I dragged myself downstairs, hungry but not in the mood. I hated shifting when I hadn’t eaten—it made me edgy, short-tempered. I didn’t want to lose it in the woods and end up looking unhinged. What I didn’t expect was to find my parents waiting in the kitchen. They weren’t eating. They weren’t smiling. They were just… there, sitting stiffly at the table with this look in their eyes that made something inside me tighten. My mother, usually bright-eyed and warm, gave me a small, nervous smile. “Morning, Mara. How was your night?” I forced a shrug. “Great,” I lied, trying not to read too much into their mood. She just nodded. My father cleared his throat, and the sound already made my heart beat faster. “Sweetheart, we need to talk to you about something important.” And just like that, my stomach dropped. They didn’t speak in the kitchen. My dad gestured toward the living room, and we all moved, silent as ghosts. I sat on the couch across from them, trying not to let my mind spiral. Then they looked at each other. That kind of look—the silent, mind-link kind of conversation they always had when something was wrong. Something they didn’t want to say out loud. I wasn’t part of it. Not yet. Not until they decided I had to be. “Mara,” my father said slowly, “you know how much we love you, right?” Wrong way to start. My pulse spiked. I swallowed hard. “Yes,” I said, and my voice cracked. He looked down for a moment, then back up at me with tired eyes. “We’ve always wanted the best for you. But… we also have duties to the pack. Responsibilities. And—” “We should’ve told you sooner,” my mother cut in, her voice trembling. “But we wanted you to have your graduation, your moment of celebration, before we… before we said anything.” Her eyes welled up with tears. That’s when I started crying too. Because whatever could make my mother cry like that—whatever they were about to say—it was going to rip something out of me. “Mara,” my father said again, quieter this time, “Alpha Vander Nighthorn has chosen you to be joined with his eldest son, Lucian.” My breath caught. “He’s decided,” he continued, “that since you finished second overall in the academy, top among the female wolves, and since you’re known for your strength, your discipline… that you’re the best choice for Lucian. He believes your character will help shape him into a man fit to stand beside his brother when Darian becomes Alpha. He also believes that your friendship with Darian will help settle the conflict between the brothers and bring unity to the future leadership of this pack.” I was frozen. The words didn’t even register at first. It didn’t feel real. “It’s not a suggestion, Mara,” my father added. “It’s an order. One we had no power to refuse.” That was it. The sound that left my throat wasn’t even human. I screamed. A raw, guttural cry that tore from my chest like something inside me had shattered. Mara “This must be a joke,” I whispered, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice. My eyes burned, and the tears wouldn’t stop. My mother shook her head slowly, her face soaked with grief. “It’s not a joke,” she said, broken. I choked on a sob. “Lucian? Lucian?! He’s a monster. A cruel, vicious bаst3rd. He lies, cheats, bullies anyone weaker than him—and he killed someone, an innocent person. And now you want me to what? Play house with the devil?” I knew they didn’t have a choice. I knew it wasn’t really their fault. But I needed someone to blame, and they were standing right in front of me, and I was drowning. “We had no say,” my father said, voice low and defeated. “They said you’re the strongest female of your generation. They believe you’ll match him. Tame him.” “Enough!” I snapped, standing up so fast the room spun. “You can’t tame people, Dad. You don’t ‘fix’ someone like Lucian. He’s not broken. He’s rotten. He was born that way.” My breath came fast, too fast. My chest felt tight like I was suffocating. “I’m supposed to be Darian’s Gamma! That job—our futures—they’re built on trust, on teamwork. How am I supposed to do that while being shackled to a psychopath?” They had no answers. Just silence. My mother’s silent weeping. My father’s helpless stare. “I’m done. I’m leaving. I don’t want the Gamma position. They can keep it—and let them gift someone else to that monster.” I turned, storming toward the stairs. I didn’t know where I’d go, but anywhere was better than here. Anywhere but thislife. “You can’t leave, Mara,” my father called after me, voice desperate. “If you refuse the bond, Alpha Nighthorn will cast us out. We’ll become rogues. Once the mark of Mooncrest fades, we’ll lose everything—our protection, our humanity. You know what happens to rogues. You’ll turn feral. We all will. They rule this entire country, Mara. There’s no where for you to go,” I stopped in my tracks. Feral. Cast out. Doomed. I turned slowly and looked at my mother. Her shoulders were trembling. She couldn’t even look me in the eyes. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?” I said, my voice shaking with fury and despair. “You’re asking me to throw my life away. You’re asking me to bind myself to someone who might kill me in my sleep.” She nodded through her tears. “I’m sorry.” Lucian wasn’t just cruel—he was dangerous. Even Alpha Vander didn’t trust him to lead, which was why Darian had been groomed from day one to take over. Darian, with his calm and strength and sense of duty. Meanwhile, his older brother was out there, spiraling, and now they wanted me to steady him. They wouldn’t have picked me if I wasn’t so perfect—so well-behaved, so disciplined, so obsessed with Darian that I molded myself into the model warrior. Maybe if I’d been reckless, mean, or a bitter b1tch, they wouldn’t have even considered me. But no. I had played the part. And now, this was my reward: unrequited love, a forced marriage, a future I couldn’t escape. I hated my life in that moment. I was about to turn away again when the doorbell rang. We all froze. My mother rose to answer it, and the scent hit me before she opened the door—him. Darian. He stepped inside, and I almost didn’t recognize him. His eyes were red, brimming with tears. His hands trembled. He looked like someone had carved a hole into his chest and left it gaping. “Mara,” he said softly, his voice cracked and hoarse. He opened his arms. He didn’t need to say anything else. I walked into him, into the arms I had longed for more than I ever admitted, and he held me—tight, like he was the one about to fall apart. My parents quietly stepped away, leaving us in the silence of shared pain. And I broke. I cried, and this time, it wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t polite. It was everything I had been holding in—fear, betrayal, grief, hopelessness—all pouring out while he held me. And still, I knew… even this wouldn’t change anything. “I’m sorry, Mara,” Darian whispered against my hair, his voice thick with something heavier than guilt. “I didn’t know they would do this. I didn’t know he would do this.” And I broke again. “I don’t want to be with Lucian,” I cried, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring me. “I hate him, Darian. I can’t do this. Please… help me.” His arms tightened around me like he wanted to, like he wished he could fix it all with the way he held me—but he didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was barely above a whisper. “I’m not Alpha yet, Mara. My key mark isn’t active yet. I don’t have the power to stop this.” And that—that—hurt more than I expected. Not because he admitted he was powerless but because of the way his voice cracked. There was grief in it. Regret. Something deeper than duty. “I thought…” he started, then paused. “I thought we had time. I thought there’d be more time.” I pulled back just enough to look at him. “Time for what?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mara. I didn’t know.” I stared at him, trying to piece together what he meant. Time for what? Was he finally saying what I’d always hoped he felt? But now wasn’t the time. Not with everything crashing around us. The hug faded. Slowly. Reluctantly. We stood there, inches apart, staring into each other’s tear-streaked faces, both too full of words we couldn’t say. “Listen to me,” Darian said, his voice low but firm. “I will always be there for you. I won’t let him hurt you, Mara. I swear it. If you ever feel unsafe, if he crosses a line—call me. I don’t care what I’m doing. I’ll come. I will come. You are not alone in this.” I blinked back another wave of tears. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to thank someone for a promise that shouldn’t have to exist. “I wish I’d never trained to be your Beta,” I muttered, my voice barely a breath. “If I’d just taken medical classes instead… Alpha Vander wouldn’t have noticed me. He wouldn’t have picked me for his deranged son.” I looked at Darian again. My heart swelled painfully, and I opened my mouth. “Darian…” He met my eyes, hope flickering there. “What is it, Mara?” I hesitated. I wanted to say it. Gods, I wanted to scream it—I love you. I’ve always loved you. But I didn’t. Because now he wasn’t just the boy I trained beside. He was about to become my brother-in-law. And whatever chance there might have been, it had died the moment his father bound my future to Lucian’s. “Nothing,” I said instead. “Nothing but fear.” He pulled me back into his arms without hesitation. I buried my face in his chest and breathed in his scent one last time like it might be enough to last me forever. I didn’t dare ask for more. I didn’t dare reach for what I truly wanted. Not now. Not when I was about to be forced into the hands of someone I despised. Not when Darian had no power to save me. He held me tight, as if letting go would break him, too. Then he kissed the top of my head—soft, lingering—and pulled away. “We’ll still be best friends,” he said gently. “I don’t care what the pack says. You’re still my best friend, Mara. No one’s replacing you.” And there it was. The final nail. Best friend. The words were supposed to be comforting, but they landed like a blade in my chest. His father thought that same friendship was the key to taming Lucian—like I was a tool, a bridge, a sacrificial peace offering. I didn’t want to be Darian’s best friend. I wanted to be his everything. His Luna. His love. His home. But instead, I got Lucian. Unwanted. Unchosen. Trapped. Maybe being feral wouldn’t be so bad. At least then I’d be free. I could run, disappear, let the wilderness swallow me whole. Anything would be better than this slow suffocation. I wanted to leave. I needed to leave. Mara Darian followed me upstairs to my room. For the first time, it felt… wrong. Foreign. Like something had cracked in the familiar walls we’d built around each other. It had always been a little awkward since I started falling for him, but now—now it felt unbearable. I didn’t know what it would be like living in their house. The Nighthorn mansion. Sharing space with Lucian. Walking the same halls as Darian, seeing him every day while wearing the title of someone else’s mate. His brother’s mate. The thought made me feel sick. I didn’t trust my heart not to betray me in some devastating way. “I’ll wait here,” Darian said softly, settling into the chair by my desk while I headed into the bathroom. As soon as the water hit me, the tears came. I sank to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, sobbing so hard my ribs ached. I cried for the life I almost had. For the love I could never confess. For I was being handed like some twisted reward for being too good. And in that cracked, broken place, I thought about running. Disappearing. Going rogue. Letting the world forget I ever existed. But then I remembered what that meant. What it would do to my family. What it would do to me. I dressed in the bathroom, even though modesty had long since evaporated between Darian and me during years of shifting and training together. But things were different now. Everything was different. Even standing in front of him felt like holding a glass that could shatter if either of us moved too fast. “How are you feeling?” he asked when I stepped back into the room. I just nodded, unable to trust my voice. His eyes were still tinged with crimson, like he’d been holding back more tears of his own. “Lucian doesn’t want the union either,” he said suddenly. I looked up, startled. “What?” “That’s how I found out,” he continued. “I overheard him yelling at our father. He was furious. Said he didn’t want you. Didn’t want any of it. And honestly… that’s what scares me the most.” I understood what he meant before he said it. Lucian didn’t want me. Which meant he’d resent me. And with the kind of man he was—violent, spiteful—that resentment wouldn’t just sit quietly in the corner. He’d find a way to punish me for it. “Then why won’t he reject it?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. Darian exhaled slowly, like the weight of it all was dragging him under too. “Because ever since Father chose me as Alpha instead of him, Lucian hasn’t dared to oppose him. I think the shame crushed something inside him. He’s quiet now, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. And…” He hesitated. “Lucian’s in love—with someone else. Has been for a while.” I swallowed hard. That somehow made it worse. I wasn’t just being forced into a bond with a monster—I was a wedge, a weapon used to separate him from someone he actually cared about. A curse he’d wear every day. “This isn’t fair,” I said bitterly. “Not to me. Not to her. Not to anyone.” Darian didn’t argue. “Will I still be your Gamma?” I asked, knowing it was selfish but needing to ask anyway. Because even if I couldn’t be his mate, I still wanted to stand by his side in some way. Any way. “Yes,” he said softly. “Unless you choose to step down, you’ll remain my Gamma.” I shook my head. I couldn’t make that decision yet. Not when everything inside me felt broken and scattered. I just needed time. Space to breathe, to mourn, to accept the weight of what had been forced on me. Darian left quietly, carrying his own sadness like a wound. I watched him go and felt another piece of me fall apart. I stayed in bed the rest of the day. Staring at the ceiling. Crying into my pillow until it was soaked. My parents tried to check on me—brought food, soft words, empty comfort—but I ignored them all. I didn’t want kindness from the people who had let this happen. I didn’t want anyone. If the Alpha had chosen to bind me to Darian, I would have said yes without hesitation. I would have given him everything. But instead, I was being handed over to his brother. Why Lucian? Of all the wolves in this pack, why did fate—or power, or cruelty—choose him? And what the hll was I supposed to do now? Two weeks. Two long, miserable weeks of crying, sulking, and avoiding the world like it had personally betrayed me—because in a way, it had. I refused to go to any gatherings, skipped every function, and barely spoke to anyone who wasn’t Darian. Not that I saw him much. He’d gotten himself into trouble more than once that week, and Alpha Vander had taken it as an excuse to load him up with responsibilities. I missed him. But missing him was a dangerous thing now. Luna Martha Nighthorn came by twice to speak with my parents about the “arrangements.” She was Darian’s mother—not Lucian’s. Lucian’s biological mother had died when he was young. Alpha Vander had bonded with Martha later, and ever since, everyone just assumed she was the mother of both boys. Everyone except Lucian, who never missed a chance to correct them. I didn’t care for the politics of it. I didn’t care about her visit, her soft reassurances, or the way she avoided looking me in the eye. I didn’t care about any of it. I just wanted to disappear. Burn the whole d'amn future and vanish into ash. But I couldn’t. I was sitting on the patio, trying to catch my breath from another heavy day of doing absolutely nothing, when a sleek black car pulled into our driveway. I squinted at the figure stepping out. A young woman—tall, porcelain-skinned, striking brunette. And angry. I stood slowly, assuming she was lost and needed directions. She didn’t waste time. “Are you Mara Thornridge?” she asked, sharp and cold. I nodded, guarded. “You gold-digging b1tch,” she snapped. “What do your parents have on Alpha Vander? Huh?” I blinked, stunned. What? “Do you know how long Lucian and I have been together?” she choked out, her eyes welling up with tears. “We were sweethearts for years. And now I find out you—you’ve been chosen for him? You?” I stood there, frozen, every cell in my body screaming for a break. I had no words. I was still trying to process this marriage from hll myself, and now this? She stepped closer, her voice low and trembling with rage. “How dare you, Mara? I swear, we will make your life a living hll.” And that was it. I snapped. “Watch it,” I growled, the shift stirring beneath my skin. “I don’t give two fks about Lucian. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this. So maybe aim that rage where it belongs—at him, or at his father, or at the Moon Goddess herself. Not me.” She blinked, caught off guard. “If you’re so mad, tell your beloved boyfriend to grow a spine and say something to his father. Trust me, you’d be doing me a huge favor. Because let’s be honest—Lucian isn’t exactly a prize. He’s an entitled, violent аs hole, and I wouldn’t want to be bound to him if he was the last breathing wolf in existence.” She stepped toward me like she was about to swing. I didn’t even flinch—I welcomed it. Hll, I needed it. I let out a low, warning growl, eyes locked on hers. “You need to f'k- off, now. While I’m still being nice. Because if you don’t, I swear on every ancestor in my bloodline, I will tear you apart. And right now? I wouldn’t even regret it.” Something in my voice must’ve landed. She backed away slowly, fury still burning in her eyes, but something else too—fear. She slid into her car and slammed the door, then peeled out of the driveway without another word. I stood there breathing hard, body trembling with all the rage and frustration I’d buried these past two weeks. Now I had to deal with Lucian’s girlfriend too? I wasn’t even officially mated to him yet, and already the drama was spilling into my yard like blood on the snow. And Lucian—he hadn’t shown up. Hadn’t spoken to me. Hadn’t so much as sent a message. I guessed the feeling was mutual. This was going to be hll. And it hadn’t even started yet. Mara “Mara!” my mother called from downstairs. Since the day they dropped the bomb about the arrangement, I’d barely left my room. What was the point? Everyone probably knew by now. The whole pack, maybe even the entire dam country. Mara Thornridge, gifted to Lucian Nighthorn like a prized lamb to the family wolf. And just like that, the threats had started rolling in—anonymous messages from a number I didn’t need to trace. I knew exactly who it was. Lucian’s little banshee. The same girl who’d parked in my driveway and tried to claw my face off with words she probably rehearsed in front of a mirror. None of her threats got to me. Not one. If she ever followed through on a single one of them, I might actually respect her. But I knew the truth—lashing out at me was easier than facing Lucian or confronting Alpha Vander. I was the easier target. The quiet one. The one who hadn’t asked for any of this. I got out of bed wearing the same old pajamas I’d worn for two days. It was already afternoon. I didn’t care. My hair was a mess, my eyes were swollen from days of crying, but the tears had stopped. I wasn’t sad anymore. Just empty. Numb. And numbness? It was better. Numbness didn’t ask questions or demand hope. Darian and I still talked every night. His voice was soft, his words kind, and I hated every second of it. He meant well. He was trying. But I didn’t want kindness from him. Not anymore. I wanted what I could never have. Every call was another reminder that I'd never be more than his best friend. So no, the support wasn’t helping. Not even a little. I shuffled downstairs, preparing to grab something quick and head back to my quiet cave of self-pity. But I froze at the bottom step. Alpha Vander Nighthorn and Lucian were in my living room. Just sitting there. Like this was normal. Like they belonged. I felt my parents' disappointment immediately. The way they looked at my unwashed hair and oversized sleep shirt said it all. But maybe, just maybe, the Alpha would take one look at me and change his mind. Maybe I looked pathetic enough to kill this deal. I stepped into the room, lifting my chin, even though my body screamed to turn and run. “Good afternoon, Alpha. Mr. Nighthorn,” I said evenly, voice dry but polite. Alpha Vander sat upright on the couch, perfectly composed. For a man in his early fifties, he looked ten years younger. Thick dark hair, sharp brown eyes, a well-groomed beard. He radiated power and vanity, and somehow it worked. No wonder women in the pack still swooned over him. He had that whole silver fox, age-like-wine aesthetic locked down. And Lucian? He looked like sin incarnate. Dark hair, frost-blue eyes that could pierce through bone, and a jawline that might have been carved from stone. His shirt clung to his body like it didn’t want to let go—tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, tracing the edges of muscle sculpted to perfection. He wasn’t bulky, not like some of the other warriors. He was lean, cut, deadly. His skin was sun-kissed and flawless, his stare unreadable and cold. Everything about him screamed danger, power, trouble. Everything about him made my skin crawl. And yet… he was undeniably beautiful. If I hadn’t known what was behind that face, I might have stared. Might have been flattered. But now? All I saw was the cage I was about to be locked inside. And he hadn’t even bothered to look at me yet. I swallowed hard when I saw him. It had been a while since I last saw Lucian Nighthorn in person, and I hated myself for even noticing how he looked. His presence was magnetic—he didn’t just walk into a room, he took it. He looked like something out of legend: all dark edges, piercing frost-blue eyes, and sculpted features that belonged on a statue. But no matter how stunning the exterior, it couldn’t mask the ugliness I knew sat underneath. Looks didn’t make a man worth loving. And I didn’t want this union. But what I wanted didn’t matter. “Mara,” Alpha Vander said, dragging my attention away from his son. I stood upright and gave him the proper Gamma salute. My posture stiff, my insides screaming. “Congratulations on your future position as Gamma. Mooncrest and Darian are blessed to have you in the ranks.” “Thank you, Alpha,” I replied, my voice steady. “Lucian,” he said, turning to his son, “get to know your mate. Take a walk while I speak with the Thornridges about the event.” Lucian didn’t respond. He just stood and walked outside, offering no glance, no gesture, no courtesy. The kind of silence that dared you to follow—and warned you not to speak. I didn’t want to go with him. He hadn’t asked. But I wasn’t foolish enough to disobey an Alpha’s command. I followed him out. He was sitting on the patio, staring down the street like the world bored him. I didn’t sit. “Don’t get any ideas, little girl,” he said finally, his voice deep, sharp, arrogant. “This arrangement is a joke. An insult. I’ll never love you. You’ll never be my true mate. Let’s get that straight before the wedding so you don’t embarrass yourself hoping for more.” I cleared my throat, keeping my voice even. “Understood, Mr. Nighthorn. I’m not looking forward to the wedding either. If I had a choice, I’d have turned it down, but your father left me and my family with two options—accept or go rogue. I expect nothing from you. And I will give you nothing in return.” He finally turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. “You really have no pride, do you?” he said. “You think this is some noble sacrifice? My father’s paying your family a fortune for this. You and your parents—just more middle-class shovel-holders, ready to dig for gold.” I inhaled sharply. My hand twitched. Don’t hit him, I told myself. Not yet. His smirk widened. “Feisty,” he said. “I like that. Quick-tempered too. I’m honestly surprised you made it as Gamma. What did you do? Sleep your way there? Must’ve been quite the climb—though Darian doesn’t fancy you, so maybe you figured you’d settle for the older brother. At least then you get the name, the money, the power. That’s what this is about, right? Being a Nighthorn?” He waited for me to crumble. I didn’t. Instead, I leaned in, voice low and laced with venom. “At least I earned my place in this pack. I’m Gamma because I bled for it, not because I was born into a name. You? You’ll always be the brother of the Alpha. Nothing more.” That hit him. His jaw tightened. His hand lifted halfway, shaking—just a breath away from slapping me. His eyes burned, not with fury alone, but with something deeper. Shame. Insecurity. I flinched, but only slightly. Mara Lucian was stronger than Darian. That much was clear. Where Darian led with loyalty, Lucian ruled with intimidation. His presence filled the air like a storm. And for a moment, just a moment, I felt what it would be like to be tied to this man. Not protected. Not cherished. Owned. Lucian dropped his hand, clenched it into a fist instead. Good. I’d struck the nerve I wanted. And I wouldn’t stop there. “We are not equals,” Lucian said coldly, his voice like ice cracking beneath pressure. “You better watch your mouth, Thornridge, or this arrangement will turn ugly real fast.” He dropped back onto the bench like he owned the space, like even sitting was a statement of dominance. I stayed standing, watching him from above, refusing to shrink. “I came here only to lay down a few ground rules,” he continued. “First, you will never be my mate. So don’t expect affection, don’t ask for loyalty, and don’t even think about what mates are ‘entitled’ to. I already have someone. Someone I actually care about.” I laughed—just once, dry and sharp. “You mean the one who threatened me in my own driveway?” I said. “Tell your little girlfriend that as long as she keeps her claws to herself and stays out of my way, we’ll have no problems. I don’t care what you two do behind closed doors.” He went quiet. I could tell he didn’t like my answer. It wasn’t what he expected. But it was the truth, and I wasn’t here to coddle his ego. “In public, we’ll play the part for my father,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Behind closed doors, we’re strangers. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.” “Fine by me,” I said flatly. “As long as you don’t try to bully me, we won’t have a problem. If your father really did buyme, then this is a contract. And once Darian becomes Alpha, you’ll release me.” He chuckled then—low and bitter. “You still don’t get it, do you? That will never happen, Mara. I’ll have to claim you eventually. A full binding. For show. For politics. For my father. You’ll be mine—publicly, legally, permanently.” Something twisted in my chest at those words. A phantom ache. I flinched without meaning to, but I didn’t let him see more than that. “What about your girlfriend?” I asked quietly. “She understands,” he replied, surprisingly calm. “I’ll never be Alpha, and I don’t want the job. We’ll find our way around this. She’ll still have my heart. She’ll have my children.” I stared at him, trying to understand how a person could speak of love and cruelty in the same breath. “I guess you’ve got your future mapped out,” I said. “Good for you. But what about me?” He blinked, caught off guard. His tone lost its bite. “What do you mean?” “I mean, you’ve got the girl. The family plan. The political cover. What about my life? My future?” I asked, voice low but unshaking. He looked at me for a long second. Then gave a dismissive shrug. “You’ll figure it out. If you meet someone, fine. Scr'w whoever you want. Just don’t get pregnant and embarrass me. Keep your mess private.” I stared at him, stunned. He wasn’t done. “I’m sure you already have a few boyfriends on the side. Maybe some officials from the academy you spread your legs for—because no woman’s ever made it as Gamma before. So whatever you did to get there, just keep doing it. That’s the only way you’ll hold onto that title. If someone stronger comes along, you’re out.” I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t need to. Let him think what he wanted. Let him imagine a version of me that matched his twisted assumptions. I wasn’t going to defend my body, my choices, or my worth to him. But inside, something cracked. I’d waited. Saved myself. Dreamed of Darian—not for lvst, but for love. And now I was bound to a man who assumed the worst of me. Who would use me as a shield, a pawn, and nothing more. And yet I didn’t cry. Not anymore. The tears were done. Now, there was only fire. “Well,” Lucian said, brushing imaginary dust from his pants like the conversation was just business. “Since everything’s ironed out, I guess we won’t have issues living as husband and wife.” I gave him a nod. Flat. Numb. Resigned. “Do we sleep in the same room?” I asked, not because I wanted to—but because I needed to know what kind of Hll I’d be walking into. He shook his head. “Not exactly. My room has a conjoined space. You’ll sleep in the one I’m not using.” A connected room. No door. No barrier. Just a wall, maybe some air, and all the silence in the world between us. “I’ve fixed it up for you,” he added. “Just don’t expect luxury. It’s the poorer wing of the mansion. My father doesn’t dote on me the way he does on Darian.” I almost laughed. The poorer wing? I would’ve gladly slept in a shed if it meant not sharing space with the man who thought I’d slept my way into the Gamma rank. “I don’t care about the room,” I said simply. And I didn’t. What I cared about was distance. Physical, emotional, spiritual. As much as I could carve out for myself in a life I never asked for. We headed back into the house. Alpha Vander stood, looking pleased with himself—like a man who had just orchestrated a perfect deal, unaware—or perhaps entirely aware—of the people he was crushing in the process. “Ah, I see the lovebirds have come to an understanding,” he said with a smug grin. “I suppose I’ll see you both at the wedding.” My father stepped forward to shake his hand. “Thank you, Alpha. We are honoured.” Alpha Vander turned to him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aiden, Arya—you’ve raised a strong, beautiful daughter. I originally wanted her for Darian, you know. She’s Luna material, no doubt about it. But in the end, I knew she’d have more impact on Lucian’s life.” Every word scraped against me like sandpaper. “Darian is already gentle,” he went on. “Lucian needs someone like Mara. Someone sweet, with a steady hand. She’ll soften him. She’s perfect.” And that was the moment I felt it—self-loathing. Deep, hot, gnawing. I should’ve seen it sooner. This wasn’t about love or bonds or the Universe’s will. I’d been chosen because I was safe. A tool. A soothing balm they could apply to their most volatile son. I should’ve been reckless. Cold. Difficult. A bad girl. Maybe then I would’ve been considered for Darian. Maybe then, I would’ve stood a chance. But Lucian—he didn’t let his father get away with it. “It’s not about what you want, Father,” he said suddenly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean through the room. Alpha Vander turned to him slowly, like a man used to obedience. “Don’t lie to them,” Lucian continued. “This wasn’t your idea. This was Martha’s doing. Luna Martha didn’t want Darian choosing Mara. She didn’t want him with a Thornridge—didn’t want him marrying middle-class. She wants a girl with money. Status. This whole thing? It’s her fix. Her solution.” The air in the room turned sharp. Lucian kept going. “You’re not doing this to help me,” he said. “You’re doing it to ruin me—and Mara. All to clear the path for Darian to marry someone Martha approves of. You paid them off. That’s not honor. That’s manipulation.” Then he turned and walked out without another word. And I stood there—stunned. Not because I was angry at what he said. But because it was true. So painfully, clearly true. Luna Martha didn’t want me in her family. I wasn’t polished enough. Rich enough. Enough of anything, really. And Darian… he never even had a chance to fight it. I never had a chance at him. No matter how hard I trained, no matter how loyal I was, no matter how much I loved him quietly from a distance—I never stood a chance. Lucian was many things—cold, cruel, arrogant—but in that moment, I saw something else too: honesty. Brutal, unfiltered honesty. And it told me exactly where I stood in this twisted legacy of power, names, and politics. I was never meant to have a voice. Mara Four days had passed since Lucian and his father came to the house, and I still hadn’t found my way out of the haze. I sat in the garden behind our home, staring at nothing. Not the flowers. Not the trees. Just the empty space ahead of me, like it might hold some kind of answer if I looked long enough. Lucian’s words still echoed in my mind—cold, cruel, and then, strangely, honest. The truth was a blade that hadn’t stopped cutting. It wasn’t about me being Luna material or helping Lucian. It was about Darian. About removing me from the equation so his mother could shape his future without interference. I didn’t even hear him approach. “You’ve lost weight,” Darian said softly, sitting beside me. I didn’t reply. What was there to say? He sighed and stood again, pacing. Frustrated. Restless. I knew he wanted to talk. He always did. But I couldn’t give him what he was looking for—not when I felt like my whole life had been bargained away by people who never even asked me what I wanted. “Why didn’t you tell me Lucian came to see you?” he finally asked. I looked up at him, calm on the surface, hollow underneath. “I didn’t think it was necessary.” He stopped pacing. “We’re friends, Mara. Everything is necessary. Everything matters.” He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were tense. I could see the guilt in the way he carried himself, but he didn’t understand. Not yet. “Help me, Darian,” I said, my voice cracking. “Please.” He came to a stop in front of me, eyes full of sorrow. “If I were Alpha, I’d cancel this madness. I swear I would.” “But you’re not,” I whispered. Then I looked him in the eyes, and I said the one thing that had been building in my chest like pressure before a storm. “Your mother set this up.” He frowned, his expression hardening. “Lucian said it in front of your father. And your father didn’t deny it. She was afraid that you and I… that we might end up together. She didn’t want her son marrying someone from a middle-class family. So she pushed this union, forced it, to get me out of your orbit.” Darian’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true. She knows we’re just friends. That there’s nothing between us.” His words landed like stones in my chest. “If I wanted to date you, Mara, I would’ve.” That hurt. I expected it, but it still hurt. “She doesn’t see it that way,” I replied. “To her, I’m a threat to your future. So she ruined mine.” I paused, voice low and shaking. “Please talk to her, Darian. She’s destroying two lives out of fear. Lucian has someone he loves. And me?” My voice broke. “She’s condemning me to a loveless, miserable life. All because I was your friend.” I looked down at my hands, trembling now. “I’ll give up the Gamma position. I’ll leave. Just… help me get out of this.” Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and helpless. “I don’t want to marry your brother. Please.” He sat down beside me again, silent for a long moment. His hand found mine, hesitated, then held it gently. “I’ll talk to her,” he said at last, voice low. “I can’t promise anything, Mara. But I’ll try. I’ll beg her if I have to.” I nodded, even though I wasn’t hopeful. At this point, I just needed to know someone tried. That not everyone stood by and watched my future burn. If Darian hadn’t offered, I might’ve buried myself in silent acceptance. Might’ve forced myself to walk into that cold, loveless match. But Lucian wasn’t just cruel—he was dangerous. He was a murderer. An irresponsible drunk. A walking storm I’d be expected to share a life with. The thought of binding myself to him permanently… it made my skin crawl. We sat in silence for a while after that. Just breathing the same air. Just existing in the same space. Eventually, Darian left. And I was alone again. Sitting in a garden, surrounded by life, while mine slowly withered away. Two days passed. Nothing from Darian. No call. No visit. Not even a message. Just silence. I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling like it might offer some kind of escape. It didn’t. All I saw was the countdown—days slipping away until the wedding. Until my funeral. Because that’s what it felt like. The day I married Lucian would be the day I buried the last of myself. I didn’t know if I’d take the Gamma position when the time came. I doubted it. The fire in me—the one that once pushed me to be the best—was nothing but ash now. Resignation tasted bitter, but it was starting to feel like the only thing I had left. There was a knock at my door. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. I could already smell her—my mother. And the food tray she was balancing in her hands. I didn’t move, didn’t speak, and just like I knew she would, she let herself in. “Mara,” she said gently, placing the tray on the table. “You need to eat something.” I didn’t even look at the food. I looked at her. Cold. Angry. Broken. “How can you and Dad live with yourselves after selling your daughter?” I asked, my voice flat, my expression disgusted. She froze by the table, her eyes lowering, as if even she couldn’t bear to meet mine. “He gave us no choice, Mara,” she whispered. “The money was to ease his conscience.” “And you took it.” My words were a blade. “Spent it, I’m sure. Did it ever occur to you that Lucian might call it off? That Alpha Vander might want his money back?” She turned to face me slowly, her expression tired and tight. “We had no choice,” she repeated. “It was take it… or be cast out. ‘Take it or get out,’ that’s what he said. We were drowning, Mara. The house, the loans—we were about to lose everything.” I blinked, stunned. “So you sold me to pay off your debts? The loans you took for my education?” “No,” she said quickly. “We were ready to let the house go. We planned to move in with my sister. We didn’t expect Alpha Nighthorn to show up. But when he forced the union, when he said it was happening whether we liked it or not... we took the money. We used it to survive.” “And you used me to survive,” I said bitterly. She flinched. I sat up, my eyes sharp now. “What happens if the deal falls apart? If Lucian calls it off and his father wants the money back?” “Why would he?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Because I told Darian,” I said. “I told him what Lucian said. About the truth—how this wasn’t about Lucian needing a wife but about his mother wanting me out of Darian’s life. He promised he’d talk to her. Try to get her to stop this madness.” My mother’s eyes widened, shocked. She hadn’t expected me to do anything. Maybe she thought I’d just quietly crumble. She slowly sat beside me, her body folding like something had broken inside her. Tears slid down her face. “Mara, my darling…” my mother’s voice cracked as she sat beside me. “I didn’t know you would take it this hard.” I didn’t answer. She reached for my hand, but I didn’t move. My eyes stayed locked on the ceiling, dry now, but only because I had nothing left in me. “I’m hurting too,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you to be strong. You’re tougher than this.” I didn’t look at her. “Darian and Rowan left yesterday,” she added carefully. “They won’t be back until it’s time for him to take over the pack.” The words sank in slowly, like poison soaking through my veins. They went on the trip. Without me. Without a word. Darian—the one person I still believed would try to help me—was gone. He didn’t even call. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t tell me that he had failed or that he’d tried at all. The silence in my chest cracked. My heart broke without sound. “I know what you’re thinking,” my mother said, almost defensively. “It was Luna Martha. She forced the trip.” I turned to her now, eyes stinging again. “She forced him?” I asked, though I already believed it. “Yes,” she nodded. “Jason—Darian’s butler—he came by for a check-up. He told me Darian had a terrible argument with Martha. About Lucian. About you. About how unfair this is. And when she couldn’t control the conversation, she controlled him. She made him leave. Told him it was to ‘gain experience.’ Said he’d return a better Alpha.” My lip trembled, but I didn’t speak. It was my fault. I asked him to intervene. I pulled him into this. And now he was gone. Banished under the guise of training. And nothing had changed. Lucian was still my future. And Darian… Darian had become part of the past. I sat in silence as the tears returned—slow, steady, quiet. “I’m sorry, baby,” my mother whispered. “But please… eat something. Don’t let this kill you. You’re one of the strongest wolves this pack has ever seen. A woman winning Gamma? That’s not luck. That’s grit. That’s fire. You will find a way to cope.” I didn’t believe her. Not even a little. She pulled me close, kissed my forehead, then left the room without waiting for a response. I stared at the food. The smell turned my stomach. Fear had coiled itself so tightly around my gut I could barely breathe, let alone eat. I picked at the plate. Flushed it all down the toilet. Washed the dishes in silence. I wanted to fade out of existence. But I couldn’t. I was still here. Trapped in a body with no escape, in a life that no longer felt like mine. They hadn’t even set a date yet. That should’ve been a good thing—more time, more room to plan, to hope—but instead, it made it worse. The anticipation, the waiting. The illusion of freedom. Alpha Vander was “putting things in order,” whatever that meant. Maybe planning some extravagant public affair to mask the fact that the union was a sentence, not a celebration. Forced marriages weren’t supposed to be grand. But this one was. Because it wasn’t about love—it was about control. I climbed back into bed, curled beneath the blanket, and tried to breathe past the panic rising in my throat. Please, I thought. Let time fly. Let it fly fast. Lucian My father was a weak man. Spineless, really. Letting his Luna orchestrate the ruin of two lives just to soothe her own insecurities? That wasn’t leadership—that was cowardice dressed in politics. Where does Martha’s manipulation stop? It was bad enough she turned my father against me—made sure I was never considered fit to be Alpha. But now? She’s bound me to a girl I barely know, all because she couldn't stomach the idea of Darian marrying someone who wasn’t bred from power or money. Mara Thornridge and I? We were just casualties of her fear. Collateral damage in her obsession with keeping Darian’s path clean and elite. When my father dragged me to the Thornridge house, I said what I needed to say. Cold, cruel, calculated—because I needed to understand. Martha told me the Thornridges requested the union, claimed they believed their daughter was too strong not to be Luna. Claimed they wanted her to take her “rightful place.” Said they had agreed to settle for me instead of Darian. All of it? Complete bullsh1t. Everyone knew Mara had a crush on Darian. It wasn’t some secret scandal. Even Darian knew—he just ignored it. Let it stew. Let her orbit him for years. A harmless crush, people said. But what that girl gave up for him wasn’t harmless. She left her original path. Signed up at the academy. Trained harder than anyone expected. Finished second. All for a boy who didn’t have the guts to be honest with her. At first, even I assumed her ambition was calculated—that finishing second was her power play to get chosen as Luna. But after speaking with her, however awkwardly… I realized how wrong I was. She didn’t chase power. She chased purpose. And maybe, quietly, she chased hope. The way she looked at me—guarded, hurt, angry. That wasn’t the gaze of someone who’d schemed her way up. That was someone trying not to drown in something too big for her. And I hated it. I hated how Martha had spun this lie and dragged me into it. I hated how my father let her do it. I hated that Mara—this tough, stubborn, determined girl—was being broken apart by people who claimed to protect the pack. So when we went back inside, I told the truth. I was done playing along. Let the Thornridges hear it all—how this wasn’t about what was best for me or Mara or even Darian. It was about Martha’s ego. About keeping “middle-class blood” away from her precious son. I almost told Mara that Darian had known. That he could’ve stopped this earlier. But I didn’t. Because she already looked like she was barely holding it together. That truth would’ve shattered her. But I blame him too. He knew how she felt. He saw it in her eyes every Dam time she looked at him. And instead of setting her free, he kept her close. He strung her along, let her believe maybe… maybe one day. I heard him brag once—to his friends—that she’d made passes at him. After meeting her, I knew that was a lie. Mara Thornridge doesn’t beg. She’d rather die than admit she’s vulnerable. She would’ve made a great Luna. Not just to Darian—but to the pack. She’s sharp, strong, and smarter than half the men who outranked her. And instead of letting her shine, Martha decided to bury her. Tie her to me. Punish her for something that never even happened. And now they expect her to stand at Darian’s side as Gamma? To give her best while living half-alive? Unbelievable. No one’s asking what this will do to her. No one’s thinking about what she’s being forced to give up just to survive. I didn’t know what to do with Mara. I didn’t want to touch her. I didn’t want to claim her—not because I hated her, but because I respected her. She didn’t ask for this, and I’m not the kind of man who takes what isn’t given freely. I wouldn’t mate with her against her will. I wasn’t like Darian. He wore his charm like armor and left a trail of wreckage behind him—wolves he used, hearts he broke, girls who wound up pregnant and scared. And every time, Father and Martha cleaned it up quietly, buried the mess, and painted him as the perfect heir. Looking back now, I saw it all more clearly than I ever had. Darian—the golden boy, the spoiled prince. Martha’s precious son, her ticket to power, the puppet she dressed up as a leader. And then there was me. An accident at the wrong time, the wrong place, gave her everything she needed to destroy me. The biker didn’t die because of me—not really. My brakes failed. There was silver in the wreckage, and to this day, I still don’t know how it got there. The biker would’ve survived without it. But no one listened. No one cared. My father didn’t even pretend to investigate. He just... wrote me off. They said I was drunk, been partying all. Night but that was a lie, yet no one cared. Martha escalated the fallout like she’d been waiting for it. And Darian? He got a free pass. Over and over. “They wanted him,” my father would say. “He didn’t stand a chance. Every girl wants the Luna title. It’s not the same.” It wasn’t the same because Darian was untouchable. I’d only ever loved one girl. Tina Livingston. I’d been loyal, careful, focused. But now, thanks to Martha, I had to break her heart. Just another name sacrificed on the altar of Darian’s future. Martha had destroyed three lives. Maybe four, if Mara had someone before all of this—someone she never got to choose. And yet, I couldn’t even bring myself to hate her. Not fully. She was protecting her son. Ruthless, yes—but my real anger was reserved for the man who allowed her to do it all. My father. The Alpha. The coward. If my mother had lived… maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe she would’ve fought for me. For balance. For justice. But she was gone. And in her absence, Martha filled the void with poison and control. Now here we were. A forced union. A fake marriage. A girl who didn’t want me, and a pack that would celebrate it anyway like it was some kind of alliance—when in truth, it was just another silent war. I moved my things into the smaller of the conjoined rooms and fixed up the larger one for Mara. I wanted her to be comfortable. Or at the very least, able to cope. She wasn’t what I’d accused her of—she wasn’t a gold digger or a social climber. I said those things to provoke, to test, to understand. But now I knew better. She was nineteen. A kid, really. Brave as hll, smart, and stubborn. And stuck. Her parents weren’t to blame either. They had no power, no rank, no options. The offer from my father wasn’t an opportunity—it was a threat in disguise. Because being cast out wasn’t just exile. It was death by slow erasure. When a wolf is stripped of their pack mark, it fades over time. And once it’s gone, they lose their human form. They go feral. Wild. Forgotten. That’s what happens to rogues. There’s no mercy in that system, no redemption. A wolf only belongs to one pack in their lifetime. One. And if that bond is broken, there’s no going back. It was a cruel mechanism, a brutal leash disguised as tradition. One the Alpha family had full control over. And my father wielded it without hesitation. Mara was a victim. Just like I was. But unlike me, she didn’t even have the illusion of choice.
The faint sound of running water echoed from the bathroom; Vance Bradford was taking a shower. It was three in the morning, and he had just returned home. Rebecca Perry stood at the bathroom door, her heart pounding. There was something she wanted to discuss with him, but she felt nervous, unsure if he would agree once he heard it. As she pondered how to broach the subject, a strange noise came from inside. She listened closely and realized he was pleasuring himself. The heavy breaths and muffled gr0ans struck her like hammers, pounding relentlessly at her chest. Bitterness surged through her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping for air, drowning in agony. Today marked their fifth wedding anniversary, yet they had never consummated their marriage. So, this was why. He'd rather take care of himself than touch her. His breathing grew more frantic, and suddenly, in a moment of intense release, he gr0aned lowly, "Catherine..." That name delivered the final, crushing blow. Something inside her shattered into dust. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs and turned to flee, but in her haste, she stumbled, crashing into the sink and tumbling to the floor. "Rebecca, is that you?" Vance's voice, still ragged from exertion, carried a note of forced composure, though his breathing remained heavy. "I-I needed the bathroom. I didn't know you were showering," she stammered, desperately grabbing the sink to pull herself up. But in her panic, she made things worse. Water slicked the floor and countertop, making it impossible to find her footing. She finally managed to stand just as Vance emerged. His white bathrobe was hastily thrown on, the belt cinched tightly around his waist. "Did you fall? Let me help you," he said, reaching out to lift her. Tears brimmed in her eyes from the pain, but she pushed his hand away, stubborn and resolute. "No need. I can manage myself." She steadied herself but nearly slipped again. Limping awkwardly, she fled back to the bedroom—a hasty escape from the awkward scene. For five years, she had been hiding from the outside world, from the judgmental stares, and from Vance's sympathy. She was ashamed of her condition, though she used to have strong, beautiful legs before the accident. She always felt inferior. A cripple like her didn't deserve someone as accomplished and luminous as Vance Bradford. Vance followed her, his tone gentle and concerned. "Does it hurt? Let me check." "It's nothing." She burrowed under the covers, hiding her embarrassment along with her body. "Are you sure?" His worry seemed genuine. "Yeah." She nodded, showing her back to him. "Then get some sleep. Don't you want to use the bathroom anymore?" "Nope, let's just rest." "Alright. Oh, it's our anniversary today. I got you a gift. Open it tomorrow and see if you like it." "Okay." The gift sat on the nightstand; she had already spotted it. She didn't need to unwrap it to know what was inside. Every year, it was the same-sized box containing an identical watch. Her drawer already held nine of them, including birthday gifts. This would be the tenth. The conversation ended. Vance switched off the light and lay down. The air was filled with the damp, fresh scent of his shower gel, but she barely felt the mattress dip under his weight. The bed was giant, but they lay far apart, each on one edge. The space between them could fit three more people. As if by tacit understanding, neither of them mentioned Catherine Welch or what had transpired in the bathroom. Rebecca lay rigid on her back, her eyes stinging fiercely. Catherine was Vance's college classmate, his first love, and his goddess. After graduation, she had gone abroad, leading to their breakup and his depression. He had spiraled into despair, drinking heavily every day. Rebecca and Vance, however, were classmates in high school. She had harbored a secret crush on him back then. He was the campus heartthrob and an aloof, top student, while she spent most of her time in a dance studio far from the spotlight. She was pretty enough, but she was quiet, never one to stand at the center of things, and in a school full of confident, outspoken girls, she was easy to overlook. So, her feelings had remained her private secret; she never dreamed of approaching him. That changed after she graduated from the dance academy and returned home for summer break, encountering him in his broken state. He was heavily drunk that night, weaving erratically down the street. As he crossed the road without checking the lights, a car barreled toward him, unable to brake in time. She had been trailing him out of concern and shoved him aside—just in time for the car to strike her instead. At that time, she had secured a spot in graduate school, but the accident left her crippled. She could never dance again. Afterward, he quit drinking and married her. He remained forever indebted, forever grateful, soft-spoken and distant. He showered her with gifts and money, but never with love. She had believed time could heal everything and soften the edges of her pain. Yet after five years, he still clung to Catherine so deeply that even in his most private moments, it was her name he uttered. She had been fool and naïve. She lay awake all night, checking an email on her phone over a hundred times. It was an offer from a foreign university for graduate studies—the very thing she had planned to discuss with him that evening. But now, there was no need to consult him. Their five-year marriage, filled with countless sleepless nights, could finally begin its countdown. When he rose in the morning, she feigned sleep, overhearing him speak to the housekeeper, Nancy. "I have a business dinner tonight. Tell Rebecca not to wait up; she should rest early." After his instructions, he returned to the bedroom to check on her. She hid under the covers, her pillow soaked with tears. Normally, she would prepare his outfit for work, laying it out neatly. But not today. He dressed himself in the walk-in closet and left for the office. Only then did she open her eyes, feeling them swollen and sore. Her phone alarm buzzed—the daily reminder she had set for herself to study. Since the marriage, her leg had confined her to the house most of the time. To pass the endless hours, she divided her days into segments, filling each with small tasks. She silenced the alarm and mindlessly scrolled through apps. Her mind was a jumble, unable to focus on anything, until she saw a familiar face in a video. It was posted just the night before, and the account name was Cathy W. The algorithm was really uncanny, delivering this right before her eyes. Rebecca tapped on the video, and lively music played, followed by voices shouting, "Three, two, one! Welcome back, Catherine! Cheers!" One voice stood out—Vance's. Chapter 2 Vance had broken his no-drinking rule. He was obviously drunk, or else he wouldn't have shouted like that. In Rebecca's memories, Vance in high school was the aloof genius, always focused on his studies. Once, a girl who admired him had offered him water on the sports field, but he had ignored her. As her husband, he was polite and emotionally steady, never laughing heartily or showing anger. He was so calm, so detached that even brushing his fingers felt cool. The video panned across faces, capturing a flushed Vance. His eyes were sparkling as he raised his glass with a broad smile. "Welcome home, Cathy." So, he could laugh, be passionate, and use intimate nicknames. He just didn't do that to Rebecca. He never smiled at her, never showed passion, and never called her by her nickname. Nancy's voice came from outside, interrupting her thoughts. "Madam, are you up yet?" Rebecca's daily routine was predictable. When there was no response, Nancy worried she might need help, especially considering her leg injury. Rebecca set her phone aside, her voice hoarse. "Coming out soon." Nancy made sandwiches for breakfast, but Rebecca managed only one bite before losing her appetite. Nancy handed her a glass of milk. "Madam, what would you like for lunch and dinner?" "Anything, I guess," Rebecca started, then swallowed her usual response of making whatever Vance liked. But Nancy understood the implication. That was just the same daily conversation. "Mr. Bradford said he won't be home for dinner. He has a commitment." Rebecca nodded, having seen the list in that post. Catherine had scheduled a week's worth of dinners, listing who was treating and what she craved. [The most genuine friendships from the student days. I'm so lucky to have so many boys pampering me.] Normally, Rebecca's day involved two hours of French study and several more on art theory. Without something to occupy her, how could she endure the endless waiting for Vance to come home? She had waited before... The ache of it was unbearable. Now her plans were different. This offer was likely the university's final round of admissions; she needed to confirm quickly. Her first task was to pay the confirmation fee. When the bank notification popped up, she exhaled in relief. It was another step closer to leaving Vance. That evening, she changed her clothes and prepared to go out. Nancy asked wonderingly, "Madam, where are you going?" Without Vance, Rebecca hardly ever left the house. "Oh, a college friend is performing nearby and invited me to meet," she lied. In truth, she was heading to a hotel near the exam center. She'd have the French Proficiency test tomorrow, and it was scheduled for the morning. Rushing there risked traffic delays. Her previous attempt months ago hadn't met her target score, but with application deadlines looming, she had submitted anyway. Surprisingly admitted, she could now supplement her scores. That was thanks to the school allowing post-admission updates. "But..." Nancy hesitated, eyeing her leg. "Should I accompany you?" Rebecca kept her expression neutral. "No need. It's a girls' night; an extra person would be awkward." Nancy fretted over potential mishaps. "Then I'll let Mr. Bradford know." "No, let him focus on his evening. I'll call him after and have him pick me up." Rebecca grabbed her bag and left. Considering her mobility, Vance had chosen a spacious flat for their home. She took the elevator down and stepped outside. The sunlight made her instinctively lower her head, hunch her shoulders, and pull on a hat, raising her collar. Since her injury, the once-confident dancer who thrived on stage had vanished. Crippled, she had lost the courage to face the public eye. Nancy often advised outings only with Vance, and the man always suggested Rebecca stay at home. They didn't understand. Outings with Vance terrified her more. It was even worse than going out alone. Every glance screamed, "Why does such an outstanding man have a cripple as his wife?" Rebecca hailed a cab to the hotel. En route, gazing at the passing scenery, she spotted Vance's car parked on the roadside. "Could you stop here, please?" she said to the driver. His car was outside a restaurant, which reminded her of Catherine's post. Yesterday, one of his friends had hosted that gathering, and today it was his turn. On impulse, she got out and entered the restaurant. At the reception desk, she said, "I'm here to join Mr. Vance Bradford." She gave his phone number, and a waiter led her to the private room. "This is the one." "Thank you," she said, though she didn't really know why she had come. Earlier, impulse had driven her; now, at the door, her courage faltered. She didn't even dare to open it. Lively chatter emanated from inside. "I can't stay late or drink tonight. Got chewed out by my wife last night," said a guy. "Come on. You said friends come first, even over the king. Now you're henpecked? Guess Vance is the real man here," Catherine protested, her voice soft and coquettish. So, that was her personality. Vance liked that type. Too bad Rebecca was nothing like that, not even close. She couldn't even fake it. The guy whined, "Vance is different. Rebecca wouldn't dare to complain." "By the way," Catherine chimed in, looking at Vance, "I heard your wife is crippled? What happened?" There was no answer, but Rebecca felt a pang in her heart. The conversation continued inside. "Vance, we feel bad for you. With your money, looks, and success, you could have anyone. Why marry a cripple?" "Honestly, you're the best of us. Now with Rebecca, you can't bring her to meetings, events, or press—anywhere a wife should appear. What a loss!" So, that was why. Vance always kept her away from business affairs, telling her to just wait at home for him to bring back money. Her family praised him endlessly, saying she was blessed to live a life of luxury. But now she realized he couldn't bear to show her off in public. Inside the room, Vance laughed bitterly. "She saved my life. I owe her." "You've repaid her with all that money. Isn't that enough to settle it?" "Exactly! Should have just paid her off and moved on. Why sacrifice your happiness?" "Think it through, man. It's better to enshrine a statue and pray for wealth. What's the point of keeping her?" "What can she help you with? She can't attend events, and at home all she does is pour tea. Vance, do you seriously want this?" Laughter erupted, Catherine's peals among them. "Really, Vance? Is that how she walks?" Eavesdropping at the door, Rebecca felt blood rush to her head. Fury and humiliation knocked her off balance, causing her to push open the door. Everyone was laughing loudly as Vance's childhood friend, Aiden Hodge, dramatically limped while holding a glass of water, speaking in a falsetto voice. "Vance, have some water. Ah, I slipped. Vance, help me up." Rebecca stared at Vance, hoping that the man she loved more than anything would stand up for her. Chapter 3 The exaggerated performance fueled even more laughter. Catherine, seated beside Vance, collapsed onto his shoulder in hysterics. The man remained silent. Aiden turned, still grinning. "Vance, is it like..." His words died as he caught sight of Rebecca standing in the doorway. His smile faltered, and his tongue twisted. "R-Rebecca?" The others followed him to look over, all freezing. Catherine got up from Vance's shoulder, grinning. "Oh, this must be the legendary Mrs. Bradford. Come on in. I'm Catherine Welch, Vance's friend." Rebecca scanned the room, her blood running cold. Finally, Vance stood up and walked over to her. "Rebecca? What are you doing here? They were just joking. Don't take it to heart." She stared at him, feeling utterly alienated. For the first time, he seemed a stranger. In the face of mockery toward his wife, he sided with them. Aiden put down his glass, apologizing, "Y-Yeah, it was a joke. I'm sorry, Rebecca. Please don't be mad." Vance moved closer, attempting to embrace her. "Rebecca." But Rebecca recalled Catherine leaning on him earlier, his mas-tur-ba-tion in the bathroom, and the name he uttered in the climax. That hand, the one reaching for her now, felt utterly filthy. She quickly stepped back, avoiding him. "Rebecca?" Vance stared at his empty hand in confusion, then sighed. "I apologize on their behalf. Don't be upset, okay? I'll get a gift to make up for you. Anything you want." Catherine shot Aiden a playful glare. "This is your fault, Aiden. Apologize properly. Not everyone's like me, clumsy and thick-skinned, laughing off your jokes." Rebecca sneered at her cheeky speech, but these men didn't even sense the manipulation. Aiden grumbled, "I already did! Didn't know she'd show up. It was just a joke." "A joke is only funny if the target laughs," Rebecca retorted, her voice shaking with newfound courage. For five years, this curse of her unworthiness of Vance had confined her. Mocking glances made her shrink, retreating like a quail to lick her wounds alone. Aiden winced, "But I already apologized." "I-I don't accept it!" Rebecca trembled harder, defying mockery for the first time. Aiden mumbled, "Then what do you want?" Rebecca shook her head, having no answer. She just rejected their ridicule and Vance's alignment with them. "Enough, everyone." Vance intervened, positioning himself between her and Aiden. He was the leader of the group, his words carrying authority. After graduation, his business savvy had built their empire. The room fell silent, and he nodded, turning back to Rebecca. "Hey," he said evenly, his gaze as detached as ever, unlike the warmth in Catherine's video. "These are my longtime friends. They didn't mean to hurt your feelings. No malice, just banter. Forgive them this once. I'll have the driver take you home." "Rebecca," Catherine pouted, sidling up to Vance. "If you have to blame someone, blame me. This gathering is for my return. Vance, invite her to stay. I'll toast her with an apology." Her phony tone only disgusted Rebecca further and drove her to squint at Vance with resentment. It was his very indulgence that fed Catherine's boldness. "I'm fine," she said, holding back her bitterness. "I don't drink, especially not sour alc0-h0l." "Vance, is she insulting me? I..." Catherine wrinkled her nose, choking back her tears. "She misunderstood me, but it's fine. Don't blame her." Vance's jaw tightened. "Catherine meant well. Why are you being sarcastic?" "Meant well?" Rebecca snorted. Only a fool would think those words were spoken with good intentions, but Vance wasn't fool. He simply showed bias, siding with whom he favored rather than who was right. That side was always the one closest to his heart. Rebecca eyed the pair and their friends, feeling as though an insurmountable chasm lay between them. They formed a solid unit, while she was an intruder in their world. She was forever extraneous. Even lingering on the periphery felt out of place. She swallowed her bitterness, gave a cold laugh, and turned to leave. Behind her, Catherine's voice rang out. "Vance, she..." "It's fine. I'll talk to her when I get back," Vance said, waving it off. "Let's continue." Secretly, he glanced at the retreating figure, texting the driver to esc0rt her. Rebecca yearned to walk gracefully, but every step she took felt more unstable. Agitation only worsened her limp, her frantic exit mirroring Aiden's mockery. That would definitely make them laugh even harder. She wiped her tears with a trembling hand, hastening and wobbling more. The driver chased after her, but she was nowhere to be found outside the restaurant. The driver reported it to Vance, who frowned and called her. Rebecca rejected it and turned off her phone at the next one. Aiden was irked. "Her temper is just too short. You spoil her too much, man. With your status and looks, any wife would worship you. Yet she sulks? You're too soft." Vance stayed silent, but the others piled on. "Aiden is right. You sacrifice too much for her and the family, working tirelessly. She doesn't appreciate or support you. Throwing a tantrum over the smallest things. Worth it?" "Marrying her was charity. Who else wants a cripple? Without you, she'd wed another disabled person." Chapter 4 Catherine, reading the room, interjected timely, "Don't mind their harsh words, but as your long-time friends, we're truly concerned about you. We're blunt, but it's nothing personal. Don't take it to heart." "I'm not upset," Vance replied, pocketing his phone. "Doesn't matter. She won't stray far. Let's go on." In five years, home was her only refuge. He was not worried because she had nowhere else to go. Aiden eyed Catherine, muttering, "Catherine is the bigger person here. If you two hadn't split..." "Don't talk nonsense." Catherine glared. "Keep your mouth shut for one night. Vance is married now. That's inappropriate." Her gaze turned wistful toward Vance. "I don't want much. Just want to be accepted by you guys and stay by your side. That's enough." "Silly talk." Aiden thumped his chest loyally. "You're forever our princess, and we will never let anyone bully you. Vance, right?" Vance swirled his wine, the scene evocative of old times. He'd sit back, watching his crew banter with Catherine, not intervening unless things got out of hand. Now queried, he smiled faintly. "Of course." ... Rebecca didn't go home. Instead, she settled into her booked hotel. All the pent-up grievances and pain were unleashed the moment she closed the door behind her. Aiden's limp-mocking replayed endlessly in her mind, and their laughter haunted her like a curse. She had known all along their whispers behind her back, but she had never told Vance. She understood his work's toll, so she avoided conflicts, unwilling to add to his burdens or strain his bonds with his friends. Now, she saw her folly. He'd never clash with them over her; their friendship trumped everything. To him, she was nothing more than a debt—a burden that dragged him down. Without her, his life would be so much easier. "She is a cripple. Who else would want her?" "Yet she still expects so much from Vance?" "I'd rather be the crippled one than wed one and face ridicule." "Other CEOs flaunt elegant partners; Vance? He doesn't even have someone he can take out in public." ... The gossip and ridicule that Rebecca had heard over the past five years came rushing back like a tidal wave. She felt like she was being dragged under, drowning in it all. She couldn't breathe, the pain so intense it felt as if her chest and lungs were being torn apart. Trembling, she accessed a locked album on her phone—something untouched for five years. It contained photos and videos from her school days, documenting her dance practices and shows. Post-injury, she sealed these relics, set a password, and forced herself not to open it. Now her shaky finger tapped on a random video. The music played; she spun, flipped, and performed a mid-air split. She was vibrant, agile, and applauded thunderously. Was saving Vance wrong? But even then, marriage wasn't her aim. He insisted, orchestrating a grand proposal and kneeling before her with a huge diamond ring that sparked hope. She turned off her phone and collapsed in sobs. It was the first unbridled cry in five years. She wept until her tears ran out, but pain remained burning in her chest, licking at her from the inside like fire. But it was that very pain that brought her a moment of clarity in the suffocating whirlpool of emotions. The more it hurt, the more lucid she became. She rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face to calm down. The mirror reflected her dulled self, and she bit her lip. "Rebecca, one good cry is enough. No more. Now, eat well, rest well, and tomorrow, focus on your exam." The one thing she could be thankful for was that, during those long five years, she had spent her time studying to ki11 the boredom. Not because she had grand ambitions. She just had so much time and had nothing to do. Waiting for Vance to come home had been her whole life, but he always came home late. At first, she thought it was because of work. Later, she realized that he just didn't want to face her too soon. She had overheard it herself. Back then, she understood how hard he worked. She even gathered the courage to show concern for him, making him special meals and delivering them to his office, only to overhear the hard truth. He was talking with a friend who asked why he hadn't gone home yet. There was hardly anyone left in the office, and yet he, the CEO, was still working overtime. Vance had replied, "I don't know how to face my wife's enthusiasm." Simple-minded back then, Rebecca didn't understand the implication, but that friend did. He gasped, "No way! Don't tell me you haven't slept together yet." Vance fell silent because that was the truth. He never touched her, even though she had hinted or taken the initiative. Every time, he found excuses like her condition or his tiredness to reject her. She wasn't fool. Gradually, she realized he simply didn't love her, and that was why he didn't want to touch her. But hearing it from his mouth hurt her deeply, the pain almost suffocating. His friend, half-jokingly, half-seriously, asked him, "You don't mean to tell me you have no physical reaction at all, do you? Anyway, she's pretty." Vance's reply was the needle that pierced deep into her heart, and for the following years, it continually wounded her. Every time she thought about it, the pain would gnaw at her. "I've tried," Vance replied. "I wanted to have a normal married life with her, but every time I look at her leg, I lose all interest." So, that was how it was. Her leg, the one scarred and atrophied from saving him, in his eyes was disgusting, revolting. It was something that turned him off and ki11ed his desire. She never knocked on the office door that day. The meal she had prepared with such care was thrown into the trash can. From then on, she never set foot in his company again. Chapter 5 After that incident, Rebecca turned to books. She hadn't planned far ahead; she simply wanted to infuse her empty life with quiet pursuits. Keeping busy might dull the sting of those words. She never expected these small, personal distractions would, in the end, become her lifeline. She needed to ace tomorrow's exam. She had to leave this place, as far away as possible. The thought still brought intense pain to her heart. She couldn't distinguish if the ache stemmed from Vance or from her five wasted years. But it no longer mattered. What counted was refusing to wallow in the pain any longer. Even if it lingered for ages before fading, she was committed to saving herself. She ordered a light meal and a set of disposable clothes. Then she phoned the front desk for a morning wake-up call, and at last, she compelled herself to sleep. Perhaps due to the previous night's insomnia, she slept soundly. The next day, she woke up on time and turned on her phone. Messages poured in, the device vibrating incessantly, all from Vance. She skipped reading them, fearing they'd disrupt her focus on the exam. After breakfast, she left for the exam center, which was a mere five-minute walk away. As soon as she stepped out of the hotel, her phone buzzed with a call from Vance. In a panic, she nearly dropped it, swiftly rejecting the call before shutting it off again. Emerging from the exam hall, her heart pounded with exhilaration. She felt satisfied with her performance. The oral examiner smiled throughout their conversation. She understood most of what she heard, and the written parts felt steady and controlled. She dared not predict her score, but at least she had completed everything. She wasn't useless after all. Walking alone on the sidewalk, she kept her head down, mentally reviewing every detail of the exam until a pair of leather shoes appeared in her path. Expecting no deliberate block, she couldn't retract her step in time and bumped into the person. Without his steadying grip, she would have fallen. And that person was the last one she wanted to see. "Rebecca," Vance muttered, his voice strained. She remained silent, sensing his barely contained anger. He grasped her shoulders and softened his tone, asking in his usual gentle, warm manner, "Why didn't you come home?" He asked that question while knowing the answer, but it wasn't the time to argue with him. Her bag had just been knocked to the ground, the flap open, and her exam pen peeked out, which could give away her participation in the exam. She quickly wrenched free, squatted down, shoved the pen inside, and secured the bag. "What's that?" he asked, looking at her bag. "Nothing. Just a pen," she replied, trying to sound natural, though her fingers gripped the bag so tightly they blanched. "Let me see it," he said. She clutched it closer. "What do you need a pen for?" "Give me your phone," he demanded. After a brief standoff, she extracted it from the bag and handed it over. He glanced at the dead phone, then handed it back. "I called you so many times and sent countless messages. Why didn't you respond? Still angry?" She held the phone, relieved he hadn't delved into her emails or discovered the exam-related messages. If that was his only concern... She had no desire to argue with him or explain anything. She simply wanted to flee far away, and that urge intensified in his presence. Mistaking her silence for lingering resentment, he sighed, "You're usually so understanding. Why run off over this?" Rebecca swore she intended to stay calm, but his words would pr0v0ke even a saint. "Was it my fault? Was I being unreasonable?" she shot back. "Should I have joined in and complimented Aiden on his spot-on imitation?" Vance's face flushed with awkwardness. "That's not what I meant. You can't control what others say. There is no need to take their words to heart." "I can't control them, but you could!" she retorted, staring at him. "What were you doing? Laughing with Catherine pressed against you?" "Rebecca!" His expression darkened, revealing anger for the first time. She understood that Catherine was his sore spot. What more was there to say? She hugged her bag, trying to walk past him. His arm extended, wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. "I'm sorry for yelling at you," he murmured. "I just don't want you to misunderstand Catherine. She is a friend, just like the others. I only see her as a sister. She's unmarried, so speaking ill of her isn't fair." Rebecca couldn't grasp his reasoning. Hadn't they brought this on themselves? Catherine had leaned on him shamelessly, yet they feared commentary? She managed only a faint "Oh." "Rebecca..." he paused, detected her detachment. "Why still upset? You stayed at a hotel alone and didn't return home. I haven't even reproached you much, yet your anger persists?" That was his typical line. In his mind, it was her fault for everything. "Come on, let's drop it," he cooed. "Lunch first. Then I'll accompany you to the mall, alright?" Rebecca considered it. That was fine. She had something to tell him anyway. Vance led her to a nearby restaurant. As they entered, Rebecca instinctively lowered her head, raised her collar, and shuffled behind him to downplay her limp. It was a habit, though she soon relaxed. If she didn't measure up, so be it. She wasn't planning to match him anymore. Once seated, Vance placed the order, passing her the utensils, when the food arrived. "Dig in. These are all your favorites," he said, his voice as soft as ever. Rebecca eyed the spicy dishes and smiled bitterly. He had no idea she couldn't handle spice; home dinners were always spicy because he preferred them. "I'm not hungry," she said, not touching the food. "I have something to tell you." "What is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Wherever you want to go, I'll join you. I have the whole afternoon free. We can hang out, and then we'll go to your parents' house for dinner." She stared at his barely perceptible smile, her heart flooding with profound bitterness as she contemplated the words she was about to utter. Chapter 6 "Vance..." Rebecca choked back her tears, her voice trembling despite her efforts to stay composed. "What's wrong?" Vance reached for her hand. "If you feel like crying, then cry. Don't hold back." His voice was truly so soft and gentle. It brought her back to the day years ago when she had come out of the operating room after the surgery. He and the nurse had wheeled her back to the ward, and he had stayed by her bedside, speaking to her in that same tender tone, as if his words could drip with compassion. "Does it hurt? Cry it out. Don't hold back." At that time, she had believed that such gentle care was the best medicine to ease her pain. Then it took her years to fully understand that a man's tenderness and concern could never truly evolve into love. "Vance, let's get a divorce," she said in a low voice, withdrawing her hand as the stinging pain gradually blurred her eyes with tears. He furrowed his brow, clearly not expecting her to say something like that. After a brief silence, he called over the waiter to bring a clean small dish, then picked up a piece of fish with his fork and carefully began removing the bones. At the same time, he spoke in a soft, soothing voice. "I know you're still angry, but mentioning divorce isn't a rational response. If we divorced, what would you do? How would you manage to live on your own?" Rebecca's breathing became rapid and uneven. For five years, in the eyes of everyone around her, she had been seen as nothing more than his appendage. If separated from him, she would become a pitiful, unwanted soul incapable of surviving independently. And now, it was clear that he thought the same way. "I can do it," she replied firmly. For the first time, she stood her ground with determination, eager to prove her strength and fight for her dignity. Yet he merely smiled, as if dismissing her words as nothing more than a momentary fit of pique. He placed the carefully deboned fish in front of her and said, "Eat up. I'll permit you to stay upset for a little while longer, but once the meal is over, you can't be angry anymore." "I'm not angry. I want a divorce," she insisted, unsure how to make him see that her request wasn't just an impulsive outburst born from frustration. "You see," he set down his fork, "today, I pushed back two meetings and a business discussion specifically to spend time with you and make you happy. Tomorrow and the day after, I might not have nearly as much availability. Let me repeat this. Catherine is a good friend to all of us. She's part of our crew. I treat her the same as I do Aiden and the others. She really likes you and has always wanted to become friends with you. With this attitude of yours, how am I supposed to introduce her to you properly?" "Then there's no need to introduce her at all," Rebecca replied, not believing for a second that Catherine truly wanted to be friends with her. Vance's voice sharpened. "Rebecca!" She had known that, whenever the topic involved Catherine, his patience wore thin, and his temper wasn't as controlled. "Eat up. Afterward, we'll go to the mall, buy whatever you like, and then head over to your parents' house for dinner. It's been quite a while since you've gone back to see them, hasn't it?" he said, adding more food to her plate. Unwilling to deprive herself, she picked up her fork and began eating what she could. Regardless of the situation, she needed to ensure she maintained her health first and foremost. There was no point in taking out her frustrations on her stomach. "That's the right approach," Vance said, his voice returning to its gentle tone. "But from now on, don't bring up that word again." She paused for a moment, then lowered her head and continued eating in silence. After finishing the meal, she had no desire to go shopping, but Vance insisted on it, driving them directly to the mall without further discussion. Over the course of their five-year marriage, the number of times Vance had accompanied her on a shopping trip could be counted on one hand. In fact, the occasions when they had appeared together in public at all were exceedingly rare. The mall's lighting was intensely bright, even during the daytime, creating a glaring atmosphere that she found uncomfortable. Clutching her purse, she walked cautiously in his shadow. The first floor was lined with counters displaying luxury bags, watches, and jewelry. "Anything you like?" he asked, turning around. She didn't want to buy anything at all. She just wanted to go home. But before she could respond, someone called out from a distance, "Mr. Bradford!" "It's a new business partner I've recently connected with. I'll go over and greet them quickly," Vance explained. "You can browse around on your own for a bit. I'll come find you shortly." Vance's clients were all people she didn't know. She watched as he walked over and shook hands with a gentleman not far away, then stood there awkwardly. Amid all this opulent luxury, there was nothing that caught her interest or that she wanted to purchase. Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a sales associate. "Miss, it's your turn." She turned around, realizing that she had inadvertently positioned herself in the queue at one of the luxury brand stores. "Oh, no, thank you," she said hastily, quickly stepping away from the line. She wandered through the mall until, at a certain high-end watch counter, she caught sight of a familiar figure—Catherine. As she looked at the brand of watches on display, something heavy seemed to sink deep within her chest, and without fully realizing it, she found herself walking toward the counter. Accompanying Catherine in browsing the watches was Aiden. As Rebecca approached closer, the conversation between the two became increasingly audible. "If you like it, just go ahead and buy it," Aiden said. Catherine hesitated. "But this doesn't seem right. Even though Vance gave me his supplementary card and told me to use it freely, I can't bring myself to buy something this pricey." Rebecca stopped in her tracks, unable to take another step. Her heart felt as heavy as her feet. "The supplementary card... Vance's supplementary card..." "Since he gave it to you, he obviously meant for you to use it. When has Vance ever been the type to say one thing but mean another?" Aiden reassured her. "We've been friends for so many years. You know his character better than anyone. If he gives something, it's with full sincerity." "I guess you're right." Catherine nodded, beginning to turn her wrist this way and that to show Aiden the watch from various angles. Rebecca saw it, too. "How does it look?" Catherine asked. "I really love this model. I've wanted it since college. Vance promised me he'd buy it for me upon graduation, but then..." A wave of mocking yet bitter amusement welled up in Rebecca's heart. But then, every year on her birthday and their wedding anniversary, Vance had given her watches of this same model. Originally, she had thought that even if Vance didn't put much heart into it, at least he remembered her important dates and their anniversaries. The gifts might have been repetitive and lacking in thoughtfulness, but they were at least valuable. Now she realized that he did care. It was just that none of it had ever been directed toward her. "Well, Vance is fulfilling that promise now, isn't he?" Aiden laughed. "You can buy whatever you want these days. He can afford it all." "Then I'll go ahead and charge it?" Catherine said, her excitement visibly growing by the second. Meanwhile, in another part of the mall, Vance had finished exchanging pleasantries with his business contact. The man, who was there to pick up his wife from shopping, learned that Vance was accompanying his wife as well and suggested they go over to say hello. As Vance walked in her direction, Rebecca quickly ducked out of sight, hiding behind a Roman column. Catherine spotted him and waved her hand enthusiastically. "Vance, over here!" Peering out from behind the column, Rebecca saw Vance and his business contact making their way toward Catherine. She immediately linked her arm through Vance's and began swaying it playfully. "I want to buy this watch. Is that okay?" "Sure," Vance replied, his gaze softening. The sparkle in his eyes brought his entire face to life, a stark contrast to the bland, emotionless demeanor he always wore at home when he was with Rebecca. "Thank you. I'm going to swipe the card now," Catherine chirped, waving the supplementary card. The business contact smiled warmly. "You guys have such a deep bond. It's so touching, Mr. and Mrs. Bradford." The pair blinked at the appellation, but neither of them attempted to correct the misunderstanding. Chapter 7 After a moment of awkwardness, Vance and Catherine quickly adjusted to the mistaken roles. They began chatting and laughing effortlessly with the business contact. Standing together, they looked like a well-matched couple. Rebecca watched silently, taking a photo with her phone. As she turned to leave, the sharp "needle" buried deep in her heart pricked her once more. A sharp, intricate pain that rapidly spread through her chest, even causing a sour ache at the tip of her nose. Just as she was about to exit the mall, a voice called out, "Rebecca?" She turned to see someone waving vigorously from the descending escalator. To her surprise, it was her instructor from the dance academy. "Mrs. Lemke?" she exclaimed, her heart lifting with joy. Lauren Lemke quickly descended the escalator and approached, taking hold of Rebecca's hands with evident joy. "It's really you, Rebecca! It's been five years since we last saw each other. How have you been?" A wave of sadness washed over her. Five years had passed, and she had lived like a useless invalid. Facing Lauren now, she felt embarrassed. Still holding Rebecca's hand, Lauren asked, "Are you busy? If not, let's find a place to have some afternoon tea." Rebecca wasn't busy at all. In the past, her deep-seated insecurity might have led her to shut herself off further, politely declining any connection to her old dance world and its people. But ever since she had opened that album of dance photos and videos on her phone, it felt as though a fissure had cracked open in her darkened sky. Suddenly, she yearned for light to pour in. She nodded, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Sounds good." Lauren led her to a cozy teahouse located in the center of the first floor, and she asked, "How are the others? What have they been up to?" She had distanced herself from that world so completely and for so long that she had withdrawn from every single group chat with her former peers. "Do you really want to know?" Lauren gave her a perceptive look, aware of her situation. The promising student who had been guaranteed a spot in graduate school suddenly gave it up. Naturally, questions had arisen, and Lauren had even made a special trip to Soliaridge to visit her once. Rebecca nodded emphatically, and Lauren proceeded to fill her in. Five years was indeed enough time to transform a person's life entirely. Her classmates had all moved forward in remarkable ways. Some had joined dance troupes and risen to become principal dancers. Others had pursued advanced studies abroad and now held doctoral degrees. A few had stayed on at the academy as instructors, nurturing the next generation of talent. Everyone had taken a big step forward in their respective paths. Only she had remained stagnant. But starting from today, she vowed to make a change. She would strive to catch up, even if she could no longer dance. She would find her place in other fields. "I-I'm ready to give you an update on my progress too," she said, her eyes feeling hot and prickly. She felt she owed Lauren more than just a promise. "That would be wonderful," Lauren replied with a smile as warm and encouraging as ever. Rebecca leaned in close to Lauren's ear and whispered about her plans to study abroad. "This is fantastic! I knew it! None of my students are quitters!" Lauren exclaimed, gripping her hand tightly in excitement. "And it couldn't be better timing. Our troupe has a European tour coming up. You should come along to get a sense of things and start adapting to life over there." "I..." Rebecca hesitated, not sure if her legs could handle the trip. She could no longer dance; even walking was a pain for her. And the graduate program she had applied for was in a theoretical field. "Nothing's impossible," Lauren encouraged her. "If that accident hadn't happened, you would have been a member of the youth dance troupe by now. You can join us in a support role—as a runner, stage manager, or even helping with makeup." Lauren spoke with such firm conviction, treating Rebecca not as a cripple but as someone fully capable. Rebecca couldn't help but smile; she loved this feeling of not being defined or pitied because of her disability. Even if she couldn't dance, she could still contribute in other ways. She wasn't just a useless invalid. Lauren's phone vibrated with an incoming message. After reading it, she looked up and said, "It's my husband. Would you mind if he joins us?" "Of course not," Rebecca replied with a smile, though she felt a bit timid about it. After five years of seclusion, she had grown unaccustomed to meeting new people, but she knew she had to start somewhere. This was her first step. "Then I'll have him come over," Lauren said, replying to the message. However, what Rebecca never could have anticipated was that Lauren's husband turned out to be the very same business contact Vance had met earlier. "Pascal is here on business, and I came along for a few days of leisure, not expecting to run into you. It's fate," Lauren explained. Rebecca noticed that Vance, Catherine, and Pascal were walking together toward the teahouse. When the trio finally arrived at their table, Rebecca remained seated, observing the fascinating shifts in color on Vance's and Catherine's faces. "Come take a seat. This is my wife, Lauren. She is a dance teacher," Pascal said warmly. "And this is the gentleman I'm collaborating with on this trip, Mr. Vance Bradford, along with his wife." Vance's hand trembled slightly, and Catherine fidgeted restlessly. They both stared at Rebecca with tense anxiety. Rebecca simply looked back at them, offering a faint, composed smile. Lauren also made introductions for Rebecca's benefit. "This is my husband, Pascal." Then, pointing to Rebecca, she added, "And this is one of my students—the one who had the greatest potential to win the National Dance Championship back in the day." Vance stiffened at the mention of the contest, and his gaze shifted downward, as if he were attempting to look at Rebecca's leg. Rebecca detected unmistakable pain in his eyes. Of course, he was in pain. If it hadn't been for her injury, he would never have married her. In that case, the woman by his side now could have rightfully been his wife. Rebecca chuckled, "Actually, I am..." "Ah!" Catherine let out a sharp yelp at just the right moment, interrupting Rebecca mid-sentence. Rebecca paused, looking over. Catherine had spilled the tea, the hot liquid splashing all over her hand and clothes. "I'm so sorry. How embarrassing. This is really rude of me," she stammered, hurriedly grabbing napkins to wipe it up. "It's alright," Lauren said, not understanding the underlying tension, and even helped by passing more tissues. The episode prevented Rebecca from revealing the truth. But if Rebecca had truly wanted to continue, no one could have stopped her. From across the table, Vance cast her a pleading glance, subtly shaking his head and mouthing, "Don't say it." Truth be told, she hadn't intended to say it in the first place. She had deliberately spoken only half the sentence, just to watch the two of them scramble in panic. Throughout this afternoon tea session, some sat as if on pins and needles, while others remained perfectly at ease. As Rebecca reached for her teacup, Lauren suddenly noticed something in her hand. "Is that a wedding ring? You're married? To whom?" The question landed like a bolt from the blue, causing Vance and Catherine to pale dramatically. Rebecca glanced at Vance's hand resting beside his teacup, a mocking smile curling at the corner of her lips. He had never once worn a wedding ring; the pair from their ceremony had been removed immediately after the wedding and left to gather dust somewhere unknown. "Yes, I've been married for five years now," she replied calmly. "My husband's last name is Bradford."
The faint sound of running water echoed from the bathroom; Vance Bradford was taking a shower. It was three in the morning, and he had just returned home. Rebecca Perry stood at the bathroom door, her heart pounding. There was something she wanted to discuss with him, but she felt nervous, unsure if he would agree once he heard it. As she pondered how to broach the subject, a strange noise came from inside. She listened closely and realized he was pleasuring himself. The heavy breaths and muffled gr0ans struck her like hammers, pounding relentlessly at her chest. Bitterness surged through her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping for air, drowning in agony. Today marked their fifth wedding anniversary, yet they had never consummated their marriage. So, this was why. He'd rather take care of himself than touch her. His breathing grew more frantic, and suddenly, in a moment of intense release, he gr0aned lowly, "Catherine..." That name delivered the final, crushing blow. Something inside her shattered into dust. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs and turned to flee, but in her haste, she stumbled, crashing into the sink and tumbling to the floor. "Rebecca, is that you?" Vance's voice, still ragged from exertion, carried a note of forced composure, though his breathing remained heavy. "I-I needed the bathroom. I didn't know you were showering," she stammered, desperately grabbing the sink to pull herself up. But in her panic, she made things worse. Water slicked the floor and countertop, making it impossible to find her footing. She finally managed to stand just as Vance emerged. His white bathrobe was hastily thrown on, the belt cinched tightly around his waist. "Did you fall? Let me help you," he said, reaching out to lift her. Tears brimmed in her eyes from the pain, but she pushed his hand away, stubborn and resolute. "No need. I can manage myself." She steadied herself but nearly slipped again. Limping awkwardly, she fled back to the bedroom—a hasty escape from the awkward scene. For five years, she had been hiding from the outside world, from the judgmental stares, and from Vance's sympathy. She was ashamed of her condition, though she used to have strong, beautiful legs before the accident. She always felt inferior. A cripple like her didn't deserve someone as accomplished and luminous as Vance Bradford. Vance followed her, his tone gentle and concerned. "Does it hurt? Let me check." "It's nothing." She burrowed under the covers, hiding her embarrassment along with her body. "Are you sure?" His worry seemed genuine. "Yeah." She nodded, showing her back to him. "Then get some sleep. Don't you want to use the bathroom anymore?" "Nope, let's just rest." "Alright. Oh, it's our anniversary today. I got you a gift. Open it tomorrow and see if you like it." "Okay." The gift sat on the nightstand; she had already spotted it. She didn't need to unwrap it to know what was inside. Every year, it was the same-sized box containing an identical watch. Her drawer already held nine of them, including birthday gifts. This would be the tenth. The conversation ended. Vance switched off the light and lay down. The air was filled with the damp, fresh scent of his shower gel, but she barely felt the mattress dip under his weight. The bed was giant, but they lay far apart, each on one edge. The space between them could fit three more people. As if by tacit understanding, neither of them mentioned Catherine Welch or what had transpired in the bathroom. Rebecca lay rigid on her back, her eyes stinging fiercely. Catherine was Vance's college classmate, his first love, and his goddess. After graduation, she had gone abroad, leading to their breakup and his depression. He had spiraled into despair, drinking heavily every day. Rebecca and Vance, however, were classmates in high school. She had harbored a secret crush on him back then. He was the campus heartthrob and an aloof, top student, while she spent most of her time in a dance studio far from the spotlight. She was pretty enough, but she was quiet, never one to stand at the center of things, and in a school full of confident, outspoken girls, she was easy to overlook. So, her feelings had remained her private secret; she never dreamed of approaching him. That changed after she graduated from the dance academy and returned home for summer break, encountering him in his broken state. He was heavily drunk that night, weaving erratically down the street. As he crossed the road without checking the lights, a car barreled toward him, unable to brake in time. She had been trailing him out of concern and shoved him aside—just in time for the car to strike her instead. At that time, she had secured a spot in graduate school, but the accident left her crippled. She could never dance again. Afterward, he quit drinking and married her. He remained forever indebted, forever grateful, soft-spoken and distant. He showered her with gifts and money, but never with love. She had believed time could heal everything and soften the edges of her pain. Yet after five years, he still clung to Catherine so deeply that even in his most private moments, it was her name he uttered. She had been fool and naïve. She lay awake all night, checking an email on her phone over a hundred times. It was an offer from a foreign university for graduate studies—the very thing she had planned to discuss with him that evening. But now, there was no need to consult him. Their five-year marriage, filled with countless sleepless nights, could finally begin its countdown. When he rose in the morning, she feigned sleep, overhearing him speak to the housekeeper, Nancy. "I have a business dinner tonight. Tell Rebecca not to wait up; she should rest early." After his instructions, he returned to the bedroom to check on her. She hid under the covers, her pillow soaked with tears. Normally, she would prepare his outfit for work, laying it out neatly. But not today. He dressed himself in the walk-in closet and left for the office. Only then did she open her eyes, feeling them swollen and sore. Her phone alarm buzzed—the daily reminder she had set for herself to study. Since the marriage, her leg had confined her to the house most of the time. To pass the endless hours, she divided her days into segments, filling each with small tasks. She silenced the alarm and mindlessly scrolled through apps. Her mind was a jumble, unable to focus on anything, until she saw a familiar face in a video. It was posted just the night before, and the account name was Cathy W. The algorithm was really uncanny, delivering this right before her eyes. Rebecca tapped on the video, and lively music played, followed by voices shouting, "Three, two, one! Welcome back, Catherine! Cheers!" One voice stood out—Vance's. Chapter 2 Vance had broken his no-drinking rule. He was obviously drunk, or else he wouldn't have shouted like that. In Rebecca's memories, Vance in high school was the aloof genius, always focused on his studies. Once, a girl who admired him had offered him water on the sports field, but he had ignored her. As her husband, he was polite and emotionally steady, never laughing heartily or showing anger. He was so calm, so detached that even brushing his fingers felt cool. The video panned across faces, capturing a flushed Vance. His eyes were sparkling as he raised his glass with a broad smile. "Welcome home, Cathy." So, he could laugh, be passionate, and use intimate nicknames. He just didn't do that to Rebecca. He never smiled at her, never showed passion, and never called her by her nickname. Nancy's voice came from outside, interrupting her thoughts. "Madam, are you up yet?" Rebecca's daily routine was predictable. When there was no response, Nancy worried she might need help, especially considering her leg injury. Rebecca set her phone aside, her voice hoarse. "Coming out soon." Nancy made sandwiches for breakfast, but Rebecca managed only one bite before losing her appetite. Nancy handed her a glass of milk. "Madam, what would you like for lunch and dinner?" "Anything, I guess," Rebecca started, then swallowed her usual response of making whatever Vance liked. But Nancy understood the implication. That was just the same daily conversation. "Mr. Bradford said he won't be home for dinner. He has a commitment." Rebecca nodded, having seen the list in that post. Catherine had scheduled a week's worth of dinners, listing who was treating and what she craved. [The most genuine friendships from the student days. I'm so lucky to have so many boys pampering me.] Normally, Rebecca's day involved two hours of French study and several more on art theory. Without something to occupy her, how could she endure the endless waiting for Vance to come home? She had waited before... The ache of it was unbearable. Now her plans were different. This offer was likely the university's final round of admissions; she needed to confirm quickly. Her first task was to pay the confirmation fee. When the bank notification popped up, she exhaled in relief. It was another step closer to leaving Vance. That evening, she changed her clothes and prepared to go out. Nancy asked wonderingly, "Madam, where are you going?" Without Vance, Rebecca hardly ever left the house. "Oh, a college friend is performing nearby and invited me to meet," she lied. In truth, she was heading to a hotel near the exam center. She'd have the French Proficiency test tomorrow, and it was scheduled for the morning. Rushing there risked traffic delays. Her previous attempt months ago hadn't met her target score, but with application deadlines looming, she had submitted anyway. Surprisingly admitted, she could now supplement her scores. That was thanks to the school allowing post-admission updates. "But..." Nancy hesitated, eyeing her leg. "Should I accompany you?" Rebecca kept her expression neutral. "No need. It's a girls' night; an extra person would be awkward." Nancy fretted over potential mishaps. "Then I'll let Mr. Bradford know." "No, let him focus on his evening. I'll call him after and have him pick me up." Rebecca grabbed her bag and left. Considering her mobility, Vance had chosen a spacious flat for their home. She took the elevator down and stepped outside. The sunlight made her instinctively lower her head, hunch her shoulders, and pull on a hat, raising her collar. Since her injury, the once-confident dancer who thrived on stage had vanished. Crippled, she had lost the courage to face the public eye. Nancy often advised outings only with Vance, and the man always suggested Rebecca stay at home. They didn't understand. Outings with Vance terrified her more. It was even worse than going out alone. Every glance screamed, "Why does such an outstanding man have a cripple as his wife?" Rebecca hailed a cab to the hotel. En route, gazing at the passing scenery, she spotted Vance's car parked on the roadside. "Could you stop here, please?" she said to the driver. His car was outside a restaurant, which reminded her of Catherine's post. Yesterday, one of his friends had hosted that gathering, and today it was his turn. On impulse, she got out and entered the restaurant. At the reception desk, she said, "I'm here to join Mr. Vance Bradford." She gave his phone number, and a waiter led her to the private room. "This is the one." "Thank you," she said, though she didn't really know why she had come. Earlier, impulse had driven her; now, at the door, her courage faltered. She didn't even dare to open it. Lively chatter emanated from inside. "I can't stay late or drink tonight. Got chewed out by my wife last night," said a guy. "Come on. You said friends come first, even over the king. Now you're henpecked? Guess Vance is the real man here," Catherine protested, her voice soft and coquettish. So, that was her personality. Vance liked that type. Too bad Rebecca was nothing like that, not even close. She couldn't even fake it. The guy whined, "Vance is different. Rebecca wouldn't dare to complain." "By the way," Catherine chimed in, looking at Vance, "I heard your wife is crippled? What happened?" There was no answer, but Rebecca felt a pang in her heart. The conversation continued inside. "Vance, we feel bad for you. With your money, looks, and success, you could have anyone. Why marry a cripple?" "Honestly, you're the best of us. Now with Rebecca, you can't bring her to meetings, events, or press—anywhere a wife should appear. What a loss!" So, that was why. Vance always kept her away from business affairs, telling her to just wait at home for him to bring back money. Her family praised him endlessly, saying she was blessed to live a life of luxury. But now she realized he couldn't bear to show her off in public. Inside the room, Vance laughed bitterly. "She saved my life. I owe her." "You've repaid her with all that money. Isn't that enough to settle it?" "Exactly! Should have just paid her off and moved on. Why sacrifice your happiness?" "Think it through, man. It's better to enshrine a statue and pray for wealth. What's the point of keeping her?" "What can she help you with? She can't attend events, and at home all she does is pour tea. Vance, do you seriously want this?" Laughter erupted, Catherine's peals among them. "Really, Vance? Is that how she walks?" Eavesdropping at the door, Rebecca felt blood rush to her head. Fury and humiliation knocked her off balance, causing her to push open the door. Everyone was laughing loudly as Vance's childhood friend, Aiden Hodge, dramatically limped while holding a glass of water, speaking in a falsetto voice. "Vance, have some water. Ah, I slipped. Vance, help me up." Rebecca stared at Vance, hoping that the man she loved more than anything would stand up for her. Chapter 3 The exaggerated performance fueled even more laughter. Catherine, seated beside Vance, collapsed onto his shoulder in hysterics. The man remained silent. Aiden turned, still grinning. "Vance, is it like..." His words died as he caught sight of Rebecca standing in the doorway. His smile faltered, and his tongue twisted. "R-Rebecca?" The others followed him to look over, all freezing. Catherine got up from Vance's shoulder, grinning. "Oh, this must be the legendary Mrs. Bradford. Come on in. I'm Catherine Welch, Vance's friend." Rebecca scanned the room, her blood running cold. Finally, Vance stood up and walked over to her. "Rebecca? What are you doing here? They were just joking. Don't take it to heart." She stared at him, feeling utterly alienated. For the first time, he seemed a stranger. In the face of mockery toward his wife, he sided with them. Aiden put down his glass, apologizing, "Y-Yeah, it was a joke. I'm sorry, Rebecca. Please don't be mad." Vance moved closer, attempting to embrace her. "Rebecca." But Rebecca recalled Catherine leaning on him earlier, his mas-tur-ba-tion in the bathroom, and the name he uttered in the climax. That hand, the one reaching for her now, felt utterly filthy. She quickly stepped back, avoiding him. "Rebecca?" Vance stared at his empty hand in confusion, then sighed. "I apologize on their behalf. Don't be upset, okay? I'll get a gift to make up for you. Anything you want." Catherine shot Aiden a playful glare. "This is your fault, Aiden. Apologize properly. Not everyone's like me, clumsy and thick-skinned, laughing off your jokes." Rebecca sneered at her cheeky speech, but these men didn't even sense the manipulation. Aiden grumbled, "I already did! Didn't know she'd show up. It was just a joke." "A joke is only funny if the target laughs," Rebecca retorted, her voice shaking with newfound courage. For five years, this curse of her unworthiness of Vance had confined her. Mocking glances made her shrink, retreating like a quail to lick her wounds alone. Aiden winced, "But I already apologized." "I-I don't accept it!" Rebecca trembled harder, defying mockery for the first time. Aiden mumbled, "Then what do you want?" Rebecca shook her head, having no answer. She just rejected their ridicule and Vance's alignment with them. "Enough, everyone." Vance intervened, positioning himself between her and Aiden. He was the leader of the group, his words carrying authority. After graduation, his business savvy had built their empire. The room fell silent, and he nodded, turning back to Rebecca. "Hey," he said evenly, his gaze as detached as ever, unlike the warmth in Catherine's video. "These are my longtime friends. They didn't mean to hurt your feelings. No malice, just banter. Forgive them this once. I'll have the driver take you home." "Rebecca," Catherine pouted, sidling up to Vance. "If you have to blame someone, blame me. This gathering is for my return. Vance, invite her to stay. I'll toast her with an apology." Her phony tone only disgusted Rebecca further and drove her to squint at Vance with resentment. It was his very indulgence that fed Catherine's boldness. "I'm fine," she said, holding back her bitterness. "I don't drink, especially not sour alc0-h0l." "Vance, is she insulting me? I..." Catherine wrinkled her nose, choking back her tears. "She misunderstood me, but it's fine. Don't blame her." Vance's jaw tightened. "Catherine meant well. Why are you being sarcastic?" "Meant well?" Rebecca snorted. Only a fool would think those words were spoken with good intentions, but Vance wasn't fool. He simply showed bias, siding with whom he favored rather than who was right. That side was always the one closest to his heart. Rebecca eyed the pair and their friends, feeling as though an insurmountable chasm lay between them. They formed a solid unit, while she was an intruder in their world. She was forever extraneous. Even lingering on the periphery felt out of place. She swallowed her bitterness, gave a cold laugh, and turned to leave. Behind her, Catherine's voice rang out. "Vance, she..." "It's fine. I'll talk to her when I get back," Vance said, waving it off. "Let's continue." Secretly, he glanced at the retreating figure, texting the driver to esc0rt her. Rebecca yearned to walk gracefully, but every step she took felt more unstable. Agitation only worsened her limp, her frantic exit mirroring Aiden's mockery. That would definitely make them laugh even harder. She wiped her tears with a trembling hand, hastening and wobbling more. The driver chased after her, but she was nowhere to be found outside the restaurant. The driver reported it to Vance, who frowned and called her. Rebecca rejected it and turned off her phone at the next one. Aiden was irked. "Her temper is just too short. You spoil her too much, man. With your status and looks, any wife would worship you. Yet she sulks? You're too soft." Vance stayed silent, but the others piled on. "Aiden is right. You sacrifice too much for her and the family, working tirelessly. She doesn't appreciate or support you. Throwing a tantrum over the smallest things. Worth it?" "Marrying her was charity. Who else wants a cripple? Without you, she'd wed another disabled person." Chapter 4 Catherine, reading the room, interjected timely, "Don't mind their harsh words, but as your long-time friends, we're truly concerned about you. We're blunt, but it's nothing personal. Don't take it to heart." "I'm not upset," Vance replied, pocketing his phone. "Doesn't matter. She won't stray far. Let's go on." In five years, home was her only refuge. He was not worried because she had nowhere else to go. Aiden eyed Catherine, muttering, "Catherine is the bigger person here. If you two hadn't split..." "Don't talk nonsense." Catherine glared. "Keep your mouth shut for one night. Vance is married now. That's inappropriate." Her gaze turned wistful toward Vance. "I don't want much. Just want to be accepted by you guys and stay by your side. That's enough." "Silly talk." Aiden thumped his chest loyally. "You're forever our princess, and we will never let anyone bully you. Vance, right?" Vance swirled his wine, the scene evocative of old times. He'd sit back, watching his crew banter with Catherine, not intervening unless things got out of hand. Now queried, he smiled faintly. "Of course." ... Rebecca didn't go home. Instead, she settled into her booked hotel. All the pent-up grievances and pain were unleashed the moment she closed the door behind her. Aiden's limp-mocking replayed endlessly in her mind, and their laughter haunted her like a curse. She had known all along their whispers behind her back, but she had never told Vance. She understood his work's toll, so she avoided conflicts, unwilling to add to his burdens or strain his bonds with his friends. Now, she saw her folly. He'd never clash with them over her; their friendship trumped everything. To him, she was nothing more than a debt—a burden that dragged him down. Without her, his life would be so much easier. "She is a cripple. Who else would want her?" "Yet she still expects so much from Vance?" "I'd rather be the crippled one than wed one and face ridicule." "Other CEOs flaunt elegant partners; Vance? He doesn't even have someone he can take out in public." ... The gossip and ridicule that Rebecca had heard over the past five years came rushing back like a tidal wave. She felt like she was being dragged under, drowning in it all. She couldn't breathe, the pain so intense it felt as if her chest and lungs were being torn apart. Trembling, she accessed a locked album on her phone—something untouched for five years. It contained photos and videos from her school days, documenting her dance practices and shows. Post-injury, she sealed these relics, set a password, and forced herself not to open it. Now her shaky finger tapped on a random video. The music played; she spun, flipped, and performed a mid-air split. She was vibrant, agile, and applauded thunderously. Was saving Vance wrong? But even then, marriage wasn't her aim. He insisted, orchestrating a grand proposal and kneeling before her with a huge diamond ring that sparked hope. She turned off her phone and collapsed in sobs. It was the first unbridled cry in five years. She wept until her tears ran out, but pain remained burning in her chest, licking at her from the inside like fire. But it was that very pain that brought her a moment of clarity in the suffocating whirlpool of emotions. The more it hurt, the more lucid she became. She rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face to calm down. The mirror reflected her dulled self, and she bit her lip. "Rebecca, one good cry is enough. No more. Now, eat well, rest well, and tomorrow, focus on your exam." The one thing she could be thankful for was that, during those long five years, she had spent her time studying to ki11 the boredom. Not because she had grand ambitions. She just had so much time and had nothing to do. Waiting for Vance to come home had been her whole life, but he always came home late. At first, she thought it was because of work. Later, she realized that he just didn't want to face her too soon. She had overheard it herself. Back then, she understood how hard he worked. She even gathered the courage to show concern for him, making him special meals and delivering them to his office, only to overhear the hard truth. He was talking with a friend who asked why he hadn't gone home yet. There was hardly anyone left in the office, and yet he, the CEO, was still working overtime. Vance had replied, "I don't know how to face my wife's enthusiasm." Simple-minded back then, Rebecca didn't understand the implication, but that friend did. He gasped, "No way! Don't tell me you haven't slept together yet." Vance fell silent because that was the truth. He never touched her, even though she had hinted or taken the initiative. Every time, he found excuses like her condition or his tiredness to reject her. She wasn't fool. Gradually, she realized he simply didn't love her, and that was why he didn't want to touch her. But hearing it from his mouth hurt her deeply, the pain almost suffocating. His friend, half-jokingly, half-seriously, asked him, "You don't mean to tell me you have no physical reaction at all, do you? Anyway, she's pretty." Vance's reply was the needle that pierced deep into her heart, and for the following years, it continually wounded her. Every time she thought about it, the pain would gnaw at her. "I've tried," Vance replied. "I wanted to have a normal married life with her, but every time I look at her leg, I lose all interest." So, that was how it was. Her leg, the one scarred and atrophied from saving him, in his eyes was disgusting, revolting. It was something that turned him off and ki11ed his desire. She never knocked on the office door that day. The meal she had prepared with such care was thrown into the trash can. From then on, she never set foot in his company again. Chapter 5 After that incident, Rebecca turned to books. She hadn't planned far ahead; she simply wanted to infuse her empty life with quiet pursuits. Keeping busy might dull the sting of those words. She never expected these small, personal distractions would, in the end, become her lifeline. She needed to ace tomorrow's exam. She had to leave this place, as far away as possible. The thought still brought intense pain to her heart. She couldn't distinguish if the ache stemmed from Vance or from her five wasted years. But it no longer mattered. What counted was refusing to wallow in the pain any longer. Even if it lingered for ages before fading, she was committed to saving herself. She ordered a light meal and a set of disposable clothes. Then she phoned the front desk for a morning wake-up call, and at last, she compelled herself to sleep. Perhaps due to the previous night's insomnia, she slept soundly. The next day, she woke up on time and turned on her phone. Messages poured in, the device vibrating incessantly, all from Vance. She skipped reading them, fearing they'd disrupt her focus on the exam. After breakfast, she left for the exam center, which was a mere five-minute walk away. As soon as she stepped out of the hotel, her phone buzzed with a call from Vance. In a panic, she nearly dropped it, swiftly rejecting the call before shutting it off again. Emerging from the exam hall, her heart pounded with exhilaration. She felt satisfied with her performance. The oral examiner smiled throughout their conversation. She understood most of what she heard, and the written parts felt steady and controlled. She dared not predict her score, but at least she had completed everything. She wasn't useless after all. Walking alone on the sidewalk, she kept her head down, mentally reviewing every detail of the exam until a pair of leather shoes appeared in her path. Expecting no deliberate block, she couldn't retract her step in time and bumped into the person. Without his steadying grip, she would have fallen. And that person was the last one she wanted to see. "Rebecca," Vance muttered, his voice strained. She remained silent, sensing his barely contained anger. He grasped her shoulders and softened his tone, asking in his usual gentle, warm manner, "Why didn't you come home?" He asked that question while knowing the answer, but it wasn't the time to argue with him. Her bag had just been knocked to the ground, the flap open, and her exam pen peeked out, which could give away her participation in the exam. She quickly wrenched free, squatted down, shoved the pen inside, and secured the bag. "What's that?" he asked, looking at her bag. "Nothing. Just a pen," she replied, trying to sound natural, though her fingers gripped the bag so tightly they blanched. "Let me see it," he said. She clutched it closer. "What do you need a pen for?" "Give me your phone," he demanded. After a brief standoff, she extracted it from the bag and handed it over. He glanced at the dead phone, then handed it back. "I called you so many times and sent countless messages. Why didn't you respond? Still angry?" She held the phone, relieved he hadn't delved into her emails or discovered the exam-related messages. If that was his only concern... She had no desire to argue with him or explain anything. She simply wanted to flee far away, and that urge intensified in his presence. Mistaking her silence for lingering resentment, he sighed, "You're usually so understanding. Why run off over this?" Rebecca swore she intended to stay calm, but his words would pr0v0ke even a saint. "Was it my fault? Was I being unreasonable?" she shot back. "Should I have joined in and complimented Aiden on his spot-on imitation?" Vance's face flushed with awkwardness. "That's not what I meant. You can't control what others say. There is no need to take their words to heart." "I can't control them, but you could!" she retorted, staring at him. "What were you doing? Laughing with Catherine pressed against you?" "Rebecca!" His expression darkened, revealing anger for the first time. She understood that Catherine was his sore spot. What more was there to say? She hugged her bag, trying to walk past him. His arm extended, wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. "I'm sorry for yelling at you," he murmured. "I just don't want you to misunderstand Catherine. She is a friend, just like the others. I only see her as a sister. She's unmarried, so speaking ill of her isn't fair." Rebecca couldn't grasp his reasoning. Hadn't they brought this on themselves? Catherine had leaned on him shamelessly, yet they feared commentary? She managed only a faint "Oh." "Rebecca..." he paused, detected her detachment. "Why still upset? You stayed at a hotel alone and didn't return home. I haven't even reproached you much, yet your anger persists?" That was his typical line. In his mind, it was her fault for everything. "Come on, let's drop it," he cooed. "Lunch first. Then I'll accompany you to the mall, alright?" Rebecca considered it. That was fine. She had something to tell him anyway. Vance led her to a nearby restaurant. As they entered, Rebecca instinctively lowered her head, raised her collar, and shuffled behind him to downplay her limp. It was a habit, though she soon relaxed. If she didn't measure up, so be it. She wasn't planning to match him anymore. Once seated, Vance placed the order, passing her the utensils, when the food arrived. "Dig in. These are all your favorites," he said, his voice as soft as ever. Rebecca eyed the spicy dishes and smiled bitterly. He had no idea she couldn't handle spice; home dinners were always spicy because he preferred them. "I'm not hungry," she said, not touching the food. "I have something to tell you." "What is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Wherever you want to go, I'll join you. I have the whole afternoon free. We can hang out, and then we'll go to your parents' house for dinner." She stared at his barely perceptible smile, her heart flooding with profound bitterness as she contemplated the words she was about to utter. Chapter 6 "Vance..." Rebecca choked back her tears, her voice trembling despite her efforts to stay composed. "What's wrong?" Vance reached for her hand. "If you feel like crying, then cry. Don't hold back." His voice was truly so soft and gentle. It brought her back to the day years ago when she had come out of the operating room after the surgery. He and the nurse had wheeled her back to the ward, and he had stayed by her bedside, speaking to her in that same tender tone, as if his words could drip with compassion. "Does it hurt? Cry it out. Don't hold back." At that time, she had believed that such gentle care was the best medicine to ease her pain. Then it took her years to fully understand that a man's tenderness and concern could never truly evolve into love. "Vance, let's get a divorce," she said in a low voice, withdrawing her hand as the stinging pain gradually blurred her eyes with tears. He furrowed his brow, clearly not expecting her to say something like that. After a brief silence, he called over the waiter to bring a clean small dish, then picked up a piece of fish with his fork and carefully began removing the bones. At the same time, he spoke in a soft, soothing voice. "I know you're still angry, but mentioning divorce isn't a rational response. If we divorced, what would you do? How would you manage to live on your own?" Rebecca's breathing became rapid and uneven. For five years, in the eyes of everyone around her, she had been seen as nothing more than his appendage. If separated from him, she would become a pitiful, unwanted soul incapable of surviving independently. And now, it was clear that he thought the same way. "I can do it," she replied firmly. For the first time, she stood her ground with determination, eager to prove her strength and fight for her dignity. Yet he merely smiled, as if dismissing her words as nothing more than a momentary fit of pique. He placed the carefully deboned fish in front of her and said, "Eat up. I'll permit you to stay upset for a little while longer, but once the meal is over, you can't be angry anymore." "I'm not angry. I want a divorce," she insisted, unsure how to make him see that her request wasn't just an impulsive outburst born from frustration. "You see," he set down his fork, "today, I pushed back two meetings and a business discussion specifically to spend time with you and make you happy. Tomorrow and the day after, I might not have nearly as much availability. Let me repeat this. Catherine is a good friend to all of us. She's part of our crew. I treat her the same as I do Aiden and the others. She really likes you and has always wanted to become friends with you. With this attitude of yours, how am I supposed to introduce her to you properly?" "Then there's no need to introduce her at all," Rebecca replied, not believing for a second that Catherine truly wanted to be friends with her. Vance's voice sharpened. "Rebecca!" She had known that, whenever the topic involved Catherine, his patience wore thin, and his temper wasn't as controlled. "Eat up. Afterward, we'll go to the mall, buy whatever you like, and then head over to your parents' house for dinner. It's been quite a while since you've gone back to see them, hasn't it?" he said, adding more food to her plate. Unwilling to deprive herself, she picked up her fork and began eating what she could. Regardless of the situation, she needed to ensure she maintained her health first and foremost. There was no point in taking out her frustrations on her stomach. "That's the right approach," Vance said, his voice returning to its gentle tone. "But from now on, don't bring up that word again." She paused for a moment, then lowered her head and continued eating in silence. After finishing the meal, she had no desire to go shopping, but Vance insisted on it, driving them directly to the mall without further discussion. Over the course of their five-year marriage, the number of times Vance had accompanied her on a shopping trip could be counted on one hand. In fact, the occasions when they had appeared together in public at all were exceedingly rare. The mall's lighting was intensely bright, even during the daytime, creating a glaring atmosphere that she found uncomfortable. Clutching her purse, she walked cautiously in his shadow. The first floor was lined with counters displaying luxury bags, watches, and jewelry. "Anything you like?" he asked, turning around. She didn't want to buy anything at all. She just wanted to go home. But before she could respond, someone called out from a distance, "Mr. Bradford!" "It's a new business partner I've recently connected with. I'll go over and greet them quickly," Vance explained. "You can browse around on your own for a bit. I'll come find you shortly." Vance's clients were all people she didn't know. She watched as he walked over and shook hands with a gentleman not far away, then stood there awkwardly. Amid all this opulent luxury, there was nothing that caught her interest or that she wanted to purchase. Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a sales associate. "Miss, it's your turn." She turned around, realizing that she had inadvertently positioned herself in the queue at one of the luxury brand stores. "Oh, no, thank you," she said hastily, quickly stepping away from the line. She wandered through the mall until, at a certain high-end watch counter, she caught sight of a familiar figure—Catherine. As she looked at the brand of watches on display, something heavy seemed to sink deep within her chest, and without fully realizing it, she found herself walking toward the counter. Accompanying Catherine in browsing the watches was Aiden. As Rebecca approached closer, the conversation between the two became increasingly audible. "If you like it, just go ahead and buy it," Aiden said. Catherine hesitated. "But this doesn't seem right. Even though Vance gave me his supplementary card and told me to use it freely, I can't bring myself to buy something this pricey." Rebecca stopped in her tracks, unable to take another step. Her heart felt as heavy as her feet. "The supplementary card... Vance's supplementary card..." "Since he gave it to you, he obviously meant for you to use it. When has Vance ever been the type to say one thing but mean another?" Aiden reassured her. "We've been friends for so many years. You know his character better than anyone. If he gives something, it's with full sincerity." "I guess you're right." Catherine nodded, beginning to turn her wrist this way and that to show Aiden the watch from various angles. Rebecca saw it, too. "How does it look?" Catherine asked. "I really love this model. I've wanted it since college. Vance promised me he'd buy it for me upon graduation, but then..." A wave of mocking yet bitter amusement welled up in Rebecca's heart. But then, every year on her birthday and their wedding anniversary, Vance had given her watches of this same model. Originally, she had thought that even if Vance didn't put much heart into it, at least he remembered her important dates and their anniversaries. The gifts might have been repetitive and lacking in thoughtfulness, but they were at least valuable. Now she realized that he did care. It was just that none of it had ever been directed toward her. "Well, Vance is fulfilling that promise now, isn't he?" Aiden laughed. "You can buy whatever you want these days. He can afford it all." "Then I'll go ahead and charge it?" Catherine said, her excitement visibly growing by the second. Meanwhile, in another part of the mall, Vance had finished exchanging pleasantries with his business contact. The man, who was there to pick up his wife from shopping, learned that Vance was accompanying his wife as well and suggested they go over to say hello. As Vance walked in her direction, Rebecca quickly ducked out of sight, hiding behind a Roman column. Catherine spotted him and waved her hand enthusiastically. "Vance, over here!" Peering out from behind the column, Rebecca saw Vance and his business contact making their way toward Catherine. She immediately linked her arm through Vance's and began swaying it playfully. "I want to buy this watch. Is that okay?" "Sure," Vance replied, his gaze softening. The sparkle in his eyes brought his entire face to life, a stark contrast to the bland, emotionless demeanor he always wore at home when he was with Rebecca. "Thank you. I'm going to swipe the card now," Catherine chirped, waving the supplementary card. The business contact smiled warmly. "You guys have such a deep bond. It's so touching, Mr. and Mrs. Bradford." The pair blinked at the appellation, but neither of them attempted to correct the misunderstanding. Chapter 7 After a moment of awkwardness, Vance and Catherine quickly adjusted to the mistaken roles. They began chatting and laughing effortlessly with the business contact. Standing together, they looked like a well-matched couple. Rebecca watched silently, taking a photo with her phone. As she turned to leave, the sharp "needle" buried deep in her heart pricked her once more. A sharp, intricate pain that rapidly spread through her chest, even causing a sour ache at the tip of her nose. Just as she was about to exit the mall, a voice called out, "Rebecca?" She turned to see someone waving vigorously from the descending escalator. To her surprise, it was her instructor from the dance academy. "Mrs. Lemke?" she exclaimed, her heart lifting with joy. Lauren Lemke quickly descended the escalator and approached, taking hold of Rebecca's hands with evident joy. "It's really you, Rebecca! It's been five years since we last saw each other. How have you been?" A wave of sadness washed over her. Five years had passed, and she had lived like a useless invalid. Facing Lauren now, she felt embarrassed. Still holding Rebecca's hand, Lauren asked, "Are you busy? If not, let's find a place to have some afternoon tea." Rebecca wasn't busy at all. In the past, her deep-seated insecurity might have led her to shut herself off further, politely declining any connection to her old dance world and its people. But ever since she had opened that album of dance photos and videos on her phone, it felt as though a fissure had cracked open in her darkened sky. Suddenly, she yearned for light to pour in. She nodded, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Sounds good." Lauren led her to a cozy teahouse located in the center of the first floor, and she asked, "How are the others? What have they been up to?" She had distanced herself from that world so completely and for so long that she had withdrawn from every single group chat with her former peers. "Do you really want to know?" Lauren gave her a perceptive look, aware of her situation. The promising student who had been guaranteed a spot in graduate school suddenly gave it up. Naturally, questions had arisen, and Lauren had even made a special trip to Soliaridge to visit her once. Rebecca nodded emphatically, and Lauren proceeded to fill her in. Five years was indeed enough time to transform a person's life entirely. Her classmates had all moved forward in remarkable ways. Some had joined dance troupes and risen to become principal dancers. Others had pursued advanced studies abroad and now held doctoral degrees. A few had stayed on at the academy as instructors, nurturing the next generation of talent. Everyone had taken a big step forward in their respective paths. Only she had remained stagnant. But starting from today, she vowed to make a change. She would strive to catch up, even if she could no longer dance. She would find her place in other fields. "I-I'm ready to give you an update on my progress too," she said, her eyes feeling hot and prickly. She felt she owed Lauren more than just a promise. "That would be wonderful," Lauren replied with a smile as warm and encouraging as ever. Rebecca leaned in close to Lauren's ear and whispered about her plans to study abroad. "This is fantastic! I knew it! None of my students are quitters!" Lauren exclaimed, gripping her hand tightly in excitement. "And it couldn't be better timing. Our troupe has a European tour coming up. You should come along to get a sense of things and start adapting to life over there." "I..." Rebecca hesitated, not sure if her legs could handle the trip. She could no longer dance; even walking was a pain for her. And the graduate program she had applied for was in a theoretical field. "Nothing's impossible," Lauren encouraged her. "If that accident hadn't happened, you would have been a member of the youth dance troupe by now. You can join us in a support role—as a runner, stage manager, or even helping with makeup." Lauren spoke with such firm conviction, treating Rebecca not as a cripple but as someone fully capable. Rebecca couldn't help but smile; she loved this feeling of not being defined or pitied because of her disability. Even if she couldn't dance, she could still contribute in other ways. She wasn't just a useless invalid. Lauren's phone vibrated with an incoming message. After reading it, she looked up and said, "It's my husband. Would you mind if he joins us?" "Of course not," Rebecca replied with a smile, though she felt a bit timid about it. After five years of seclusion, she had grown unaccustomed to meeting new people, but she knew she had to start somewhere. This was her first step. "Then I'll have him come over," Lauren said, replying to the message. However, what Rebecca never could have anticipated was that Lauren's husband turned out to be the very same business contact Vance had met earlier. "Pascal is here on business, and I came along for a few days of leisure, not expecting to run into you. It's fate," Lauren explained. Rebecca noticed that Vance, Catherine, and Pascal were walking together toward the teahouse. When the trio finally arrived at their table, Rebecca remained seated, observing the fascinating shifts in color on Vance's and Catherine's faces. "Come take a seat. This is my wife, Lauren. She is a dance teacher," Pascal said warmly. "And this is the gentleman I'm collaborating with on this trip, Mr. Vance Bradford, along with his wife." Vance's hand trembled slightly, and Catherine fidgeted restlessly. They both stared at Rebecca with tense anxiety. Rebecca simply looked back at them, offering a faint, composed smile. Lauren also made introductions for Rebecca's benefit. "This is my husband, Pascal." Then, pointing to Rebecca, she added, "And this is one of my students—the one who had the greatest potential to win the National Dance Championship back in the day." Vance stiffened at the mention of the contest, and his gaze shifted downward, as if he were attempting to look at Rebecca's leg. Rebecca detected unmistakable pain in his eyes. Of course, he was in pain. If it hadn't been for her injury, he would never have married her. In that case, the woman by his side now could have rightfully been his wife. Rebecca chuckled, "Actually, I am..." "Ah!" Catherine let out a sharp yelp at just the right moment, interrupting Rebecca mid-sentence. Rebecca paused, looking over. Catherine had spilled the tea, the hot liquid splashing all over her hand and clothes. "I'm so sorry. How embarrassing. This is really rude of me," she stammered, hurriedly grabbing napkins to wipe it up. "It's alright," Lauren said, not understanding the underlying tension, and even helped by passing more tissues. The episode prevented Rebecca from revealing the truth. But if Rebecca had truly wanted to continue, no one could have stopped her. From across the table, Vance cast her a pleading glance, subtly shaking his head and mouthing, "Don't say it." Truth be told, she hadn't intended to say it in the first place. She had deliberately spoken only half the sentence, just to watch the two of them scramble in panic. Throughout this afternoon tea session, some sat as if on pins and needles, while others remained perfectly at ease. As Rebecca reached for her teacup, Lauren suddenly noticed something in her hand. "Is that a wedding ring? You're married? To whom?" The question landed like a bolt from the blue, causing Vance and Catherine to pale dramatically. Rebecca glanced at Vance's hand resting beside his teacup, a mocking smile curling at the corner of her lips. He had never once worn a wedding ring; the pair from their ceremony had been removed immediately after the wedding and left to gather dust somewhere unknown. "Yes, I've been married for five years now," she replied calmly. "My husband's last name is Bradford."
Caleb Rowan, a national economic hero and top-tier investment genius, went into hiding for three years to repay his foster father’s kindness. During that time, he became a stay-at-home husband to Eliza Redwell, and quietly propping up the Redwell Group while taking care of everything at home. Yet he was met with Eliza’s disdain and schemed against by her first love Miles In the end, a single slap from Eliza shatters all of Caleb’s restraint—and he finally decides he will no longer endure in silence.
“MATE!” My wolf Roxie says loudly, but I couldn’t believe it. I’ve been seen as a shame by everyone due to my chubby figure. While other she-wolves are thin and beautiful, they said it was impossible that a fat she-wolf like me could have a mate. But now, an amazing scent hits my nostrils. It smells like fresh cut grass and cedar. I turn around to see who the scent belongs to, and I see Alpha Cullen. It’s the first time I have felt excited with anticipation. My fated mate! The moon goddess made Alpha Cullen my fated mate. I used to hear my half-sister Rachel say how handsome is he and that he is kind to everyone. I step forward, but realize quickly, he doesn’t look as excited as I am. In fact, he looks like a mix between disgusted and angry. ‘Roxie? Are you sure he is our mate? He doesn’t look happy to see us.’ ‘Yes! He’s our mate! Go to him Rebel! I want our mate!’ she yips. I move to walk towards him. Just as I take a step, he says, “Stop. This must be a mistake. I could never be mated to someone, like…you.” My hope and brief moment of excitement and anticipation just crash landed on rocky terrain. He isn't happy to be mated to us. He doesn’t want us. Roxie starts howling with sorrow. My eyes start to water. “Someone like me?” I ask. “Yes, I mean, look at you. No Alpha wants a Luna that looks like you to be their mate. You don’t look refined, your clothes are old, not to mention you are not attractive. Maybe if you lost weight, then you could be passable. The moon goddess made a mistake. There is no way I can accept you as my mate. What is your name?” He sneers. “Rebel Lawson” I reply. I know the rejection is coming. “Let’s get this over with, I have things to do. Just so you understand, I need a strong and BEAUTIFUL Luna by my side. I, Alpha Cullen Niles, of the Ironclaw Pack, reject you, Rebel Lawson, as my mate and Luna.” Instantly, my chest feels like it is ripped open and gutted. The pain is the worst I’ve ever felt. But I refuse to show pain in front of Alpha Cullen. The sooner I accept, the sooner we can move on. “I, Rebel Lawson, accept your rejection.” It’s like a final death blow. “You will not mention this to anyone, do you understand?” As much pain as I was in, I couldn’t muster up the strength to say yes, so I just nod. “Good, I can’t have people knowing I was mated to such a she-wolf.” **** The thought of the rejection has been depressing me. Every good or normal thing I’ve had in my life has always been taken from me. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that my mate didn’t want me either. With women like my sister or all the pretty she-wolves in the pack, well, I assume they are all prettier than me, who would want a frumpy and chubby she-wolf as a mate? “Rebel! Good thing you’re here.” It’s my stepmother. She sneers at me. I sigh, “What do you need Jules?” “Alpha Cullen has decided to take a chosen mate. He wants to have dinners with women he finds worthy of being his Luna! And he will be here tonight for Rachel!” I suddenly feel lightheaded, and the room starts spinning around me. “Alpha Cullen, here, tonight?” A chosen mate? As if my heart couldn’t break any further, my fated mate, the one who rejected me, is coming here to have dinner with my father and stepmother, for Rachel. Not me. Does the moon goddess take pleasure in hurting me? Without realizing it, my stepmother is in my face, “So you must leave now. I don’t need you staining our family with your presence. Go out the back door and don’t come back until midnight to give Alpha Cullen enough time to enjoy Rachel’s company and leave.” Just then Rachel, my half-sister, walks in. “If it were up to me, you would be gone indefinitely. Alpha Cullen will fall madly in love with me. When he makes me his Luna, I will be sure you are banished from the pack. I can’t have you staining my reputation. The fattest she-wolf of the pack.” Even though it stings, I keep my face neutral. “He isn’t patient enough to wait for his fated mate, so instead he will settle for a chosen mate. Does that make you feel cherished?” Rachel face almost contorts with anger. Actually, it looks funny. I wasn’t aware her face could twist so unnaturally. “At least I will be mated and marked. Even if not by Alpha Cullen, then by someone of rank. How do you compare Rebel? Not even your own family wants to recognize you and only sees you as a stain on our reputation. You will always be what you are, a servant in your father’s home, and a servant to me no less!” “ENOUGH!” My father enters the room. I think he is going to say something to Rachel about calling me a servant, but of course, I was wrong. “REBEL! FOR ONCE CAN YOU STOP ESCALATING THINGS WITH YOUR SISTER!” he roars at me. “Alpha Cullen is coming here tonight to meet with us and get to know Rachel. This is a huge opportunity not just for Rachel but our family. Could you please just leave?” “You mean your family. Clearly, I’ve never been wanted here. Not even by my own father.” I say calmly. I turn on my heel and walk to the kitchen before the tears I’ve been holding back come down. **** Roxie has run for about an hour in the forest. I’ve tried to enjoy the moment and not thinking about what happened to me. Suddenly, Roxie comes to a dead stop. ‘Roxie! What happened? What’s wrong? Did we stray too far from the pack land borders?’ Then it hits me. My nostrils flare as the scent of salted citrus and driftwood fills my senses. OH, NO! Roxie whimpers, lowers her head and her ears pushed back in fear. She says the least expected thing I ever thought I would hear her say again in our lifetime. ‘Mate.” She whispers. Panicked, I urge Roxie, ‘Let’s get out of here! We are not strong enough to handle a second rejection!’ Roxie pivots to take off in the opposite direction when we hear him. “MATE! STOP WHERE YOU ARE!” God, that sexy voice is an Alpha voice. Why me? Why another Alpha? This is going to be painful. I already know it and there is nothing I can do. “Please don’t go. I may be a feared Alpha, but not to you. Never you.” His words are sincere. But then again, he hasn’t actually seen me yet. I’m still in wolf form and Roxie is a beautiful wolf. ‘Let’s just get this over with Roxie. Maybe we can ask him to hold off until after we eat, so we at least have some strength.’ Roxie remains quiet. She’s definitely nervous and so am I. I pull a shift with my back still turned to my mate. I thought I heard him suck in a breath. I guess he thinks my backside is disgusting too. I say barely above a whisper, “If you don’t mind, I would like to put some clothes on before we speak.” “Of course mate. I’m not going anywhere.” Does he sound excited? It’s almost like I can hear him smile as he speaks. Well, I’m sure it will be short lived. I take a deep breath and before I step out. ‘It’s okay Roxie, we can handle this. We are going to be fine.’ When I see him, my eyes widen. My goddess, he is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. He is all broad shoulders, muscles, and charisma. Much more attractive than Alpha Cullen. I could feel Roxie’s joy. ‘Don’t get too happy Rox, a man this handsome is likely to reject us.’ Roxie whimpers in my mind, because she knows what’s coming. My mate, is looking at me intently. It almost feels indecent the way he keeps looking at me. I instinctively wrap my arms around myself and look down. “Would you mind waiting a few minutes for me to get some food? My wolf has been running for well over an hour and she burns off energy faster than most wolves. We would just like to gain some strength before you reject us.” “Reject you? Why would I do that mate?” He looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “I know I’m not Luna material or beautiful. You don’t have to pretend Alpha.” I look down again. I can’t stand to look at this incredibly handsome man, knowing he will not want me. Carefully, he steps closer to me lifting my gaze to meet his with his finger. I feel little jolts of electricity go straight to my core before he speaks, “First, I don’t know why you think you are not beautiful or who made you believe that you are not beautiful, when you are gorgeous. You’re the most the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life darling. Second, you are MY mate. That makes you MY Luna. No one will dare challenge this fact or they forfeit their life. Now, whats your name, darling?” “Rebel Lawson from Ironclaw. ” Alpha Cullen also asked me for my name, but to reject me. “You seem like you have decided I am going to reject you any moment now. Why is that Rebel? What happened to you?” He asks as if he is catching on to the fact that I’m skeptical about him. I sigh. I might as well rip the band aid. “You are not mate first mate. I met my mate two months ago, and as soon as he saw me, he rejected me.” I saw his eyes darken. “First, I’m glad he rejected you. Because now you are mine, and I’m not only happy, but I’m ecstatic you’re mine. Second, whoever your first mate was, he was a idiot not to see how perfect you are. Either way, it’s his loss and my gain sweetheart. Was he part of Ironclaw?” I stare at him, completely shocked. He says he’s ecstatic I’m his. That’s never a word I thought someone would use to describe being with me. “Yes, he is part of Ironclaw. Actually, he was the one who said I wasn’t Luna material.” “ Luna material? Was your mate Alpha Cullen?” His eyes darken. I look down at the ground and in a very low voice I replied, “Yes.” I looked up slowly and saw rage rolling off of his Alpha aura. “Did that moron hurt you?”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
The faint sound of running water echoed from the bathroom; Vance Bradford was taking a shower. It was three in the morning, and he had just returned home. Rebecca Perry stood at the bathroom door, her heart pounding. There was something she wanted to discuss with him, but she felt nervous, unsure if he would agree once he heard it. As she pondered how to broach the subject, a strange noise came from inside. She listened closely and realized he was pleasuring himself. The heavy breaths and muffled gr0ans struck her like hammers, pounding relentlessly at her chest. Bitterness surged through her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping for air, drowning in agony. Today marked their fifth wedding anniversary, yet they had never consummated their marriage. So, this was why. He'd rather take care of himself than touch her. His breathing grew more frantic, and suddenly, in a moment of intense release, he gr0aned lowly, "Catherine..." That name delivered the final, crushing blow. Something inside her shattered into dust. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs and turned to flee, but in her haste, she stumbled, crashing into the sink and tumbling to the floor. "Rebecca, is that you?" Vance's voice, still ragged from exertion, carried a note of forced composure, though his breathing remained heavy. "I-I needed the bathroom. I didn't know you were showering," she stammered, desperately grabbing the sink to pull herself up. But in her panic, she made things worse. Water slicked the floor and countertop, making it impossible to find her footing. She finally managed to stand just as Vance emerged. His white bathrobe was hastily thrown on, the belt cinched tightly around his waist. "Did you fall? Let me help you," he said, reaching out to lift her. Tears brimmed in her eyes from the pain, but she pushed his hand away, stubborn and resolute. "No need. I can manage myself." She steadied herself but nearly slipped again. Limping awkwardly, she fled back to the bedroom—a hasty escape from the awkward scene. For five years, she had been hiding from the outside world, from the judgmental stares, and from Vance's sympathy. She was ashamed of her condition, though she used to have strong, beautiful legs before the accident. She always felt inferior. A cripple like her didn't deserve someone as accomplished and luminous as Vance Bradford. Vance followed her, his tone gentle and concerned. "Does it hurt? Let me check." "It's nothing." She burrowed under the covers, hiding her embarrassment along with her body. "Are you sure?" His worry seemed genuine. "Yeah." She nodded, showing her back to him. "Then get some sleep. Don't you want to use the bathroom anymore?" "Nope, let's just rest." "Alright. Oh, it's our anniversary today. I got you a gift. Open it tomorrow and see if you like it." "Okay." The gift sat on the nightstand; she had already spotted it. She didn't need to unwrap it to know what was inside. Every year, it was the same-sized box containing an identical watch. Her drawer already held nine of them, including birthday gifts. This would be the tenth. The conversation ended. Vance switched off the light and lay down. The air was filled with the damp, fresh scent of his shower gel, but she barely felt the mattress dip under his weight. The bed was giant, but they lay far apart, each on one edge. The space between them could fit three more people. As if by tacit understanding, neither of them mentioned Catherine Welch or what had transpired in the bathroom. Rebecca lay rigid on her back, her eyes stinging fiercely. Catherine was Vance's college classmate, his first love, and his goddess. After graduation, she had gone abroad, leading to their breakup and his depression. He had spiraled into despair, drinking heavily every day. Rebecca and Vance, however, were classmates in high school. She had harbored a secret crush on him back then. He was the campus heartthrob and an aloof, top student, while she spent most of her time in a dance studio far from the spotlight. She was pretty enough, but she was quiet, never one to stand at the center of things, and in a school full of confident, outspoken girls, she was easy to overlook. So, her feelings had remained her private secret; she never dreamed of approaching him. That changed after she graduated from the dance academy and returned home for summer break, encountering him in his broken state. He was heavily drunk that night, weaving erratically down the street. As he crossed the road without checking the lights, a car barreled toward him, unable to brake in time. She had been trailing him out of concern and shoved him aside—just in time for the car to strike her instead. At that time, she had secured a spot in graduate school, but the accident left her crippled. She could never dance again. Afterward, he quit drinking and married her. He remained forever indebted, forever grateful, soft-spoken and distant. He showered her with gifts and money, but never with love. She had believed time could heal everything and soften the edges of her pain. Yet after five years, he still clung to Catherine so deeply that even in his most private moments, it was her name he uttered. She had been fool and naïve. She lay awake all night, checking an email on her phone over a hundred times. It was an offer from a foreign university for graduate studies—the very thing she had planned to discuss with him that evening. But now, there was no need to consult him. Their five-year marriage, filled with countless sleepless nights, could finally begin its countdown. When he rose in the morning, she feigned sleep, overhearing him speak to the housekeeper, Nancy. "I have a business dinner tonight. Tell Rebecca not to wait up; she should rest early." After his instructions, he returned to the bedroom to check on her. She hid under the covers, her pillow soaked with tears. Normally, she would prepare his outfit for work, laying it out neatly. But not today. He dressed himself in the walk-in closet and left for the office. Only then did she open her eyes, feeling them swollen and sore. Her phone alarm buzzed—the daily reminder she had set for herself to study. Since the marriage, her leg had confined her to the house most of the time. To pass the endless hours, she divided her days into segments, filling each with small tasks. She silenced the alarm and mindlessly scrolled through apps. Her mind was a jumble, unable to focus on anything, until she saw a familiar face in a video. It was posted just the night before, and the account name was Cathy W. The algorithm was really uncanny, delivering this right before her eyes. Rebecca tapped on the video, and lively music played, followed by voices shouting, "Three, two, one! Welcome back, Catherine! Cheers!" One voice stood out—Vance's. Chapter 2 Vance had broken his no-drinking rule. He was obviously drunk, or else he wouldn't have shouted like that. In Rebecca's memories, Vance in high school was the aloof genius, always focused on his studies. Once, a girl who admired him had offered him water on the sports field, but he had ignored her. As her husband, he was polite and emotionally steady, never laughing heartily or showing anger. He was so calm, so detached that even brushing his fingers felt cool. The video panned across faces, capturing a flushed Vance. His eyes were sparkling as he raised his glass with a broad smile. "Welcome home, Cathy." So, he could laugh, be passionate, and use intimate nicknames. He just didn't do that to Rebecca. He never smiled at her, never showed passion, and never called her by her nickname. Nancy's voice came from outside, interrupting her thoughts. "Madam, are you up yet?" Rebecca's daily routine was predictable. When there was no response, Nancy worried she might need help, especially considering her leg injury. Rebecca set her phone aside, her voice hoarse. "Coming out soon." Nancy made sandwiches for breakfast, but Rebecca managed only one bite before losing her appetite. Nancy handed her a glass of milk. "Madam, what would you like for lunch and dinner?" "Anything, I guess," Rebecca started, then swallowed her usual response of making whatever Vance liked. But Nancy understood the implication. That was just the same daily conversation. "Mr. Bradford said he won't be home for dinner. He has a commitment." Rebecca nodded, having seen the list in that post. Catherine had scheduled a week's worth of dinners, listing who was treating and what she craved. [The most genuine friendships from the student days. I'm so lucky to have so many boys pampering me.] Normally, Rebecca's day involved two hours of French study and several more on art theory. Without something to occupy her, how could she endure the endless waiting for Vance to come home? She had waited before... The ache of it was unbearable. Now her plans were different. This offer was likely the university's final round of admissions; she needed to confirm quickly. Her first task was to pay the confirmation fee. When the bank notification popped up, she exhaled in relief. It was another step closer to leaving Vance. That evening, she changed her clothes and prepared to go out. Nancy asked wonderingly, "Madam, where are you going?" Without Vance, Rebecca hardly ever left the house. "Oh, a college friend is performing nearby and invited me to meet," she lied. In truth, she was heading to a hotel near the exam center. She'd have the French Proficiency test tomorrow, and it was scheduled for the morning. Rushing there risked traffic delays. Her previous attempt months ago hadn't met her target score, but with application deadlines looming, she had submitted anyway. Surprisingly admitted, she could now supplement her scores. That was thanks to the school allowing post-admission updates. "But..." Nancy hesitated, eyeing her leg. "Should I accompany you?" Rebecca kept her expression neutral. "No need. It's a girls' night; an extra person would be awkward." Nancy fretted over potential mishaps. "Then I'll let Mr. Bradford know." "No, let him focus on his evening. I'll call him after and have him pick me up." Rebecca grabbed her bag and left. Considering her mobility, Vance had chosen a spacious flat for their home. She took the elevator down and stepped outside. The sunlight made her instinctively lower her head, hunch her shoulders, and pull on a hat, raising her collar. Since her injury, the once-confident dancer who thrived on stage had vanished. Crippled, she had lost the courage to face the public eye. Nancy often advised outings only with Vance, and the man always suggested Rebecca stay at home. They didn't understand. Outings with Vance terrified her more. It was even worse than going out alone. Every glance screamed, "Why does such an outstanding man have a cripple as his wife?" Rebecca hailed a cab to the hotel. En route, gazing at the passing scenery, she spotted Vance's car parked on the roadside. "Could you stop here, please?" she said to the driver. His car was outside a restaurant, which reminded her of Catherine's post. Yesterday, one of his friends had hosted that gathering, and today it was his turn. On impulse, she got out and entered the restaurant. At the reception desk, she said, "I'm here to join Mr. Vance Bradford." She gave his phone number, and a waiter led her to the private room. "This is the one." "Thank you," she said, though she didn't really know why she had come. Earlier, impulse had driven her; now, at the door, her courage faltered. She didn't even dare to open it. Lively chatter emanated from inside. "I can't stay late or drink tonight. Got chewed out by my wife last night," said a guy. "Come on. You said friends come first, even over the king. Now you're henpecked? Guess Vance is the real man here," Catherine protested, her voice soft and coquettish. So, that was her personality. Vance liked that type. Too bad Rebecca was nothing like that, not even close. She couldn't even fake it. The guy whined, "Vance is different. Rebecca wouldn't dare to complain." "By the way," Catherine chimed in, looking at Vance, "I heard your wife is crippled? What happened?" There was no answer, but Rebecca felt a pang in her heart. The conversation continued inside. "Vance, we feel bad for you. With your money, looks, and success, you could have anyone. Why marry a cripple?" "Honestly, you're the best of us. Now with Rebecca, you can't bring her to meetings, events, or press—anywhere a wife should appear. What a loss!" So, that was why. Vance always kept her away from business affairs, telling her to just wait at home for him to bring back money. Her family praised him endlessly, saying she was blessed to live a life of luxury. But now she realized he couldn't bear to show her off in public. Inside the room, Vance laughed bitterly. "She saved my life. I owe her." "You've repaid her with all that money. Isn't that enough to settle it?" "Exactly! Should have just paid her off and moved on. Why sacrifice your happiness?" "Think it through, man. It's better to enshrine a statue and pray for wealth. What's the point of keeping her?" "What can she help you with? She can't attend events, and at home all she does is pour tea. Vance, do you seriously want this?" Laughter erupted, Catherine's peals among them. "Really, Vance? Is that how she walks?" Eavesdropping at the door, Rebecca felt blood rush to her head. Fury and humiliation knocked her off balance, causing her to push open the door. Everyone was laughing loudly as Vance's childhood friend, Aiden Hodge, dramatically limped while holding a glass of water, speaking in a falsetto voice. "Vance, have some water. Ah, I slipped. Vance, help me up." Rebecca stared at Vance, hoping that the man she loved more than anything would stand up for her. Chapter 3 The exaggerated performance fueled even more laughter. Catherine, seated beside Vance, collapsed onto his shoulder in hysterics. The man remained silent. Aiden turned, still grinning. "Vance, is it like..." His words died as he caught sight of Rebecca standing in the doorway. His smile faltered, and his tongue twisted. "R-Rebecca?" The others followed him to look over, all freezing. Catherine got up from Vance's shoulder, grinning. "Oh, this must be the legendary Mrs. Bradford. Come on in. I'm Catherine Welch, Vance's friend." Rebecca scanned the room, her blood running cold. Finally, Vance stood up and walked over to her. "Rebecca? What are you doing here? They were just joking. Don't take it to heart." She stared at him, feeling utterly alienated. For the first time, he seemed a stranger. In the face of mockery toward his wife, he sided with them. Aiden put down his glass, apologizing, "Y-Yeah, it was a joke. I'm sorry, Rebecca. Please don't be mad." Vance moved closer, attempting to embrace her. "Rebecca." But Rebecca recalled Catherine leaning on him earlier, his mas-tur-ba-tion in the bathroom, and the name he uttered in the climax. That hand, the one reaching for her now, felt utterly filthy. She quickly stepped back, avoiding him. "Rebecca?" Vance stared at his empty hand in confusion, then sighed. "I apologize on their behalf. Don't be upset, okay? I'll get a gift to make up for you. Anything you want." Catherine shot Aiden a playful glare. "This is your fault, Aiden. Apologize properly. Not everyone's like me, clumsy and thick-skinned, laughing off your jokes." Rebecca sneered at her cheeky speech, but these men didn't even sense the manipulation. Aiden grumbled, "I already did! Didn't know she'd show up. It was just a joke." "A joke is only funny if the target laughs," Rebecca retorted, her voice shaking with newfound courage. For five years, this curse of her unworthiness of Vance had confined her. Mocking glances made her shrink, retreating like a quail to lick her wounds alone. Aiden winced, "But I already apologized." "I-I don't accept it!" Rebecca trembled harder, defying mockery for the first time. Aiden mumbled, "Then what do you want?" Rebecca shook her head, having no answer. She just rejected their ridicule and Vance's alignment with them. "Enough, everyone." Vance intervened, positioning himself between her and Aiden. He was the leader of the group, his words carrying authority. After graduation, his business savvy had built their empire. The room fell silent, and he nodded, turning back to Rebecca. "Hey," he said evenly, his gaze as detached as ever, unlike the warmth in Catherine's video. "These are my longtime friends. They didn't mean to hurt your feelings. No malice, just banter. Forgive them this once. I'll have the driver take you home." "Rebecca," Catherine pouted, sidling up to Vance. "If you have to blame someone, blame me. This gathering is for my return. Vance, invite her to stay. I'll toast her with an apology." Her phony tone only disgusted Rebecca further and drove her to squint at Vance with resentment. It was his very indulgence that fed Catherine's boldness. "I'm fine," she said, holding back her bitterness. "I don't drink, especially not sour alc0-h0l." "Vance, is she insulting me? I..." Catherine wrinkled her nose, choking back her tears. "She misunderstood me, but it's fine. Don't blame her." Vance's jaw tightened. "Catherine meant well. Why are you being sarcastic?" "Meant well?" Rebecca snorted. Only a fool would think those words were spoken with good intentions, but Vance wasn't fool. He simply showed bias, siding with whom he favored rather than who was right. That side was always the one closest to his heart. Rebecca eyed the pair and their friends, feeling as though an insurmountable chasm lay between them. They formed a solid unit, while she was an intruder in their world. She was forever extraneous. Even lingering on the periphery felt out of place. She swallowed her bitterness, gave a cold laugh, and turned to leave. Behind her, Catherine's voice rang out. "Vance, she..." "It's fine. I'll talk to her when I get back," Vance said, waving it off. "Let's continue." Secretly, he glanced at the retreating figure, texting the driver to esc0rt her. Rebecca yearned to walk gracefully, but every step she took felt more unstable. Agitation only worsened her limp, her frantic exit mirroring Aiden's mockery. That would definitely make them laugh even harder. She wiped her tears with a trembling hand, hastening and wobbling more. The driver chased after her, but she was nowhere to be found outside the restaurant. The driver reported it to Vance, who frowned and called her. Rebecca rejected it and turned off her phone at the next one. Aiden was irked. "Her temper is just too short. You spoil her too much, man. With your status and looks, any wife would worship you. Yet she sulks? You're too soft." Vance stayed silent, but the others piled on. "Aiden is right. You sacrifice too much for her and the family, working tirelessly. She doesn't appreciate or support you. Throwing a tantrum over the smallest things. Worth it?" "Marrying her was charity. Who else wants a cripple? Without you, she'd wed another disabled person." Chapter 4 Catherine, reading the room, interjected timely, "Don't mind their harsh words, but as your long-time friends, we're truly concerned about you. We're blunt, but it's nothing personal. Don't take it to heart." "I'm not upset," Vance replied, pocketing his phone. "Doesn't matter. She won't stray far. Let's go on." In five years, home was her only refuge. He was not worried because she had nowhere else to go. Aiden eyed Catherine, muttering, "Catherine is the bigger person here. If you two hadn't split..." "Don't talk nonsense." Catherine glared. "Keep your mouth shut for one night. Vance is married now. That's inappropriate." Her gaze turned wistful toward Vance. "I don't want much. Just want to be accepted by you guys and stay by your side. That's enough." "Silly talk." Aiden thumped his chest loyally. "You're forever our princess, and we will never let anyone bully you. Vance, right?" Vance swirled his wine, the scene evocative of old times. He'd sit back, watching his crew banter with Catherine, not intervening unless things got out of hand. Now queried, he smiled faintly. "Of course." ... Rebecca didn't go home. Instead, she settled into her booked hotel. All the pent-up grievances and pain were unleashed the moment she closed the door behind her. Aiden's limp-mocking replayed endlessly in her mind, and their laughter haunted her like a curse. She had known all along their whispers behind her back, but she had never told Vance. She understood his work's toll, so she avoided conflicts, unwilling to add to his burdens or strain his bonds with his friends. Now, she saw her folly. He'd never clash with them over her; their friendship trumped everything. To him, she was nothing more than a debt—a burden that dragged him down. Without her, his life would be so much easier. "She is a cripple. Who else would want her?" "Yet she still expects so much from Vance?" "I'd rather be the crippled one than wed one and face ridicule." "Other CEOs flaunt elegant partners; Vance? He doesn't even have someone he can take out in public." ... The gossip and ridicule that Rebecca had heard over the past five years came rushing back like a tidal wave. She felt like she was being dragged under, drowning in it all. She couldn't breathe, the pain so intense it felt as if her chest and lungs were being torn apart. Trembling, she accessed a locked album on her phone—something untouched for five years. It contained photos and videos from her school days, documenting her dance practices and shows. Post-injury, she sealed these relics, set a password, and forced herself not to open it. Now her shaky finger tapped on a random video. The music played; she spun, flipped, and performed a mid-air split. She was vibrant, agile, and applauded thunderously. Was saving Vance wrong? But even then, marriage wasn't her aim. He insisted, orchestrating a grand proposal and kneeling before her with a huge diamond ring that sparked hope. She turned off her phone and collapsed in sobs. It was the first unbridled cry in five years. She wept until her tears ran out, but pain remained burning in her chest, licking at her from the inside like fire. But it was that very pain that brought her a moment of clarity in the suffocating whirlpool of emotions. The more it hurt, the more lucid she became. She rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face to calm down. The mirror reflected her dulled self, and she bit her lip. "Rebecca, one good cry is enough. No more. Now, eat well, rest well, and tomorrow, focus on your exam." The one thing she could be thankful for was that, during those long five years, she had spent her time studying to ki11 the boredom. Not because she had grand ambitions. She just had so much time and had nothing to do. Waiting for Vance to come home had been her whole life, but he always came home late. At first, she thought it was because of work. Later, she realized that he just didn't want to face her too soon. She had overheard it herself. Back then, she understood how hard he worked. She even gathered the courage to show concern for him, making him special meals and delivering them to his office, only to overhear the hard truth. He was talking with a friend who asked why he hadn't gone home yet. There was hardly anyone left in the office, and yet he, the CEO, was still working overtime. Vance had replied, "I don't know how to face my wife's enthusiasm." Simple-minded back then, Rebecca didn't understand the implication, but that friend did. He gasped, "No way! Don't tell me you haven't slept together yet." Vance fell silent because that was the truth. He never touched her, even though she had hinted or taken the initiative. Every time, he found excuses like her condition or his tiredness to reject her. She wasn't fool. Gradually, she realized he simply didn't love her, and that was why he didn't want to touch her. But hearing it from his mouth hurt her deeply, the pain almost suffocating. His friend, half-jokingly, half-seriously, asked him, "You don't mean to tell me you have no physical reaction at all, do you? Anyway, she's pretty." Vance's reply was the needle that pierced deep into her heart, and for the following years, it continually wounded her. Every time she thought about it, the pain would gnaw at her. "I've tried," Vance replied. "I wanted to have a normal married life with her, but every time I look at her leg, I lose all interest." So, that was how it was. Her leg, the one scarred and atrophied from saving him, in his eyes was disgusting, revolting. It was something that turned him off and ki11ed his desire. She never knocked on the office door that day. The meal she had prepared with such care was thrown into the trash can. From then on, she never set foot in his company again. Chapter 5 After that incident, Rebecca turned to books. She hadn't planned far ahead; she simply wanted to infuse her empty life with quiet pursuits. Keeping busy might dull the sting of those words. She never expected these small, personal distractions would, in the end, become her lifeline. She needed to ace tomorrow's exam. She had to leave this place, as far away as possible. The thought still brought intense pain to her heart. She couldn't distinguish if the ache stemmed from Vance or from her five wasted years. But it no longer mattered. What counted was refusing to wallow in the pain any longer. Even if it lingered for ages before fading, she was committed to saving herself. She ordered a light meal and a set of disposable clothes. Then she phoned the front desk for a morning wake-up call, and at last, she compelled herself to sleep. Perhaps due to the previous night's insomnia, she slept soundly. The next day, she woke up on time and turned on her phone. Messages poured in, the device vibrating incessantly, all from Vance. She skipped reading them, fearing they'd disrupt her focus on the exam. After breakfast, she left for the exam center, which was a mere five-minute walk away. As soon as she stepped out of the hotel, her phone buzzed with a call from Vance. In a panic, she nearly dropped it, swiftly rejecting the call before shutting it off again. Emerging from the exam hall, her heart pounded with exhilaration. She felt satisfied with her performance. The oral examiner smiled throughout their conversation. She understood most of what she heard, and the written parts felt steady and controlled. She dared not predict her score, but at least she had completed everything. She wasn't useless after all. Walking alone on the sidewalk, she kept her head down, mentally reviewing every detail of the exam until a pair of leather shoes appeared in her path. Expecting no deliberate block, she couldn't retract her step in time and bumped into the person. Without his steadying grip, she would have fallen. And that person was the last one she wanted to see. "Rebecca," Vance muttered, his voice strained. She remained silent, sensing his barely contained anger. He grasped her shoulders and softened his tone, asking in his usual gentle, warm manner, "Why didn't you come home?" He asked that question while knowing the answer, but it wasn't the time to argue with him. Her bag had just been knocked to the ground, the flap open, and her exam pen peeked out, which could give away her participation in the exam. She quickly wrenched free, squatted down, shoved the pen inside, and secured the bag. "What's that?" he asked, looking at her bag. "Nothing. Just a pen," she replied, trying to sound natural, though her fingers gripped the bag so tightly they blanched. "Let me see it," he said. She clutched it closer. "What do you need a pen for?" "Give me your phone," he demanded. After a brief standoff, she extracted it from the bag and handed it over. He glanced at the dead phone, then handed it back. "I called you so many times and sent countless messages. Why didn't you respond? Still angry?" She held the phone, relieved he hadn't delved into her emails or discovered the exam-related messages. If that was his only concern... She had no desire to argue with him or explain anything. She simply wanted to flee far away, and that urge intensified in his presence. Mistaking her silence for lingering resentment, he sighed, "You're usually so understanding. Why run off over this?" Rebecca swore she intended to stay calm, but his words would pr0v0ke even a saint. "Was it my fault? Was I being unreasonable?" she shot back. "Should I have joined in and complimented Aiden on his spot-on imitation?" Vance's face flushed with awkwardness. "That's not what I meant. You can't control what others say. There is no need to take their words to heart." "I can't control them, but you could!" she retorted, staring at him. "What were you doing? Laughing with Catherine pressed against you?" "Rebecca!" His expression darkened, revealing anger for the first time. She understood that Catherine was his sore spot. What more was there to say? She hugged her bag, trying to walk past him. His arm extended, wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. "I'm sorry for yelling at you," he murmured. "I just don't want you to misunderstand Catherine. She is a friend, just like the others. I only see her as a sister. She's unmarried, so speaking ill of her isn't fair." Rebecca couldn't grasp his reasoning. Hadn't they brought this on themselves? Catherine had leaned on him shamelessly, yet they feared commentary? She managed only a faint "Oh." "Rebecca..." he paused, detected her detachment. "Why still upset? You stayed at a hotel alone and didn't return home. I haven't even reproached you much, yet your anger persists?" That was his typical line. In his mind, it was her fault for everything. "Come on, let's drop it," he cooed. "Lunch first. Then I'll accompany you to the mall, alright?" Rebecca considered it. That was fine. She had something to tell him anyway. Vance led her to a nearby restaurant. As they entered, Rebecca instinctively lowered her head, raised her collar, and shuffled behind him to downplay her limp. It was a habit, though she soon relaxed. If she didn't measure up, so be it. She wasn't planning to match him anymore. Once seated, Vance placed the order, passing her the utensils, when the food arrived. "Dig in. These are all your favorites," he said, his voice as soft as ever. Rebecca eyed the spicy dishes and smiled bitterly. He had no idea she couldn't handle spice; home dinners were always spicy because he preferred them. "I'm not hungry," she said, not touching the food. "I have something to tell you." "What is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Wherever you want to go, I'll join you. I have the whole afternoon free. We can hang out, and then we'll go to your parents' house for dinner." She stared at his barely perceptible smile, her heart flooding with profound bitterness as she contemplated the words she was about to utter. Chapter 6 "Vance..." Rebecca choked back her tears, her voice trembling despite her efforts to stay composed. "What's wrong?" Vance reached for her hand. "If you feel like crying, then cry. Don't hold back." His voice was truly so soft and gentle. It brought her back to the day years ago when she had come out of the operating room after the surgery. He and the nurse had wheeled her back to the ward, and he had stayed by her bedside, speaking to her in that same tender tone, as if his words could drip with compassion. "Does it hurt? Cry it out. Don't hold back." At that time, she had believed that such gentle care was the best medicine to ease her pain. Then it took her years to fully understand that a man's tenderness and concern could never truly evolve into love. "Vance, let's get a divorce," she said in a low voice, withdrawing her hand as the stinging pain gradually blurred her eyes with tears. He furrowed his brow, clearly not expecting her to say something like that. After a brief silence, he called over the waiter to bring a clean small dish, then picked up a piece of fish with his fork and carefully began removing the bones. At the same time, he spoke in a soft, soothing voice. "I know you're still angry, but mentioning divorce isn't a rational response. If we divorced, what would you do? How would you manage to live on your own?" Rebecca's breathing became rapid and uneven. For five years, in the eyes of everyone around her, she had been seen as nothing more than his appendage. If separated from him, she would become a pitiful, unwanted soul incapable of surviving independently. And now, it was clear that he thought the same way. "I can do it," she replied firmly. For the first time, she stood her ground with determination, eager to prove her strength and fight for her dignity. Yet he merely smiled, as if dismissing her words as nothing more than a momentary fit of pique. He placed the carefully deboned fish in front of her and said, "Eat up. I'll permit you to stay upset for a little while longer, but once the meal is over, you can't be angry anymore." "I'm not angry. I want a divorce," she insisted, unsure how to make him see that her request wasn't just an impulsive outburst born from frustration. "You see," he set down his fork, "today, I pushed back two meetings and a business discussion specifically to spend time with you and make you happy. Tomorrow and the day after, I might not have nearly as much availability. Let me repeat this. Catherine is a good friend to all of us. She's part of our crew. I treat her the same as I do Aiden and the others. She really likes you and has always wanted to become friends with you. With this attitude of yours, how am I supposed to introduce her to you properly?" "Then there's no need to introduce her at all," Rebecca replied, not believing for a second that Catherine truly wanted to be friends with her. Vance's voice sharpened. "Rebecca!" She had known that, whenever the topic involved Catherine, his patience wore thin, and his temper wasn't as controlled. "Eat up. Afterward, we'll go to the mall, buy whatever you like, and then head over to your parents' house for dinner. It's been quite a while since you've gone back to see them, hasn't it?" he said, adding more food to her plate. Unwilling to deprive herself, she picked up her fork and began eating what she could. Regardless of the situation, she needed to ensure she maintained her health first and foremost. There was no point in taking out her frustrations on her stomach. "That's the right approach," Vance said, his voice returning to its gentle tone. "But from now on, don't bring up that word again." She paused for a moment, then lowered her head and continued eating in silence. After finishing the meal, she had no desire to go shopping, but Vance insisted on it, driving them directly to the mall without further discussion. Over the course of their five-year marriage, the number of times Vance had accompanied her on a shopping trip could be counted on one hand. In fact, the occasions when they had appeared together in public at all were exceedingly rare. The mall's lighting was intensely bright, even during the daytime, creating a glaring atmosphere that she found uncomfortable. Clutching her purse, she walked cautiously in his shadow. The first floor was lined with counters displaying luxury bags, watches, and jewelry. "Anything you like?" he asked, turning around. She didn't want to buy anything at all. She just wanted to go home. But before she could respond, someone called out from a distance, "Mr. Bradford!" "It's a new business partner I've recently connected with. I'll go over and greet them quickly," Vance explained. "You can browse around on your own for a bit. I'll come find you shortly." Vance's clients were all people she didn't know. She watched as he walked over and shook hands with a gentleman not far away, then stood there awkwardly. Amid all this opulent luxury, there was nothing that caught her interest or that she wanted to purchase. Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a sales associate. "Miss, it's your turn." She turned around, realizing that she had inadvertently positioned herself in the queue at one of the luxury brand stores. "Oh, no, thank you," she said hastily, quickly stepping away from the line. She wandered through the mall until, at a certain high-end watch counter, she caught sight of a familiar figure—Catherine. As she looked at the brand of watches on display, something heavy seemed to sink deep within her chest, and without fully realizing it, she found herself walking toward the counter. Accompanying Catherine in browsing the watches was Aiden. As Rebecca approached closer, the conversation between the two became increasingly audible. "If you like it, just go ahead and buy it," Aiden said. Catherine hesitated. "But this doesn't seem right. Even though Vance gave me his supplementary card and told me to use it freely, I can't bring myself to buy something this pricey." Rebecca stopped in her tracks, unable to take another step. Her heart felt as heavy as her feet. "The supplementary card... Vance's supplementary card..." "Since he gave it to you, he obviously meant for you to use it. When has Vance ever been the type to say one thing but mean another?" Aiden reassured her. "We've been friends for so many years. You know his character better than anyone. If he gives something, it's with full sincerity." "I guess you're right." Catherine nodded, beginning to turn her wrist this way and that to show Aiden the watch from various angles. Rebecca saw it, too. "How does it look?" Catherine asked. "I really love this model. I've wanted it since college. Vance promised me he'd buy it for me upon graduation, but then..." A wave of mocking yet bitter amusement welled up in Rebecca's heart. But then, every year on her birthday and their wedding anniversary, Vance had given her watches of this same model. Originally, she had thought that even if Vance didn't put much heart into it, at least he remembered her important dates and their anniversaries. The gifts might have been repetitive and lacking in thoughtfulness, but they were at least valuable. Now she realized that he did care. It was just that none of it had ever been directed toward her. "Well, Vance is fulfilling that promise now, isn't he?" Aiden laughed. "You can buy whatever you want these days. He can afford it all." "Then I'll go ahead and charge it?" Catherine said, her excitement visibly growing by the second. Meanwhile, in another part of the mall, Vance had finished exchanging pleasantries with his business contact. The man, who was there to pick up his wife from shopping, learned that Vance was accompanying his wife as well and suggested they go over to say hello. As Vance walked in her direction, Rebecca quickly ducked out of sight, hiding behind a Roman column. Catherine spotted him and waved her hand enthusiastically. "Vance, over here!" Peering out from behind the column, Rebecca saw Vance and his business contact making their way toward Catherine. She immediately linked her arm through Vance's and began swaying it playfully. "I want to buy this watch. Is that okay?" "Sure," Vance replied, his gaze softening. The sparkle in his eyes brought his entire face to life, a stark contrast to the bland, emotionless demeanor he always wore at home when he was with Rebecca. "Thank you. I'm going to swipe the card now," Catherine chirped, waving the supplementary card. The business contact smiled warmly. "You guys have such a deep bond. It's so touching, Mr. and Mrs. Bradford." The pair blinked at the appellation, but neither of them attempted to correct the misunderstanding. Chapter 7 After a moment of awkwardness, Vance and Catherine quickly adjusted to the mistaken roles. They began chatting and laughing effortlessly with the business contact. Standing together, they looked like a well-matched couple. Rebecca watched silently, taking a photo with her phone. As she turned to leave, the sharp "needle" buried deep in her heart pricked her once more. A sharp, intricate pain that rapidly spread through her chest, even causing a sour ache at the tip of her nose. Just as she was about to exit the mall, a voice called out, "Rebecca?" She turned to see someone waving vigorously from the descending escalator. To her surprise, it was her instructor from the dance academy. "Mrs. Lemke?" she exclaimed, her heart lifting with joy. Lauren Lemke quickly descended the escalator and approached, taking hold of Rebecca's hands with evident joy. "It's really you, Rebecca! It's been five years since we last saw each other. How have you been?" A wave of sadness washed over her. Five years had passed, and she had lived like a useless invalid. Facing Lauren now, she felt embarrassed. Still holding Rebecca's hand, Lauren asked, "Are you busy? If not, let's find a place to have some afternoon tea." Rebecca wasn't busy at all. In the past, her deep-seated insecurity might have led her to shut herself off further, politely declining any connection to her old dance world and its people. But ever since she had opened that album of dance photos and videos on her phone, it felt as though a fissure had cracked open in her darkened sky. Suddenly, she yearned for light to pour in. She nodded, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Sounds good." Lauren led her to a cozy teahouse located in the center of the first floor, and she asked, "How are the others? What have they been up to?" She had distanced herself from that world so completely and for so long that she had withdrawn from every single group chat with her former peers. "Do you really want to know?" Lauren gave her a perceptive look, aware of her situation. The promising student who had been guaranteed a spot in graduate school suddenly gave it up. Naturally, questions had arisen, and Lauren had even made a special trip to Soliaridge to visit her once. Rebecca nodded emphatically, and Lauren proceeded to fill her in. Five years was indeed enough time to transform a person's life entirely. Her classmates had all moved forward in remarkable ways. Some had joined dance troupes and risen to become principal dancers. Others had pursued advanced studies abroad and now held doctoral degrees. A few had stayed on at the academy as instructors, nurturing the next generation of talent. Everyone had taken a big step forward in their respective paths. Only she had remained stagnant. But starting from today, she vowed to make a change. She would strive to catch up, even if she could no longer dance. She would find her place in other fields. "I-I'm ready to give you an update on my progress too," she said, her eyes feeling hot and prickly. She felt she owed Lauren more than just a promise. "That would be wonderful," Lauren replied with a smile as warm and encouraging as ever. Rebecca leaned in close to Lauren's ear and whispered about her plans to study abroad. "This is fantastic! I knew it! None of my students are quitters!" Lauren exclaimed, gripping her hand tightly in excitement. "And it couldn't be better timing. Our troupe has a European tour coming up. You should come along to get a sense of things and start adapting to life over there." "I..." Rebecca hesitated, not sure if her legs could handle the trip. She could no longer dance; even walking was a pain for her. And the graduate program she had applied for was in a theoretical field. "Nothing's impossible," Lauren encouraged her. "If that accident hadn't happened, you would have been a member of the youth dance troupe by now. You can join us in a support role—as a runner, stage manager, or even helping with makeup." Lauren spoke with such firm conviction, treating Rebecca not as a cripple but as someone fully capable. Rebecca couldn't help but smile; she loved this feeling of not being defined or pitied because of her disability. Even if she couldn't dance, she could still contribute in other ways. She wasn't just a useless invalid. Lauren's phone vibrated with an incoming message. After reading it, she looked up and said, "It's my husband. Would you mind if he joins us?" "Of course not," Rebecca replied with a smile, though she felt a bit timid about it. After five years of seclusion, she had grown unaccustomed to meeting new people, but she knew she had to start somewhere. This was her first step. "Then I'll have him come over," Lauren said, replying to the message. However, what Rebecca never could have anticipated was that Lauren's husband turned out to be the very same business contact Vance had met earlier. "Pascal is here on business, and I came along for a few days of leisure, not expecting to run into you. It's fate," Lauren explained. Rebecca noticed that Vance, Catherine, and Pascal were walking together toward the teahouse. When the trio finally arrived at their table, Rebecca remained seated, observing the fascinating shifts in color on Vance's and Catherine's faces. "Come take a seat. This is my wife, Lauren. She is a dance teacher," Pascal said warmly. "And this is the gentleman I'm collaborating with on this trip, Mr. Vance Bradford, along with his wife." Vance's hand trembled slightly, and Catherine fidgeted restlessly. They both stared at Rebecca with tense anxiety. Rebecca simply looked back at them, offering a faint, composed smile. Lauren also made introductions for Rebecca's benefit. "This is my husband, Pascal." Then, pointing to Rebecca, she added, "And this is one of my students—the one who had the greatest potential to win the National Dance Championship back in the day." Vance stiffened at the mention of the contest, and his gaze shifted downward, as if he were attempting to look at Rebecca's leg. Rebecca detected unmistakable pain in his eyes. Of course, he was in pain. If it hadn't been for her injury, he would never have married her. In that case, the woman by his side now could have rightfully been his wife. Rebecca chuckled, "Actually, I am..." "Ah!" Catherine let out a sharp yelp at just the right moment, interrupting Rebecca mid-sentence. Rebecca paused, looking over. Catherine had spilled the tea, the hot liquid splashing all over her hand and clothes. "I'm so sorry. How embarrassing. This is really rude of me," she stammered, hurriedly grabbing napkins to wipe it up. "It's alright," Lauren said, not understanding the underlying tension, and even helped by passing more tissues. The episode prevented Rebecca from revealing the truth. But if Rebecca had truly wanted to continue, no one could have stopped her. From across the table, Vance cast her a pleading glance, subtly shaking his head and mouthing, "Don't say it." Truth be told, she hadn't intended to say it in the first place. She had deliberately spoken only half the sentence, just to watch the two of them scramble in panic. Throughout this afternoon tea session, some sat as if on pins and needles, while others remained perfectly at ease. As Rebecca reached for her teacup, Lauren suddenly noticed something in her hand. "Is that a wedding ring? You're married? To whom?" The question landed like a bolt from the blue, causing Vance and Catherine to pale dramatically. Rebecca glanced at Vance's hand resting beside his teacup, a mocking smile curling at the corner of her lips. He had never once worn a wedding ring; the pair from their ceremony had been removed immediately after the wedding and left to gather dust somewhere unknown. "Yes, I've been married for five years now," she replied calmly. "My husband's last name is Bradford."
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
My wife, Sophia, valued promises above all else. So after her best friend passed away, she promised to take good care of her friend’s younger brother, Alex—and she truly treated him as the most important person in her life. At every social event, she brought Alex along. She bought him the most expensive watches, arranged the best jobs for him, and even when I worked nonstop for 72 hours to secure a major contract for the company, she didn’t hesitate to give all the credit to Alex But nothing for me. Till that day, the earthquake struck. I rushed into the collapsing building where she was trapped to save her, only to have my leg crushed beneath the rubble. But without a second thought, Sophia chose to save Alex, who had only suffered a minor scratch. Hearing my desperate cries for help, Sophia frowned and shouted, “At a time like this, you’re still trying to compete with Alex? He can’t get hurt! I promised Bella I’d take good care of him! Figure out how to save yourself!” Sophia valued promises above all else. But on our wedding day, she had also promised that she would never let me be harmed. --- At the Sinclair family banquet, Marcus sat like an outsider at the very corner of the table, with the cheapest food laid out in front of him. Meanwhile, his wife, Sophia, stood in the spotlight with another man on her arm. That man was Alexander, the younger brother of Sophia’s late best friend. Hand in hand, the two of them looked as though they were the real married couple. “Look, Sophia and Alex are truly a perfect pair! It’s been so long since I’ve seen such a perfectly suited young couple!” The whispers around him made Marcus even more restless. He wanted to stand up and announce that he was Sophia’s husband—that Alex was merely... But what exactly was Alex’s place? Whenever Marcus thought about that question, a dark shadow would rise in his heart. "Alexander here closed three major deals this month! Three! The Whitmore contract, and that tricky negotiation with the Morrison Group. The boy's a natural!" Alexander waved off the praise with practiced modesty. "I only did what Sophia trained me to do. She's the true genius behind the strategy." "You're too modest," Sophia said, her voice warm in a way Marcus hadn't heard directed at him in months. "I couldn't have done it without you. You're invaluable to me." Invaluable to me. The words struck like physical blows. Marcus's hands clenched beneath the table. She'd never said that about him. Never called him invaluable, necessary, important. In three years of marriage, he'd never been anything but a burden she tolerated because she'd made some misguided promise about destiny and Saintess intuition. "A toast!" Grandfather Sebastian raised his glass, his voice still strong despite his eighty years. "To Alexander Grant—a young man who understands how to treat a Saintess properly! Who knows what true strength and capability look like!" Crystal clinked. Voices rose in agreement. Marcus's glass remained on the table, untouched. Dessert arrived in waves of culinary artistry—delicate pastries that looked like jewels, chocolate sculptures too beautiful to eat, fruits carved into impossible shapes. The staff moved with choreographed precision, serving the head table first, working their way through the hierarchy. Marcus's dessert arrived last. Naturally. Then Alexander stood, and the room fell silent with anticipation. "Sophia," he said, his voice carrying that smooth confidence of someone who'd never been denied anything. "I saw this and thought of you." He produced a velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate crystal necklace that caught the chandelier light and threw rainbows across the ceiling. The centerpiece was a flawless diamond, suspended in an intricate web of silver and smaller crystals that seemed to pulse with faint holy energy. "It reminded me of your pure and radiant spirit," Alexander continued. "The way you bring light to everyone around you." Gasps echoed through the hall. Someone actually clutched their chest like they might faint from the romance of it all. Sophia's eyes glistened. Actual tears. "Alexander, I... I don't know what to say. It's beautiful." "May I?" He gestured to the necklace. She turned, sweeping her hair aside, exposing the elegant curve of her neck. Alexander fastened the necklace with careful fingers, his hands lingering just slightly too long on her shoulders. "Perfect," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect." Sophia touched the pendant, then turned and embraced him. The hug lasted three seconds too long to be merely friendly. Marcus's vision blurred at the edges. "To Alexander Grant!" Grandfather Sebastian's voice rang out again. "A true gentleman who knows quality when he sees it!" Everyone rose. Glasses lifted. Voices joined in celebration of a man who wasn't family, wasn't even trying to be subtle about his intentions, but who everyone clearly preferred to the man Sophia had actually married. Marcus remained seated at his forgotten table, hands clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, nails digging crescents into his palms. The party began winding down. Guests congratulated each other on a successful evening. Business cards exchanged hands. Plans were made for future gatherings. Then Sophia stood, calling for attention. The room quieted instantly—a Saintess commanded respect through mere presence. "Thank you all for celebrating Grandfather's birthday," she began, her voice clear and gracious. "Your presence means everything to our family. I especially want to thank Mother and Father for organizing this beautiful event, and Grandfather for allowing us to honor his remarkable life." She continued through the list: thanking distant cousins for traveling, thanking business partners for their loyalty, thanking the staff for their excellent service. "And finally," Sophia's voice softened, took on that warmth again, "I want to thank Alexander Grant for being my rock during difficult times. For his unwavering support, his brilliant mind, and his constant presence when I needed someone I could truly rely on." The words hung in the air like a verdict. She didn't mention Marcus. Not once. Didn't acknowledge his presence, his existence, his three years of enduring this family's contempt. As if he wasn't even there. The party dispersed. Guests filtered toward the exit. Marcus waited until the crowd thinned, then followed Sophia toward the private family wing. He found her in the hallway, still wearing that crystal necklace Alexander had given her. "Sophia." She turned, her expression cooling the moment she saw him. "What?" "Why?" The word came out hoarse. "Why are you treating me this way?" "Treating you what way?" She crossed her arms. "I've given you everything, Marcus. A home, status, a place in one of the most powerful families in Eastmere State—" "You didn't mention me," he interrupted. "In your speech. You thanked everyone except your husband." "I made a sacred promise to Bella," Sophia said, her voice hardening. "To protect her brother, to ensure he succeeds. Everything I do is to honor that vow. If you can't understand the importance of a Saintess's sacred duty, then you're even more common than I thought." "What about your duty as a wife?" "Don't you dare lecture me about duty!" Sophia's holy power crackled in the air, making the hallway lights flicker. "I've given you everything! What have you given me? You're unemployed, powerless, worthless! You contribute nothing while I build an empire!" The words hit like hammered nails, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. Marcus stared at his wife—this cold, beautiful stranger who wore his wedding ring while calling another man invaluable—and something inside him snapped. His vision went red. With a roar that came from three years of swallowed rage, Marcus turned and stormed back into the banquet hall. The remaining guests looked up in alarm. The dessert table still stood, pristine and perfect, loaded with crystal and fine china. Marcus grabbed the edge and overturned it. The crash was spectacular. Crystal shattered. China exploded across marble. Expensive desserts splattered like abstract art. Guests screamed and scrambled back. Sophia rushed in, eyes wide. "Marcus, what are you—" "If I'm worthless," he snarled, "then nobody celebrates!" He spotted Alexander near the entrance, the man's perfect face showing shock for the first time all evening. Marcus moved. His fist crashed into Alexander's jaw with three years of accumulated fury behind it. The cultivator went down hard, not expecting a "common man" to have such strength. Marcus didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Every punch released another memory—another humiliation, another dismissal, another moment of being invisible in his own marriage. "Marcus, stop!" Sophia recovered, rushing forward. But she didn't pull Marcus away. Instead, she threw herself over Alexander's body, shielding him with her own. "Are you insane?!" she screamed, her eyes glowing with holy power. "You're hurting Bella brother! I promised to protect him!" I promised to protect him. The words echoed in the sudden silence. Marcus stepped back, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding. He stared at his wife kneeling on the floor, protecting another man with her body and her powers, choosing Alexander over him with crystal clarity. "And what about your promise to me?" Marcus asked quietly. "On our wedding day, you promised to honor me. To forsake all others. Remember?" Sophia's face twisted with guilt and anger. "That was before I knew what you really were! Before I realized I married someone who would never amount to anything!" The entire family stood frozen in doorways, watching this brutal dismantling of a marriage. Marcus looked at his wife—really looked at her—and saw the truth he'd been avoiding for three years. She'd never loved him. "I see," he said softly. "You've already made your choice."
My wife, Sophia, valued promises above all else. So after her best friend passed away, she promised to take good care of her friend’s younger brother, Alex—and she truly treated him as the most important person in her life. At every social event, she brought Alex along. She bought him the most expensive watches, arranged the best jobs for him, and even when I worked nonstop for 72 hours to secure a major contract for the company, she didn’t hesitate to give all the credit to Alex But nothing for me. Till that day, the earthquake struck. I rushed into the collapsing building where she was trapped to save her, only to have my leg crushed beneath the rubble. But without a second thought, Sophia chose to save Alex, who had only suffered a minor scratch. Hearing my desperate cries for help, Sophia frowned and shouted, “At a time like this, you’re still trying to compete with Alex? He can’t get hurt! I promised Bella I’d take good care of him! Figure out how to save yourself!” Sophia valued promises above all else. But on our wedding day, she had also promised that she would never let me be harmed. --- At the Sinclair family banquet, Marcus sat like an outsider at the very corner of the table, with the cheapest food laid out in front of him. Meanwhile, his wife, Sophia, stood in the spotlight with another man on her arm. That man was Alexander, the younger brother of Sophia’s late best friend. Hand in hand, the two of them looked as though they were the real married couple. “Look, Sophia and Alex are truly a perfect pair! It’s been so long since I’ve seen such a perfectly suited young couple!” The whispers around him made Marcus even more restless. He wanted to stand up and announce that he was Sophia’s husband—that Alex was merely... But what exactly was Alex’s place? Whenever Marcus thought about that question, a dark shadow would rise in his heart. "Alexander here closed three major deals this month! Three! The Whitmore contract, and that tricky negotiation with the Morrison Group. The boy's a natural!" Alexander waved off the praise with practiced modesty. "I only did what Sophia trained me to do. She's the true genius behind the strategy." "You're too modest," Sophia said, her voice warm in a way Marcus hadn't heard directed at him in months. "I couldn't have done it without you. You're invaluable to me." Invaluable to me. The words struck like physical blows. Marcus's hands clenched beneath the table. She'd never said that about him. Never called him invaluable, necessary, important. In three years of marriage, he'd never been anything but a burden she tolerated because she'd made some misguided promise about destiny and Saintess intuition. "A toast!" Grandfather Sebastian raised his glass, his voice still strong despite his eighty years. "To Alexander Grant—a young man who understands how to treat a Saintess properly! Who knows what true strength and capability look like!" Crystal clinked. Voices rose in agreement. Marcus's glass remained on the table, untouched. Dessert arrived in waves of culinary artistry—delicate pastries that looked like jewels, chocolate sculptures too beautiful to eat, fruits carved into impossible shapes. The staff moved with choreographed precision, serving the head table first, working their way through the hierarchy. Marcus's dessert arrived last. Naturally. Then Alexander stood, and the room fell silent with anticipation. "Sophia," he said, his voice carrying that smooth confidence of someone who'd never been denied anything. "I saw this and thought of you." He produced a velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate crystal necklace that caught the chandelier light and threw rainbows across the ceiling. The centerpiece was a flawless diamond, suspended in an intricate web of silver and smaller crystals that seemed to pulse with faint holy energy. "It reminded me of your pure and radiant spirit," Alexander continued. "The way you bring light to everyone around you." Gasps echoed through the hall. Someone actually clutched their chest like they might faint from the romance of it all. Sophia's eyes glistened. Actual tears. "Alexander, I... I don't know what to say. It's beautiful." "May I?" He gestured to the necklace. She turned, sweeping her hair aside, exposing the elegant curve of her neck. Alexander fastened the necklace with careful fingers, his hands lingering just slightly too long on her shoulders. "Perfect," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect." Sophia touched the pendant, then turned and embraced him. The hug lasted three seconds too long to be merely friendly. Marcus's vision blurred at the edges. "To Alexander Grant!" Grandfather Sebastian's voice rang out again. "A true gentleman who knows quality when he sees it!" Everyone rose. Glasses lifted. Voices joined in celebration of a man who wasn't family, wasn't even trying to be subtle about his intentions, but who everyone clearly preferred to the man Sophia had actually married. Marcus remained seated at his forgotten table, hands clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, nails digging crescents into his palms. The party began winding down. Guests congratulated each other on a successful evening. Business cards exchanged hands. Plans were made for future gatherings. Then Sophia stood, calling for attention. The room quieted instantly—a Saintess commanded respect through mere presence. "Thank you all for celebrating Grandfather's birthday," she began, her voice clear and gracious. "Your presence means everything to our family. I especially want to thank Mother and Father for organizing this beautiful event, and Grandfather for allowing us to honor his remarkable life." She continued through the list: thanking distant cousins for traveling, thanking business partners for their loyalty, thanking the staff for their excellent service. "And finally," Sophia's voice softened, took on that warmth again, "I want to thank Alexander Grant for being my rock during difficult times. For his unwavering support, his brilliant mind, and his constant presence when I needed someone I could truly rely on." The words hung in the air like a verdict. She didn't mention Marcus. Not once. Didn't acknowledge his presence, his existence, his three years of enduring this family's contempt. As if he wasn't even there. The party dispersed. Guests filtered toward the exit. Marcus waited until the crowd thinned, then followed Sophia toward the private family wing. He found her in the hallway, still wearing that crystal necklace Alexander had given her. "Sophia." She turned, her expression cooling the moment she saw him. "What?" "Why?" The word came out hoarse. "Why are you treating me this way?" "Treating you what way?" She crossed her arms. "I've given you everything, Marcus. A home, status, a place in one of the most powerful families in Eastmere State—" "You didn't mention me," he interrupted. "In your speech. You thanked everyone except your husband." "I made a sacred promise to Bella," Sophia said, her voice hardening. "To protect her brother, to ensure he succeeds. Everything I do is to honor that vow. If you can't understand the importance of a Saintess's sacred duty, then you're even more common than I thought." "What about your duty as a wife?" "Don't you dare lecture me about duty!" Sophia's holy power crackled in the air, making the hallway lights flicker. "I've given you everything! What have you given me? You're unemployed, powerless, worthless! You contribute nothing while I build an empire!" The words hit like hammered nails, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. Marcus stared at his wife—this cold, beautiful stranger who wore his wedding ring while calling another man invaluable—and something inside him snapped. His vision went red. With a roar that came from three years of swallowed rage, Marcus turned and stormed back into the banquet hall. The remaining guests looked up in alarm. The dessert table still stood, pristine and perfect, loaded with crystal and fine china. Marcus grabbed the edge and overturned it. The crash was spectacular. Crystal shattered. China exploded across marble. Expensive desserts splattered like abstract art. Guests screamed and scrambled back. Sophia rushed in, eyes wide. "Marcus, what are you—" "If I'm worthless," he snarled, "then nobody celebrates!" He spotted Alexander near the entrance, the man's perfect face showing shock for the first time all evening. Marcus moved. His fist crashed into Alexander's jaw with three years of accumulated fury behind it. The cultivator went down hard, not expecting a "common man" to have such strength. Marcus didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Every punch released another memory—another humiliation, another dismissal, another moment of being invisible in his own marriage. "Marcus, stop!" Sophia recovered, rushing forward. But she didn't pull Marcus away. Instead, she threw herself over Alexander's body, shielding him with her own. "Are you insane?!" she screamed, her eyes glowing with holy power. "You're hurting Bella brother! I promised to protect him!" I promised to protect him. The words echoed in the sudden silence. Marcus stepped back, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding. He stared at his wife kneeling on the floor, protecting another man with her body and her powers, choosing Alexander over him with crystal clarity. "And what about your promise to me?" Marcus asked quietly. "On our wedding day, you promised to honor me. To forsake all others. Remember?" Sophia's face twisted with guilt and anger. "That was before I knew what you really were! Before I realized I married someone who would never amount to anything!" The entire family stood frozen in doorways, watching this brutal dismantling of a marriage. Marcus looked at his wife—really looked at her—and saw the truth he'd been avoiding for three years. She'd never loved him. "I see," he said softly. "You've already made your choice."
My wife, Sophia, valued promises above all else. So after her best friend passed away, she promised to take good care of her friend’s younger brother, Alex—and she truly treated him as the most important person in her life. At every social event, she brought Alex along. She bought him the most expensive watches, arranged the best jobs for him, and even when I worked nonstop for 72 hours to secure a major contract for the company, she didn’t hesitate to give all the credit to Alex But nothing for me. Till that day, the earthquake struck. I rushed into the collapsing building where she was trapped to save her, only to have my leg crushed beneath the rubble. But without a second thought, Sophia chose to save Alex, who had only suffered a minor scratch. Hearing my desperate cries for help, Sophia frowned and shouted, “At a time like this, you’re still trying to compete with Alex? He can’t get hurt! I promised Bella I’d take good care of him! Figure out how to save yourself!” Sophia valued promises above all else. But on our wedding day, she had also promised that she would never let me be harmed. --- At the Sinclair family banquet, Marcus sat like an outsider at the very corner of the table, with the cheapest food laid out in front of him. Meanwhile, his wife, Sophia, stood in the spotlight with another man on her arm. That man was Alexander, the younger brother of Sophia’s late best friend. Hand in hand, the two of them looked as though they were the real married couple. “Look, Sophia and Alex are truly a perfect pair! It’s been so long since I’ve seen such a perfectly suited young couple!” The whispers around him made Marcus even more restless. He wanted to stand up and announce that he was Sophia’s husband—that Alex was merely... But what exactly was Alex’s place? Whenever Marcus thought about that question, a dark shadow would rise in his heart. "Alexander here closed three major deals this month! Three! The Whitmore contract, and that tricky negotiation with the Morrison Group. The boy's a natural!" Alexander waved off the praise with practiced modesty. "I only did what Sophia trained me to do. She's the true genius behind the strategy." "You're too modest," Sophia said, her voice warm in a way Marcus hadn't heard directed at him in months. "I couldn't have done it without you. You're invaluable to me." Invaluable to me. The words struck like physical blows. Marcus's hands clenched beneath the table. She'd never said that about him. Never called him invaluable, necessary, important. In three years of marriage, he'd never been anything but a burden she tolerated because she'd made some misguided promise about destiny and Saintess intuition. "A toast!" Grandfather Sebastian raised his glass, his voice still strong despite his eighty years. "To Alexander Grant—a young man who understands how to treat a Saintess properly! Who knows what true strength and capability look like!" Crystal clinked. Voices rose in agreement. Marcus's glass remained on the table, untouched. Dessert arrived in waves of culinary artistry—delicate pastries that looked like jewels, chocolate sculptures too beautiful to eat, fruits carved into impossible shapes. The staff moved with choreographed precision, serving the head table first, working their way through the hierarchy. Marcus's dessert arrived last. Naturally. Then Alexander stood, and the room fell silent with anticipation. "Sophia," he said, his voice carrying that smooth confidence of someone who'd never been denied anything. "I saw this and thought of you." He produced a velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate crystal necklace that caught the chandelier light and threw rainbows across the ceiling. The centerpiece was a flawless diamond, suspended in an intricate web of silver and smaller crystals that seemed to pulse with faint holy energy. "It reminded me of your pure and radiant spirit," Alexander continued. "The way you bring light to everyone around you." Gasps echoed through the hall. Someone actually clutched their chest like they might faint from the romance of it all. Sophia's eyes glistened. Actual tears. "Alexander, I... I don't know what to say. It's beautiful." "May I?" He gestured to the necklace. She turned, sweeping her hair aside, exposing the elegant curve of her neck. Alexander fastened the necklace with careful fingers, his hands lingering just slightly too long on her shoulders. "Perfect," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect." Sophia touched the pendant, then turned and embraced him. The hug lasted three seconds too long to be merely friendly. Marcus's vision blurred at the edges. "To Alexander Grant!" Grandfather Sebastian's voice rang out again. "A true gentleman who knows quality when he sees it!" Everyone rose. Glasses lifted. Voices joined in celebration of a man who wasn't family, wasn't even trying to be subtle about his intentions, but who everyone clearly preferred to the man Sophia had actually married. Marcus remained seated at his forgotten table, hands clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, nails digging crescents into his palms. The party began winding down. Guests congratulated each other on a successful evening. Business cards exchanged hands. Plans were made for future gatherings. Then Sophia stood, calling for attention. The room quieted instantly—a Saintess commanded respect through mere presence. "Thank you all for celebrating Grandfather's birthday," she began, her voice clear and gracious. "Your presence means everything to our family. I especially want to thank Mother and Father for organizing this beautiful event, and Grandfather for allowing us to honor his remarkable life." She continued through the list: thanking distant cousins for traveling, thanking business partners for their loyalty, thanking the staff for their excellent service. "And finally," Sophia's voice softened, took on that warmth again, "I want to thank Alexander Grant for being my rock during difficult times. For his unwavering support, his brilliant mind, and his constant presence when I needed someone I could truly rely on." The words hung in the air like a verdict. She didn't mention Marcus. Not once. Didn't acknowledge his presence, his existence, his three years of enduring this family's contempt. As if he wasn't even there. The party dispersed. Guests filtered toward the exit. Marcus waited until the crowd thinned, then followed Sophia toward the private family wing. He found her in the hallway, still wearing that crystal necklace Alexander had given her. "Sophia." She turned, her expression cooling the moment she saw him. "What?" "Why?" The word came out hoarse. "Why are you treating me this way?" "Treating you what way?" She crossed her arms. "I've given you everything, Marcus. A home, status, a place in one of the most powerful families in Eastmere State—" "You didn't mention me," he interrupted. "In your speech. You thanked everyone except your husband." "I made a sacred promise to Bella," Sophia said, her voice hardening. "To protect her brother, to ensure he succeeds. Everything I do is to honor that vow. If you can't understand the importance of a Saintess's sacred duty, then you're even more common than I thought." "What about your duty as a wife?" "Don't you dare lecture me about duty!" Sophia's holy power crackled in the air, making the hallway lights flicker. "I've given you everything! What have you given me? You're unemployed, powerless, worthless! You contribute nothing while I build an empire!" The words hit like hammered nails, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. Marcus stared at his wife—this cold, beautiful stranger who wore his wedding ring while calling another man invaluable—and something inside him snapped. His vision went red. With a roar that came from three years of swallowed rage, Marcus turned and stormed back into the banquet hall. The remaining guests looked up in alarm. The dessert table still stood, pristine and perfect, loaded with crystal and fine china. Marcus grabbed the edge and overturned it. The crash was spectacular. Crystal shattered. China exploded across marble. Expensive desserts splattered like abstract art. Guests screamed and scrambled back. Sophia rushed in, eyes wide. "Marcus, what are you—" "If I'm worthless," he snarled, "then nobody celebrates!" He spotted Alexander near the entrance, the man's perfect face showing shock for the first time all evening. Marcus moved. His fist crashed into Alexander's jaw with three years of accumulated fury behind it. The cultivator went down hard, not expecting a "common man" to have such strength. Marcus didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Every punch released another memory—another humiliation, another dismissal, another moment of being invisible in his own marriage. "Marcus, stop!" Sophia recovered, rushing forward. But she didn't pull Marcus away. Instead, she threw herself over Alexander's body, shielding him with her own. "Are you insane?!" she screamed, her eyes glowing with holy power. "You're hurting Bella brother! I promised to protect him!" I promised to protect him. The words echoed in the sudden silence. Marcus stepped back, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding. He stared at his wife kneeling on the floor, protecting another man with her body and her powers, choosing Alexander over him with crystal clarity. "And what about your promise to me?" Marcus asked quietly. "On our wedding day, you promised to honor me. To forsake all others. Remember?" Sophia's face twisted with guilt and anger. "That was before I knew what you really were! Before I realized I married someone who would never amount to anything!" The entire family stood frozen in doorways, watching this brutal dismantling of a marriage. Marcus looked at his wife—really looked at her—and saw the truth he'd been avoiding for three years. She'd never loved him. "I see," he said softly. "You've already made your choice."
My wife, Sophia, valued promises above all else. So after her best friend passed away, she promised to take good care of her friend’s younger brother, Alex—and she truly treated him as the most important person in her life. At every social event, she brought Alex along. She bought him the most expensive watches, arranged the best jobs for him, and even when I worked nonstop for 72 hours to secure a major contract for the company, she didn’t hesitate to give all the credit to Alex But nothing for me. Till that day, the earthquake struck. I rushed into the collapsing building where she was trapped to save her, only to have my leg crushed beneath the rubble. But without a second thought, Sophia chose to save Alex, who had only suffered a minor scratch. Hearing my desperate cries for help, Sophia frowned and shouted, “At a time like this, you’re still trying to compete with Alex? He can’t get hurt! I promised Bella I’d take good care of him! Figure out how to save yourself!” Sophia valued promises above all else. But on our wedding day, she had also promised that she would never let me be harmed. --- At the Sinclair family banquet, Marcus sat like an outsider at the very corner of the table, with the cheapest food laid out in front of him. Meanwhile, his wife, Sophia, stood in the spotlight with another man on her arm. That man was Alexander, the younger brother of Sophia’s late best friend. Hand in hand, the two of them looked as though they were the real married couple. “Look, Sophia and Alex are truly a perfect pair! It’s been so long since I’ve seen such a perfectly suited young couple!” The whispers around him made Marcus even more restless. He wanted to stand up and announce that he was Sophia’s husband—that Alex was merely... But what exactly was Alex’s place? Whenever Marcus thought about that question, a dark shadow would rise in his heart. "Alexander here closed three major deals this month! Three! The Whitmore contract, and that tricky negotiation with the Morrison Group. The boy's a natural!" Alexander waved off the praise with practiced modesty. "I only did what Sophia trained me to do. She's the true genius behind the strategy." "You're too modest," Sophia said, her voice warm in a way Marcus hadn't heard directed at him in months. "I couldn't have done it without you. You're invaluable to me." Invaluable to me. The words struck like physical blows. Marcus's hands clenched beneath the table. She'd never said that about him. Never called him invaluable, necessary, important. In three years of marriage, he'd never been anything but a burden she tolerated because she'd made some misguided promise about destiny and Saintess intuition. "A toast!" Grandfather Sebastian raised his glass, his voice still strong despite his eighty years. "To Alexander Grant—a young man who understands how to treat a Saintess properly! Who knows what true strength and capability look like!" Crystal clinked. Voices rose in agreement. Marcus's glass remained on the table, untouched. Dessert arrived in waves of culinary artistry—delicate pastries that looked like jewels, chocolate sculptures too beautiful to eat, fruits carved into impossible shapes. The staff moved with choreographed precision, serving the head table first, working their way through the hierarchy. Marcus's dessert arrived last. Naturally. Then Alexander stood, and the room fell silent with anticipation. "Sophia," he said, his voice carrying that smooth confidence of someone who'd never been denied anything. "I saw this and thought of you." He produced a velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate crystal necklace that caught the chandelier light and threw rainbows across the ceiling. The centerpiece was a flawless diamond, suspended in an intricate web of silver and smaller crystals that seemed to pulse with faint holy energy. "It reminded me of your pure and radiant spirit," Alexander continued. "The way you bring light to everyone around you." Gasps echoed through the hall. Someone actually clutched their chest like they might faint from the romance of it all. Sophia's eyes glistened. Actual tears. "Alexander, I... I don't know what to say. It's beautiful." "May I?" He gestured to the necklace. She turned, sweeping her hair aside, exposing the elegant curve of her neck. Alexander fastened the necklace with careful fingers, his hands lingering just slightly too long on her shoulders. "Perfect," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect." Sophia touched the pendant, then turned and embraced him. The hug lasted three seconds too long to be merely friendly. Marcus's vision blurred at the edges. "To Alexander Grant!" Grandfather Sebastian's voice rang out again. "A true gentleman who knows quality when he sees it!" Everyone rose. Glasses lifted. Voices joined in celebration of a man who wasn't family, wasn't even trying to be subtle about his intentions, but who everyone clearly preferred to the man Sophia had actually married. Marcus remained seated at his forgotten table, hands clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, nails digging crescents into his palms. The party began winding down. Guests congratulated each other on a successful evening. Business cards exchanged hands. Plans were made for future gatherings. Then Sophia stood, calling for attention. The room quieted instantly—a Saintess commanded respect through mere presence. "Thank you all for celebrating Grandfather's birthday," she began, her voice clear and gracious. "Your presence means everything to our family. I especially want to thank Mother and Father for organizing this beautiful event, and Grandfather for allowing us to honor his remarkable life." She continued through the list: thanking distant cousins for traveling, thanking business partners for their loyalty, thanking the staff for their excellent service. "And finally," Sophia's voice softened, took on that warmth again, "I want to thank Alexander Grant for being my rock during difficult times. For his unwavering support, his brilliant mind, and his constant presence when I needed someone I could truly rely on." The words hung in the air like a verdict. She didn't mention Marcus. Not once. Didn't acknowledge his presence, his existence, his three years of enduring this family's contempt. As if he wasn't even there. The party dispersed. Guests filtered toward the exit. Marcus waited until the crowd thinned, then followed Sophia toward the private family wing. He found her in the hallway, still wearing that crystal necklace Alexander had given her. "Sophia." She turned, her expression cooling the moment she saw him. "What?" "Why?" The word came out hoarse. "Why are you treating me this way?" "Treating you what way?" She crossed her arms. "I've given you everything, Marcus. A home, status, a place in one of the most powerful families in Eastmere State—" "You didn't mention me," he interrupted. "In your speech. You thanked everyone except your husband." "I made a sacred promise to Bella," Sophia said, her voice hardening. "To protect her brother, to ensure he succeeds. Everything I do is to honor that vow. If you can't understand the importance of a Saintess's sacred duty, then you're even more common than I thought." "What about your duty as a wife?" "Don't you dare lecture me about duty!" Sophia's holy power crackled in the air, making the hallway lights flicker. "I've given you everything! What have you given me? You're unemployed, powerless, worthless! You contribute nothing while I build an empire!" The words hit like hammered nails, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. Marcus stared at his wife—this cold, beautiful stranger who wore his wedding ring while calling another man invaluable—and something inside him snapped. His vision went red. With a roar that came from three years of swallowed rage, Marcus turned and stormed back into the banquet hall. The remaining guests looked up in alarm. The dessert table still stood, pristine and perfect, loaded with crystal and fine china. Marcus grabbed the edge and overturned it. The crash was spectacular. Crystal shattered. China exploded across marble. Expensive desserts splattered like abstract art. Guests screamed and scrambled back. Sophia rushed in, eyes wide. "Marcus, what are you—" "If I'm worthless," he snarled, "then nobody celebrates!" He spotted Alexander near the entrance, the man's perfect face showing shock for the first time all evening. Marcus moved. His fist crashed into Alexander's jaw with three years of accumulated fury behind it. The cultivator went down hard, not expecting a "common man" to have such strength. Marcus didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Every punch released another memory—another humiliation, another dismissal, another moment of being invisible in his own marriage. "Marcus, stop!" Sophia recovered, rushing forward. But she didn't pull Marcus away. Instead, she threw herself over Alexander's body, shielding him with her own. "Are you insane?!" she screamed, her eyes glowing with holy power. "You're hurting Bella brother! I promised to protect him!" I promised to protect him. The words echoed in the sudden silence. Marcus stepped back, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding. He stared at his wife kneeling on the floor, protecting another man with her body and her powers, choosing Alexander over him with crystal clarity. "And what about your promise to me?" Marcus asked quietly. "On our wedding day, you promised to honor me. To forsake all others. Remember?" Sophia's face twisted with guilt and anger. "That was before I knew what you really were! Before I realized I married someone who would never amount to anything!" The entire family stood frozen in doorways, watching this brutal dismantling of a marriage. Marcus looked at his wife—really looked at her—and saw the truth he'd been avoiding for three years. She'd never loved him. "I see," he said softly. "You've already made your choice."
My wife, Sophia, valued promises above all else. So after her best friend passed away, she promised to take good care of her friend’s younger brother, Alex—and she truly treated him as the most important person in her life. At every social event, she brought Alex along. She bought him the most expensive watches, arranged the best jobs for him, and even when I worked nonstop for 72 hours to secure a major contract for the company, she didn’t hesitate to give all the credit to Alex But nothing for me. Till that day, the earthquake struck. I rushed into the collapsing building where she was trapped to save her, only to have my leg crushed beneath the rubble. But without a second thought, Sophia chose to save Alex, who had only suffered a minor scratch. Hearing my desperate cries for help, Sophia frowned and shouted, “At a time like this, you’re still trying to compete with Alex? He can’t get hurt! I promised Bella I’d take good care of him! Figure out how to save yourself!” Sophia valued promises above all else. But on our wedding day, she had also promised that she would never let me be harmed. --- At the Sinclair family banquet, Marcus sat like an outsider at the very corner of the table, with the cheapest food laid out in front of him. Meanwhile, his wife, Sophia, stood in the spotlight with another man on her arm. That man was Alexander, the younger brother of Sophia’s late best friend. Hand in hand, the two of them looked as though they were the real married couple. “Look, Sophia and Alex are truly a perfect pair! It’s been so long since I’ve seen such a perfectly suited young couple!” The whispers around him made Marcus even more restless. He wanted to stand up and announce that he was Sophia’s husband—that Alex was merely... But what exactly was Alex’s place? Whenever Marcus thought about that question, a dark shadow would rise in his heart. "Alexander here closed three major deals this month! Three! The Whitmore contract, and that tricky negotiation with the Morrison Group. The boy's a natural!" Alexander waved off the praise with practiced modesty. "I only did what Sophia trained me to do. She's the true genius behind the strategy." "You're too modest," Sophia said, her voice warm in a way Marcus hadn't heard directed at him in months. "I couldn't have done it without you. You're invaluable to me." Invaluable to me. The words struck like physical blows. Marcus's hands clenched beneath the table. She'd never said that about him. Never called him invaluable, necessary, important. In three years of marriage, he'd never been anything but a burden she tolerated because she'd made some misguided promise about destiny and Saintess intuition. "A toast!" Grandfather Sebastian raised his glass, his voice still strong despite his eighty years. "To Alexander Grant—a young man who understands how to treat a Saintess properly! Who knows what true strength and capability look like!" Crystal clinked. Voices rose in agreement. Marcus's glass remained on the table, untouched. Dessert arrived in waves of culinary artistry—delicate pastries that looked like jewels, chocolate sculptures too beautiful to eat, fruits carved into impossible shapes. The staff moved with choreographed precision, serving the head table first, working their way through the hierarchy. Marcus's dessert arrived last. Naturally. Then Alexander stood, and the room fell silent with anticipation. "Sophia," he said, his voice carrying that smooth confidence of someone who'd never been denied anything. "I saw this and thought of you." He produced a velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate crystal necklace that caught the chandelier light and threw rainbows across the ceiling. The centerpiece was a flawless diamond, suspended in an intricate web of silver and smaller crystals that seemed to pulse with faint holy energy. "It reminded me of your pure and radiant spirit," Alexander continued. "The way you bring light to everyone around you." Gasps echoed through the hall. Someone actually clutched their chest like they might faint from the romance of it all. Sophia's eyes glistened. Actual tears. "Alexander, I... I don't know what to say. It's beautiful." "May I?" He gestured to the necklace. She turned, sweeping her hair aside, exposing the elegant curve of her neck. Alexander fastened the necklace with careful fingers, his hands lingering just slightly too long on her shoulders. "Perfect," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect." Sophia touched the pendant, then turned and embraced him. The hug lasted three seconds too long to be merely friendly. Marcus's vision blurred at the edges. "To Alexander Grant!" Grandfather Sebastian's voice rang out again. "A true gentleman who knows quality when he sees it!" Everyone rose. Glasses lifted. Voices joined in celebration of a man who wasn't family, wasn't even trying to be subtle about his intentions, but who everyone clearly preferred to the man Sophia had actually married. Marcus remained seated at his forgotten table, hands clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, nails digging crescents into his palms. The party began winding down. Guests congratulated each other on a successful evening. Business cards exchanged hands. Plans were made for future gatherings. Then Sophia stood, calling for attention. The room quieted instantly—a Saintess commanded respect through mere presence. "Thank you all for celebrating Grandfather's birthday," she began, her voice clear and gracious. "Your presence means everything to our family. I especially want to thank Mother and Father for organizing this beautiful event, and Grandfather for allowing us to honor his remarkable life." She continued through the list: thanking distant cousins for traveling, thanking business partners for their loyalty, thanking the staff for their excellent service. "And finally," Sophia's voice softened, took on that warmth again, "I want to thank Alexander Grant for being my rock during difficult times. For his unwavering support, his brilliant mind, and his constant presence when I needed someone I could truly rely on." The words hung in the air like a verdict. She didn't mention Marcus. Not once. Didn't acknowledge his presence, his existence, his three years of enduring this family's contempt. As if he wasn't even there. The party dispersed. Guests filtered toward the exit. Marcus waited until the crowd thinned, then followed Sophia toward the private family wing. He found her in the hallway, still wearing that crystal necklace Alexander had given her. "Sophia." She turned, her expression cooling the moment she saw him. "What?" "Why?" The word came out hoarse. "Why are you treating me this way?" "Treating you what way?" She crossed her arms. "I've given you everything, Marcus. A home, status, a place in one of the most powerful families in Eastmere State—" "You didn't mention me," he interrupted. "In your speech. You thanked everyone except your husband." "I made a sacred promise to Bella," Sophia said, her voice hardening. "To protect her brother, to ensure he succeeds. Everything I do is to honor that vow. If you can't understand the importance of a Saintess's sacred duty, then you're even more common than I thought." "What about your duty as a wife?" "Don't you dare lecture me about duty!" Sophia's holy power crackled in the air, making the hallway lights flicker. "I've given you everything! What have you given me? You're unemployed, powerless, worthless! You contribute nothing while I build an empire!" The words hit like hammered nails, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. Marcus stared at his wife—this cold, beautiful stranger who wore his wedding ring while calling another man invaluable—and something inside him snapped. His vision went red. With a roar that came from three years of swallowed rage, Marcus turned and stormed back into the banquet hall. The remaining guests looked up in alarm. The dessert table still stood, pristine and perfect, loaded with crystal and fine china. Marcus grabbed the edge and overturned it. The crash was spectacular. Crystal shattered. China exploded across marble. Expensive desserts splattered like abstract art. Guests screamed and scrambled back. Sophia rushed in, eyes wide. "Marcus, what are you—" "If I'm worthless," he snarled, "then nobody celebrates!" He spotted Alexander near the entrance, the man's perfect face showing shock for the first time all evening. Marcus moved. His fist crashed into Alexander's jaw with three years of accumulated fury behind it. The cultivator went down hard, not expecting a "common man" to have such strength. Marcus didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Every punch released another memory—another humiliation, another dismissal, another moment of being invisible in his own marriage. "Marcus, stop!" Sophia recovered, rushing forward. But she didn't pull Marcus away. Instead, she threw herself over Alexander's body, shielding him with her own. "Are you insane?!" she screamed, her eyes glowing with holy power. "You're hurting Bella brother! I promised to protect him!" I promised to protect him. The words echoed in the sudden silence. Marcus stepped back, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding. He stared at his wife kneeling on the floor, protecting another man with her body and her powers, choosing Alexander over him with crystal clarity. "And what about your promise to me?" Marcus asked quietly. "On our wedding day, you promised to honor me. To forsake all others. Remember?" Sophia's face twisted with guilt and anger. "That was before I knew what you really were! Before I realized I married someone who would never amount to anything!" The entire family stood frozen in doorways, watching this brutal dismantling of a marriage. Marcus looked at his wife—really looked at her—and saw the truth he'd been avoiding for three years. She'd never loved him. "I see," he said softly. "You've already made your choice."
My wife, Sophia, valued promises above all else. So after her best friend passed away, she promised to take good care of her friend’s younger brother, Alex—and she truly treated him as the most important person in her life. At every social event, she brought Alex along. She bought him the most expensive watches, arranged the best jobs for him, and even when I worked nonstop for 72 hours to secure a major contract for the company, she didn’t hesitate to give all the credit to Alex But nothing for me. Till that day, the earthquake struck. I rushed into the collapsing building where she was trapped to save her, only to have my leg crushed beneath the rubble. But without a second thought, Sophia chose to save Alex, who had only suffered a minor scratch. Hearing my desperate cries for help, Sophia frowned and shouted, “At a time like this, you’re still trying to compete with Alex? He can’t get hurt! I promised Bella I’d take good care of him! Figure out how to save yourself!” Sophia valued promises above all else. But on our wedding day, she had also promised that she would never let me be harmed. --- At the Sinclair family banquet, Marcus sat like an outsider at the very corner of the table, with the cheapest food laid out in front of him. Meanwhile, his wife, Sophia, stood in the spotlight with another man on her arm. That man was Alexander, the younger brother of Sophia’s late best friend. Hand in hand, the two of them looked as though they were the real married couple. “Look, Sophia and Alex are truly a perfect pair! It’s been so long since I’ve seen such a perfectly suited young couple!” The whispers around him made Marcus even more restless. He wanted to stand up and announce that he was Sophia’s husband—that Alex was merely... But what exactly was Alex’s place? Whenever Marcus thought about that question, a dark shadow would rise in his heart. "Alexander here closed three major deals this month! Three! The Whitmore contract, and that tricky negotiation with the Morrison Group. The boy's a natural!" Alexander waved off the praise with practiced modesty. "I only did what Sophia trained me to do. She's the true genius behind the strategy." "You're too modest," Sophia said, her voice warm in a way Marcus hadn't heard directed at him in months. "I couldn't have done it without you. You're invaluable to me." Invaluable to me. The words struck like physical blows. Marcus's hands clenched beneath the table. She'd never said that about him. Never called him invaluable, necessary, important. In three years of marriage, he'd never been anything but a burden she tolerated because she'd made some misguided promise about destiny and Saintess intuition. "A toast!" Grandfather Sebastian raised his glass, his voice still strong despite his eighty years. "To Alexander Grant—a young man who understands how to treat a Saintess properly! Who knows what true strength and capability look like!" Crystal clinked. Voices rose in agreement. Marcus's glass remained on the table, untouched. Dessert arrived in waves of culinary artistry—delicate pastries that looked like jewels, chocolate sculptures too beautiful to eat, fruits carved into impossible shapes. The staff moved with choreographed precision, serving the head table first, working their way through the hierarchy. Marcus's dessert arrived last. Naturally. Then Alexander stood, and the room fell silent with anticipation. "Sophia," he said, his voice carrying that smooth confidence of someone who'd never been denied anything. "I saw this and thought of you." He produced a velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate crystal necklace that caught the chandelier light and threw rainbows across the ceiling. The centerpiece was a flawless diamond, suspended in an intricate web of silver and smaller crystals that seemed to pulse with faint holy energy. "It reminded me of your pure and radiant spirit," Alexander continued. "The way you bring light to everyone around you." Gasps echoed through the hall. Someone actually clutched their chest like they might faint from the romance of it all. Sophia's eyes glistened. Actual tears. "Alexander, I... I don't know what to say. It's beautiful." "May I?" He gestured to the necklace. She turned, sweeping her hair aside, exposing the elegant curve of her neck. Alexander fastened the necklace with careful fingers, his hands lingering just slightly too long on her shoulders. "Perfect," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect." Sophia touched the pendant, then turned and embraced him. The hug lasted three seconds too long to be merely friendly. Marcus's vision blurred at the edges. "To Alexander Grant!" Grandfather Sebastian's voice rang out again. "A true gentleman who knows quality when he sees it!" Everyone rose. Glasses lifted. Voices joined in celebration of a man who wasn't family, wasn't even trying to be subtle about his intentions, but who everyone clearly preferred to the man Sophia had actually married. Marcus remained seated at his forgotten table, hands clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, nails digging crescents into his palms. The party began winding down. Guests congratulated each other on a successful evening. Business cards exchanged hands. Plans were made for future gatherings. Then Sophia stood, calling for attention. The room quieted instantly—a Saintess commanded respect through mere presence. "Thank you all for celebrating Grandfather's birthday," she began, her voice clear and gracious. "Your presence means everything to our family. I especially want to thank Mother and Father for organizing this beautiful event, and Grandfather for allowing us to honor his remarkable life." She continued through the list: thanking distant cousins for traveling, thanking business partners for their loyalty, thanking the staff for their excellent service. "And finally," Sophia's voice softened, took on that warmth again, "I want to thank Alexander Grant for being my rock during difficult times. For his unwavering support, his brilliant mind, and his constant presence when I needed someone I could truly rely on." The words hung in the air like a verdict. She didn't mention Marcus. Not once. Didn't acknowledge his presence, his existence, his three years of enduring this family's contempt. As if he wasn't even there. The party dispersed. Guests filtered toward the exit. Marcus waited until the crowd thinned, then followed Sophia toward the private family wing. He found her in the hallway, still wearing that crystal necklace Alexander had given her. "Sophia." She turned, her expression cooling the moment she saw him. "What?" "Why?" The word came out hoarse. "Why are you treating me this way?" "Treating you what way?" She crossed her arms. "I've given you everything, Marcus. A home, status, a place in one of the most powerful families in Eastmere State—" "You didn't mention me," he interrupted. "In your speech. You thanked everyone except your husband." "I made a sacred promise to Bella," Sophia said, her voice hardening. "To protect her brother, to ensure he succeeds. Everything I do is to honor that vow. If you can't understand the importance of a Saintess's sacred duty, then you're even more common than I thought." "What about your duty as a wife?" "Don't you dare lecture me about duty!" Sophia's holy power crackled in the air, making the hallway lights flicker. "I've given you everything! What have you given me? You're unemployed, powerless, worthless! You contribute nothing while I build an empire!" The words hit like hammered nails, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. Marcus stared at his wife—this cold, beautiful stranger who wore his wedding ring while calling another man invaluable—and something inside him snapped. His vision went red. With a roar that came from three years of swallowed rage, Marcus turned and stormed back into the banquet hall. The remaining guests looked up in alarm. The dessert table still stood, pristine and perfect, loaded with crystal and fine china. Marcus grabbed the edge and overturned it. The crash was spectacular. Crystal shattered. China exploded across marble. Expensive desserts splattered like abstract art. Guests screamed and scrambled back. Sophia rushed in, eyes wide. "Marcus, what are you—" "If I'm worthless," he snarled, "then nobody celebrates!" He spotted Alexander near the entrance, the man's perfect face showing shock for the first time all evening. Marcus moved. His fist crashed into Alexander's jaw with three years of accumulated fury behind it. The cultivator went down hard, not expecting a "common man" to have such strength. Marcus didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Every punch released another memory—another humiliation, another dismissal, another moment of being invisible in his own marriage. "Marcus, stop!" Sophia recovered, rushing forward. But she didn't pull Marcus away. Instead, she threw herself over Alexander's body, shielding him with her own. "Are you insane?!" she screamed, her eyes glowing with holy power. "You're hurting Bella brother! I promised to protect him!" I promised to protect him. The words echoed in the sudden silence. Marcus stepped back, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding. He stared at his wife kneeling on the floor, protecting another man with her body and her powers, choosing Alexander over him with crystal clarity. "And what about your promise to me?" Marcus asked quietly. "On our wedding day, you promised to honor me. To forsake all others. Remember?" Sophia's face twisted with guilt and anger. "That was before I knew what you really were! Before I realized I married someone who would never amount to anything!" The entire family stood frozen in doorways, watching this brutal dismantling of a marriage. Marcus looked at his wife—really looked at her—and saw the truth he'd been avoiding for three years. She'd never loved him. "I see," he said softly. "You've already made your choice."
My wife, Sophia, valued promises above all else. So after her best friend passed away, she promised to take good care of her friend’s younger brother, Alex—and she truly treated him as the most important person in her life. At every social event, she brought Alex along. She bought him the most expensive watches, arranged the best jobs for him, and even when I worked nonstop for 72 hours to secure a major contract for the company, she didn’t hesitate to give all the credit to Alex But nothing for me. Till that day, the earthquake struck. I rushed into the collapsing building where she was trapped to save her, only to have my leg crushed beneath the rubble. But without a second thought, Sophia chose to save Alex, who had only suffered a minor scratch. Hearing my desperate cries for help, Sophia frowned and shouted, “At a time like this, you’re still trying to compete with Alex? He can’t get hurt! I promised Bella I’d take good care of him! Figure out how to save yourself!” Sophia valued promises above all else. But on our wedding day, she had also promised that she would never let me be harmed. --- At the Sinclair family banquet, Marcus sat like an outsider at the very corner of the table, with the cheapest food laid out in front of him. Meanwhile, his wife, Sophia, stood in the spotlight with another man on her arm. That man was Alexander, the younger brother of Sophia’s late best friend. Hand in hand, the two of them looked as though they were the real married couple. “Look, Sophia and Alex are truly a perfect pair! It’s been so long since I’ve seen such a perfectly suited young couple!” The whispers around him made Marcus even more restless. He wanted to stand up and announce that he was Sophia’s husband—that Alex was merely... But what exactly was Alex’s place? Whenever Marcus thought about that question, a dark shadow would rise in his heart. "Alexander here closed three major deals this month! Three! The Whitmore contract, and that tricky negotiation with the Morrison Group. The boy's a natural!" Alexander waved off the praise with practiced modesty. "I only did what Sophia trained me to do. She's the true genius behind the strategy." "You're too modest," Sophia said, her voice warm in a way Marcus hadn't heard directed at him in months. "I couldn't have done it without you. You're invaluable to me." Invaluable to me. The words struck like physical blows. Marcus's hands clenched beneath the table. She'd never said that about him. Never called him invaluable, necessary, important. In three years of marriage, he'd never been anything but a burden she tolerated because she'd made some misguided promise about destiny and Saintess intuition. "A toast!" Grandfather Sebastian raised his glass, his voice still strong despite his eighty years. "To Alexander Grant—a young man who understands how to treat a Saintess properly! Who knows what true strength and capability look like!" Crystal clinked. Voices rose in agreement. Marcus's glass remained on the table, untouched. Dessert arrived in waves of culinary artistry—delicate pastries that looked like jewels, chocolate sculptures too beautiful to eat, fruits carved into impossible shapes. The staff moved with choreographed precision, serving the head table first, working their way through the hierarchy. Marcus's dessert arrived last. Naturally. Then Alexander stood, and the room fell silent with anticipation. "Sophia," he said, his voice carrying that smooth confidence of someone who'd never been denied anything. "I saw this and thought of you." He produced a velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate crystal necklace that caught the chandelier light and threw rainbows across the ceiling. The centerpiece was a flawless diamond, suspended in an intricate web of silver and smaller crystals that seemed to pulse with faint holy energy. "It reminded me of your pure and radiant spirit," Alexander continued. "The way you bring light to everyone around you." Gasps echoed through the hall. Someone actually clutched their chest like they might faint from the romance of it all. Sophia's eyes glistened. Actual tears. "Alexander, I... I don't know what to say. It's beautiful." "May I?" He gestured to the necklace. She turned, sweeping her hair aside, exposing the elegant curve of her neck. Alexander fastened the necklace with careful fingers, his hands lingering just slightly too long on her shoulders. "Perfect," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect." Sophia touched the pendant, then turned and embraced him. The hug lasted three seconds too long to be merely friendly. Marcus's vision blurred at the edges. "To Alexander Grant!" Grandfather Sebastian's voice rang out again. "A true gentleman who knows quality when he sees it!" Everyone rose. Glasses lifted. Voices joined in celebration of a man who wasn't family, wasn't even trying to be subtle about his intentions, but who everyone clearly preferred to the man Sophia had actually married. Marcus remained seated at his forgotten table, hands clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, nails digging crescents into his palms. The party began winding down. Guests congratulated each other on a successful evening. Business cards exchanged hands. Plans were made for future gatherings. Then Sophia stood, calling for attention. The room quieted instantly—a Saintess commanded respect through mere presence. "Thank you all for celebrating Grandfather's birthday," she began, her voice clear and gracious. "Your presence means everything to our family. I especially want to thank Mother and Father for organizing this beautiful event, and Grandfather for allowing us to honor his remarkable life." She continued through the list: thanking distant cousins for traveling, thanking business partners for their loyalty, thanking the staff for their excellent service. "And finally," Sophia's voice softened, took on that warmth again, "I want to thank Alexander Grant for being my rock during difficult times. For his unwavering support, his brilliant mind, and his constant presence when I needed someone I could truly rely on." The words hung in the air like a verdict. She didn't mention Marcus. Not once. Didn't acknowledge his presence, his existence, his three years of enduring this family's contempt. As if he wasn't even there. The party dispersed. Guests filtered toward the exit. Marcus waited until the crowd thinned, then followed Sophia toward the private family wing. He found her in the hallway, still wearing that crystal necklace Alexander had given her. "Sophia." She turned, her expression cooling the moment she saw him. "What?" "Why?" The word came out hoarse. "Why are you treating me this way?" "Treating you what way?" She crossed her arms. "I've given you everything, Marcus. A home, status, a place in one of the most powerful families in Eastmere State—" "You didn't mention me," he interrupted. "In your speech. You thanked everyone except your husband." "I made a sacred promise to Bella," Sophia said, her voice hardening. "To protect her brother, to ensure he succeeds. Everything I do is to honor that vow. If you can't understand the importance of a Saintess's sacred duty, then you're even more common than I thought." "What about your duty as a wife?" "Don't you dare lecture me about duty!" Sophia's holy power crackled in the air, making the hallway lights flicker. "I've given you everything! What have you given me? You're unemployed, powerless, worthless! You contribute nothing while I build an empire!" The words hit like hammered nails, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. Marcus stared at his wife—this cold, beautiful stranger who wore his wedding ring while calling another man invaluable—and something inside him snapped. His vision went red. With a roar that came from three years of swallowed rage, Marcus turned and stormed back into the banquet hall. The remaining guests looked up in alarm. The dessert table still stood, pristine and perfect, loaded with crystal and fine china. Marcus grabbed the edge and overturned it. The crash was spectacular. Crystal shattered. China exploded across marble. Expensive desserts splattered like abstract art. Guests screamed and scrambled back. Sophia rushed in, eyes wide. "Marcus, what are you—" "If I'm worthless," he snarled, "then nobody celebrates!" He spotted Alexander near the entrance, the man's perfect face showing shock for the first time all evening. Marcus moved. His fist crashed into Alexander's jaw with three years of accumulated fury behind it. The cultivator went down hard, not expecting a "common man" to have such strength. Marcus didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Every punch released another memory—another humiliation, another dismissal, another moment of being invisible in his own marriage. "Marcus, stop!" Sophia recovered, rushing forward. But she didn't pull Marcus away. Instead, she threw herself over Alexander's body, shielding him with her own. "Are you insane?!" she screamed, her eyes glowing with holy power. "You're hurting Bella brother! I promised to protect him!" I promised to protect him. The words echoed in the sudden silence. Marcus stepped back, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding. He stared at his wife kneeling on the floor, protecting another man with her body and her powers, choosing Alexander over him with crystal clarity. "And what about your promise to me?" Marcus asked quietly. "On our wedding day, you promised to honor me. To forsake all others. Remember?" Sophia's face twisted with guilt and anger. "That was before I knew what you really were! Before I realized I married someone who would never amount to anything!" The entire family stood frozen in doorways, watching this brutal dismantling of a marriage. Marcus looked at his wife—really looked at her—and saw the truth he'd been avoiding for three years. She'd never loved him. "I see," he said softly. "You've already made your choice."
My wife, Sophia, valued promises above all else. So after her best friend passed away, she promised to take good care of her friend’s younger brother, Alex—and she truly treated him as the most important person in her life. At every social event, she brought Alex along. She bought him the most expensive watches, arranged the best jobs for him, and even when I worked nonstop for 72 hours to secure a major contract for the company, she didn’t hesitate to give all the credit to Alex But nothing for me. Till that day, the earthquake struck. I rushed into the collapsing building where she was trapped to save her, only to have my leg crushed beneath the rubble. But without a second thought, Sophia chose to save Alex, who had only suffered a minor scratch. Hearing my desperate cries for help, Sophia frowned and shouted, “At a time like this, you’re still trying to compete with Alex? He can’t get hurt! I promised Bella I’d take good care of him! Figure out how to save yourself!” Sophia valued promises above all else. But on our wedding day, she had also promised that she would never let me be harmed. --- At the Sinclair family banquet, Marcus sat like an outsider at the very corner of the table, with the cheapest food laid out in front of him. Meanwhile, his wife, Sophia, stood in the spotlight with another man on her arm. That man was Alexander, the younger brother of Sophia’s late best friend. Hand in hand, the two of them looked as though they were the real married couple. “Look, Sophia and Alex are truly a perfect pair! It’s been so long since I’ve seen such a perfectly suited young couple!” The whispers around him made Marcus even more restless. He wanted to stand up and announce that he was Sophia’s husband—that Alex was merely... But what exactly was Alex’s place? Whenever Marcus thought about that question, a dark shadow would rise in his heart. "Alexander here closed three major deals this month! Three! The Whitmore contract, and that tricky negotiation with the Morrison Group. The boy's a natural!" Alexander waved off the praise with practiced modesty. "I only did what Sophia trained me to do. She's the true genius behind the strategy." "You're too modest," Sophia said, her voice warm in a way Marcus hadn't heard directed at him in months. "I couldn't have done it without you. You're invaluable to me." Invaluable to me. The words struck like physical blows. Marcus's hands clenched beneath the table. She'd never said that about him. Never called him invaluable, necessary, important. In three years of marriage, he'd never been anything but a burden she tolerated because she'd made some misguided promise about destiny and Saintess intuition. "A toast!" Grandfather Sebastian raised his glass, his voice still strong despite his eighty years. "To Alexander Grant—a young man who understands how to treat a Saintess properly! Who knows what true strength and capability look like!" Crystal clinked. Voices rose in agreement. Marcus's glass remained on the table, untouched. Dessert arrived in waves of culinary artistry—delicate pastries that looked like jewels, chocolate sculptures too beautiful to eat, fruits carved into impossible shapes. The staff moved with choreographed precision, serving the head table first, working their way through the hierarchy. Marcus's dessert arrived last. Naturally. Then Alexander stood, and the room fell silent with anticipation. "Sophia," he said, his voice carrying that smooth confidence of someone who'd never been denied anything. "I saw this and thought of you." He produced a velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate crystal necklace that caught the chandelier light and threw rainbows across the ceiling. The centerpiece was a flawless diamond, suspended in an intricate web of silver and smaller crystals that seemed to pulse with faint holy energy. "It reminded me of your pure and radiant spirit," Alexander continued. "The way you bring light to everyone around you." Gasps echoed through the hall. Someone actually clutched their chest like they might faint from the romance of it all. Sophia's eyes glistened. Actual tears. "Alexander, I... I don't know what to say. It's beautiful." "May I?" He gestured to the necklace. She turned, sweeping her hair aside, exposing the elegant curve of her neck. Alexander fastened the necklace with careful fingers, his hands lingering just slightly too long on her shoulders. "Perfect," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect." Sophia touched the pendant, then turned and embraced him. The hug lasted three seconds too long to be merely friendly. Marcus's vision blurred at the edges. "To Alexander Grant!" Grandfather Sebastian's voice rang out again. "A true gentleman who knows quality when he sees it!" Everyone rose. Glasses lifted. Voices joined in celebration of a man who wasn't family, wasn't even trying to be subtle about his intentions, but who everyone clearly preferred to the man Sophia had actually married. Marcus remained seated at his forgotten table, hands clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, nails digging crescents into his palms. The party began winding down. Guests congratulated each other on a successful evening. Business cards exchanged hands. Plans were made for future gatherings. Then Sophia stood, calling for attention. The room quieted instantly—a Saintess commanded respect through mere presence. "Thank you all for celebrating Grandfather's birthday," she began, her voice clear and gracious. "Your presence means everything to our family. I especially want to thank Mother and Father for organizing this beautiful event, and Grandfather for allowing us to honor his remarkable life." She continued through the list: thanking distant cousins for traveling, thanking business partners for their loyalty, thanking the staff for their excellent service. "And finally," Sophia's voice softened, took on that warmth again, "I want to thank Alexander Grant for being my rock during difficult times. For his unwavering support, his brilliant mind, and his constant presence when I needed someone I could truly rely on." The words hung in the air like a verdict. She didn't mention Marcus. Not once. Didn't acknowledge his presence, his existence, his three years of enduring this family's contempt. As if he wasn't even there. The party dispersed. Guests filtered toward the exit. Marcus waited until the crowd thinned, then followed Sophia toward the private family wing. He found her in the hallway, still wearing that crystal necklace Alexander had given her. "Sophia." She turned, her expression cooling the moment she saw him. "What?" "Why?" The word came out hoarse. "Why are you treating me this way?" "Treating you what way?" She crossed her arms. "I've given you everything, Marcus. A home, status, a place in one of the most powerful families in Eastmere State—" "You didn't mention me," he interrupted. "In your speech. You thanked everyone except your husband." "I made a sacred promise to Bella," Sophia said, her voice hardening. "To protect her brother, to ensure he succeeds. Everything I do is to honor that vow. If you can't understand the importance of a Saintess's sacred duty, then you're even more common than I thought." "What about your duty as a wife?" "Don't you dare lecture me about duty!" Sophia's holy power crackled in the air, making the hallway lights flicker. "I've given you everything! What have you given me? You're unemployed, powerless, worthless! You contribute nothing while I build an empire!" The words hit like hammered nails, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. Marcus stared at his wife—this cold, beautiful stranger who wore his wedding ring while calling another man invaluable—and something inside him snapped. His vision went red. With a roar that came from three years of swallowed rage, Marcus turned and stormed back into the banquet hall. The remaining guests looked up in alarm. The dessert table still stood, pristine and perfect, loaded with crystal and fine china. Marcus grabbed the edge and overturned it. The crash was spectacular. Crystal shattered. China exploded across marble. Expensive desserts splattered like abstract art. Guests screamed and scrambled back. Sophia rushed in, eyes wide. "Marcus, what are you—" "If I'm worthless," he snarled, "then nobody celebrates!" He spotted Alexander near the entrance, the man's perfect face showing shock for the first time all evening. Marcus moved. His fist crashed into Alexander's jaw with three years of accumulated fury behind it. The cultivator went down hard, not expecting a "common man" to have such strength. Marcus didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Every punch released another memory—another humiliation, another dismissal, another moment of being invisible in his own marriage. "Marcus, stop!" Sophia recovered, rushing forward. But she didn't pull Marcus away. Instead, she threw herself over Alexander's body, shielding him with her own. "Are you insane?!" she screamed, her eyes glowing with holy power. "You're hurting Bella brother! I promised to protect him!" I promised to protect him. The words echoed in the sudden silence. Marcus stepped back, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding. He stared at his wife kneeling on the floor, protecting another man with her body and her powers, choosing Alexander over him with crystal clarity. "And what about your promise to me?" Marcus asked quietly. "On our wedding day, you promised to honor me. To forsake all others. Remember?" Sophia's face twisted with guilt and anger. "That was before I knew what you really were! Before I realized I married someone who would never amount to anything!" The entire family stood frozen in doorways, watching this brutal dismantling of a marriage. Marcus looked at his wife—really looked at her—and saw the truth he'd been avoiding for three years. She'd never loved him. "I see," he said softly. "You've already made your choice."
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”
After three years of a sexless contract marriage, her husband finally asked for a divorce. She agreed on one condition only: thirty nights of unprotected $ex before she disappeared from his life. "I'm getting married again," Daven said. "And I won’t repeat myself, nor will I be asking for your permission." He set his coffee cup down abruptly, ending breakfast, he hadn't even touched. Althea stood frozen near the long dining table topped with white marble. Her fingers, still holding the spatula, began to tremble. "With Vanessa?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Daven didn’t look at her. He simply took a shallow breath before replying coldly, “Yes. Who else?” Her husband, Daven Callister, had never loved her. His heart belonged entirely to Vanessa Blake. In truth, their marriage had always been nothing more than an obstacle to his love story. But what could Althea do when the woman who arranged the marriage had been so kind to her? Evelyn Callister—Daven’s grandmother. Althea hadn’t wanted this marriage either. All she had wanted was a proper funeral for her mother. Everything that followed, she had accepted as fate. She had surrendered, despite the grief that still haunted her from losing her mother. But Evelyn had refused to let it end there. She demanded that her beloved grandson, Daven—the man responsible for Althea’s mother’s death—marry her as a form of atonement. Eve saw Althea as a lonely girl with no one else in the world. Daven had only agreed because he was cornered by his grandmother’s wishes. He had no choice but to comply. But now, with Evelyn Callister gone—taken by illness two weeks ago—Daven finally saw a chance to escape a marriage he’d never wanted. There was no reason to stay. Not anymore. A faint, almost invisible smile appeared on Althea’s lips—not from joy, but from bitter resignation. She turned off the stove and gently set the spatula down. “I won’t stand in your way,” she said at last. Her voice was soft—so soft it barely reached across the wide room. “We both know I never had a place in your heart.” Daven remained silent. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t correct her either. But there was the slightest flicker of disturbance in his gaze as Althea walked slowly toward him. For a moment, he thought she might cry, beg, or show just enough sorrow to make him feel guilty. But she didn’t. Althea stood tall. Her hands clenched lightly at the sides of her simple dress. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, a quiet contrast to the calm strength in her posture. Her warm, light brown eyes now stared at him—blank, unreadable. At the man who had always been a stranger beneath the same roof. Althea was beautiful, in her quiet way. But that beauty had never stirred anything in Daven. To him, Althea was nothing more than a disruption—an outsider forced into his life. And now that he had the chance to remove her, Daven intended to do exactly that. “Give me one month of your time,” Althea said calmly. “Just one month ... Let me be your wife for real.” Daven narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “I’ll leave, just like you want. After you say your wedding vows to the woman you love.” The words stung as they left Althea’s lips, each syllable carving pain deep into her chest. “You can divorce me, and I promise—I’ll disappear from your life for good. But before that, allow me to know what it feels like to be a wife. Not just some stranger living under your roof.” Silence fell. Then a dismissive laugh escaped Daven’s lips. He even wiped the corner of his eye, amused at how absurd her request sounded. What on earth was she thinking? “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice cold, laced with disbelief. “This isn’t some cheap soap opera, Althea.” She gave a small nod. “I’m not asking for your love. Who am I to ask for something like that?” she said with a bitter laugh. “All I’m asking is to be treated properly—as your wife. Have dinner with me. Exchange a few words with me every day. Show me a little affection, even if it’s fake.” She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady. “After that, I’ll Walk away quietly. You’ll be free to marry anyone you want.” Daven squinted, unsure whether to laugh harder or feel irritated. Yet beneath his disbelief, something in her words struck a nerve. A simple request—so painfully simple, it piqued his curiosity. What is Althea's real purpose? “Why not ask for something more reasonable?” Althea fell silent. Looking away from Daven was difficult when those midnight-dark eyes were fixed on hers, commanding her not to break eye contact—not until he’d heard everything she had to say. “If it’s money you want, just say it. I’ll give it to you.” “No,” she said firmly, without hesitation. Her resolve had already been sealed. There was no turning back now. “You really don’t know how to give up, do you?” Daven sneered. “I already have, Daven,” Althea replied softly. “But I just want one memory to keep for the rest of my life. Before I walk away from you for good.” Neither of them spoke after that. This time, Daven’s gaze wasn’t as sharp. He looked at the woman before him with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or... curiosity? “I’m not promising to be nice,” he finally said. “I never expected you to change,” Althea answered, her calmness more shattering than tears ever could be. And with that, an unspoken agreement was formed. One month. Thirty days for Althea to live as the wife of Daven Callister. A reality that should have existed a year ago—ever since their wedding day. But to Daven, she’d always been nothing more than an intruder. Now, before everything ended, Althea could at least be grateful—Daven hadn’t rejected her request. “Only one month, Althea,” Daven warned. “After that, you disappear from my sight.” “I understand exactly what I’m asking for, Daven. You don’t have to worry.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips curling with disdain. “And if you expect more than what I’m willing to give, I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Althea nodded obediently. “Don’t you dare break your promise, Althea.” His gaze turned sharp again, piercing. “If you do, don’t blame me for destroying your life.” -- “Are you out of your mind?” Catherine Callister—more commonly known as Kate—snapped, her shrill voice shattering the silence of the back garden. “How dare you make such a shameless request?” Kate continued, her voice seething with rage. Her eyes blazed. “You’re well aware my son is about to marry Vanessa, aren’t you? Of course you know that—and yet you still have the audacity to beg for Daven’s attention?” Althea gave a faint smile, about to speak—but Kate cut her off sharply, clearly unwilling to hear a single word in return. “You look like some pathetic little love-starved beggar.” “Yes, I’m nothing more than a girl with nothing—no wealth, no power, no name. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Callister. And all I want is to hold on to that.” Althea’s words were met with a scornful scoff from Kate. The older woman looked at her daughter-in-law with disbelief, clearly unable to comprehend the way her mind worked. “You can keep your dignity, Althea. But at the very least, you should know your place in this house.” “I’m fully aware of that, Mrs. Callister,” Althea replied calmly. Kate opened her mouth to retort again, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her. Daven appeared from behind the glass doors of the house, his suit still perfectly in place. The weariness from a long day’s work was evident on his face. He glanced briefly between the two women before speaking in a flat tone, “Is there a problem?” Kate turned to him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Of course, there’s a problem. Your precious wife is trying to sabotage your wedding with Vanessa. She made an absurd request, and you—” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “—you agreed to it? I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking, Dave!” Daven didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on Althea. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she wouldn’t deny it. She wasn’t like the rest of the people in this house, hiding their motives behind masks. “She only asked for my time, Mother. Just one month,” Daven said at last. “And I agreed. I’ve already spoken to Vanessa and explained everything. She’s willing to give me that time. Our love has already stood the test of time, Mother. It’s been a year since I married this woman, and Vanessa still waited for me. She didn’t mind giving me thirty more days.” Kate could hardly believe what she was hearing. She buried her face in her hands in sheer frustration. But there was nothing more she could do. She had no choice but to go along with whatever her son had decided. “Just make sure this shameless woman is out of the Callister family’s life when the month is over, Daven. I don’t want my beloved daughter-in-law waiting any longer.” “Yes,” Daven replied curtly. Althea, who had been standing quietly between them, spoke again. “I know exactly where I stand. And I will leave once my time is up. But for now... I just want to spend what’s left in peace. That’s all I ask.” Kate hissed under her breath, then turned away sharply. “I will never see you as part of this family,” she spat before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps sharp and swift—like every word she had just hurled. Althea let out a long breath once the woman’s figure vanished from sight. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid them beneath the folds of her dress. Only one figure remained, still standing there, watching her with that same cold stare—like she was nothing more than a discarded object. “I didn’t realize my wife was so stubborn,” Daven mocked. “Do you want to be my wife that badly?” He let out a scoffing chuckle, laced with disdain. She took a step back, instinctively. “It’s not like that—” “Oh? Then what is it?” he snapped. “You begged for this. You practically signed yourself up to be mine—for a month.” His voice was low, dangerously calm. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin—not tenderly, but not cruelly either. Just enough to force her gaze upward. “Tomorrow night,” he said, gaze locked on hers, “I’ll come home not as the man you married on paper—but as the husband you insisted, I become.” Althea’s breath hitched. Her hands curled into fists beside her dress, but she didn’t look away. “I hope you’re ready,” Daven added, pulling back just slightly. “Because I won’t stop to ask if you’ve changed your mind.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t hurt. It would be hypocritical to say she wasn’t sad or disappointed. But... what could she possibly do to stop any of this? Even the man she had once thought she could rely on turned out to be the very first to break her heart. Althea wasn’t blind. She could clearly see how Daven made no effort to hide his relationship with his lover. And yet, in front of his grandmother, Daven wore the perfect mask of a loving, attentive husband. “God,” she whispered, eyes shut tight as the night deepened around her. Tomorrow was another day she had to face. “Please, have mercy on me. Just a little kindness, Lord. Please... grant me this one thing.” When Althea had told him what she wanted, she never imagined Daven would agree. That was why she couldn't afford to waste this—perhaps her only—chance. A child. Althea wanted a child. A companion in the years to come. Someone she could love without conditions. Someone who would call her “Mama”—even if that was the only warm word she would ever hear in her life. And she knew... this might be her one and only opportunity. She had no one left in the world. She wouldn’t ask for anything from Daven. In fact, she had already planned to disappear—to live quietly somewhere far away with her child. Somewhere Daven would never come. Because by then, he would surely be busy living his perfect life with the woman he truly loved. That was her wish. No matter how many people might call it foolish or insane, she still hoped. That was why, that morning, Althea stood in front of the tall mirror in her private room. Her small fingers adjusted the soft fringe of her newly trimmed bangs. A little hesitant, but she smiled at her own reflection. Her face had been gently made up—not overly glamorous, but just enough to highlight a beauty she rarely revealed. Today, she wanted to look beautiful. Althea wore a simple nude-colored dress that delicately embraced her graceful figure. She smiled softly as her hand brushed the fabric. This morning, she planned to make Daven a special breakfast. “I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “If only Daven would hug me in the kitchen—” Ugh! A flush of warmth rushed to her cheeks. A flurry of romantic novels she had once read flashed through her mind—vivid with their dreamy tales of husband and wife, wrapped in affection, making love in every corner of the house, passion igniting wherever they touched. “How naive can you be, Althea?” she scoffed at herself. “Daven would never do such a thing.” But… wasn’t hope often found nestled above the impossible? Sadly, that fragile hope shattered the moment the doorbell rang downstairs—followed by the unmistakable sound of heels and a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who could that be?” Althea slowly descended the stairs. The subtle smile she had practiced in front of the mirror began to fade, replaced by a calm yet guarded expression. In the living room, a woman sat with absolute ease. She wore a striking maroon jumpsuit and gleaming high heels. Vanessa Blake. Arrogant. Beautiful. And fully aware of the power of her presence. Her face was exactly as it appeared on television screens and countless advertisements. In truth, Althea had to admit—Vanessa looked like a goddess who descended to Earth. Unfortunately... her smile and manners were said otherwise. Especially when directed at Althea. “Oh?” Vanessa turned, her gaze sweeping over Althea from head to toe. Her smirk tilted upward with disdain. “So, you do know how to dress up, after all.” Althea remained poised. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Vanessa?” “Oh, straight to the point, are we?” Vanessa rose to her feet, lightly patting the designer bag on her lap. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything? A drink, maybe?” She swept her long hair over one shoulder with practiced ease. “I’d think you’d have the decency to know your place. In this house, you’re the one most suited to serving guests. Your face certainly fits the part, Althea.” Althea chose to smile. “I’m not here for small talk,” Vanessa sneered. “I just dropped by. I wanted to see for myself what my fiancé is doing with a woman who doesn’t know her place. I thought you were bluffing when you asked Daven for time, but now I see—you’ve really lost your mind.” “I’m still capable of thinking rationally, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, mocking laugh. “Rational? Dressed like this? Hoping to seduce Daven?” She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re nothing but a cheap woman!” Before Vanessa could grab at her dress, Althea moved first. Her hand shot out, clutching Vanessa’s wrist in a firm grip—just enough to make her stop. “I don’t care if you think I’m cheap, Miss Vanessa. But as of now, I am still Daven Callister’s wife.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her grip. “Watch your boundaries, you bitch!” Vanessa snarled. But then she laughed—quietly at first, the sound sharp and brittle like shattered glass. “Oh, sweetheart… that title—‘Daven Callister’s wife’—only exists on paper. Everyone knows that.” “And everyone also knows your wedding hasn’t happened yet,” Althea replied softly but clearly. “So until that day comes, I am still his wife. And I will carry out that role properly, Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “You really think you can touch him? That you can make him sleep with you? You are truly pathetic.” “I’m not expecting anything,” Althea said, lifting her chin ever so slightly. “You don’t have to feel threatened by all this, do you? After all, hasn’t it already been decided who the real winner is?” She released her grip and stepped back. She didn’t want to touch the woman Daven loved any longer than necessary. If it weren’t for the sheer strength of her resolve, Althea might have been in tears already just from facing Vanessa this morning. Vanessa rubbed the wrist Althea had held. That damn woman! How dare she? She would not let this slide. Althea would pay for it—every bit. “You know, Althea, I’ve always wondered…” Vanessa said slowly, her words slicing like daggers, “why Daven ever agreed to marry you. You’re nobody. No prestigious background, no powerful connections, not even a name worth mentioning.” If those words had come from Kate Callister, her mother-in-law, Althea might’ve been able to accept them. But coming from Vanessa—an outsider who, unfortunately, was valued like family within the Callister circle—they stung worse than ever. She could say anything to Althea, and no one would ever stop her. Althea said nothing, standing there with forced calm. She knew Vanessa was fishing—looking for any crack in her armor to strike. And God, how hard she had to fight not to let the tears fall. “I used to think Daven married you out of pity. But now, I think… maybe he’s finally realized just how greedy you really are. You act quiet, pretend to be all innocent—but behind that fake purity, you’re sly, aren’t you?” "That’s enough, Miss Vanessa," Althea said quietly. "If you came here just to insult me, I won’t entertain it. I have no intention of humiliating anyone." "Humiliate?" Vanessa scoffed with a mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, you’ve already humiliated yourself just by dressing like that. What were you thinking? Would that Daven see you and suddenly fall in love? That he’d leave me for you?" "I never expected that," Althea replied calmly, her voice steady. "I’m simply fulfilling my role, because that’s the only thing I can do right now." "Fulfilling your role?" Vanessa sneered. "You sound like a grieving widow. It’s tragic, really. But even more pitiful since your husband is very much alive… and in love with someone else." Althea bit her lower lip slowly. She lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She would not cry. Not in front of Vanessa. But before she could say a word, footsteps echoed from the upper floor. Daven. He had just emerged from his room, wearing a gray shirt and tailored pants. His appearance was relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes immediately caught the scene unfolding at the bottom of the stairs—Vanessa standing far too close to Althea, whose face looked pale as if she was holding something back. Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on here? Why all the noise so early in the morning?" Kate Callister’s sharp tone filled the room as she descended the stairs, flanked by her two daughters—Karina and Felicia—both of whom looked at Althea with the same disdain etched on their mother’s face. Vanessa wasted no time stepping into her self-appointed role. "Aunt Kate… I just came to express my concern. Look at her—Althea dressed like this just to get Daven’s attention. I’m worried… she may be forgetting her place." "Oh, for heaven’s sake," Kate eyed Althea from head to toe. "What are you thinking, wearing something like that, Althea? Where’s your sense of decency?" "I haven’t done anything inappropriate by wearing this. I’m used to dressing like this at home," Althea responded softly, still trying to remain polite. Karina let out a mocking giggle. "Goodness, you’ve only lived in this house for a year and already you’re acting like you own the place?" And it wasn’t just Siena. Felicia chimed in as well. "This woman is getting bolder by the day!" she snapped, shoving Althea’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, nearly falling. "Wake up, Althea! You don’t belong here! You’re completely out of line!" "Enough!" Daven’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, making everyone turn toward him. "Daven, you’re not planning to defend her, are you?" Karina asked, shocked. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I’m not defending anyone. I just want this morning to go on without any of your theatrics. I already have enough on my plate with work." Vanessa pouted, lips forming a sulky curve. "I’ll take that as a defense for her, darling." Daven exhaled softly. "That could never happen." He stepped closer to Vanessa, gently brushing her flowing hair back with his hand, completely ignoring the sadness clouding Althea’s gaze just a few feet away. Did Daven care? Not at all. "I’m asking all of you to end this argument. I need peace and quiet." Daven’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but firm enough to silence everyone in the room. Kate scoffed in irritation. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, fine. I’ll have breakfast elsewhere." She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a response, followed closely by Karina and Felicia—both still shooting scornful looks at Althea as they passed. Vanessa remained where she was, glaring at Althea with thinly veiled rage before finally storming off, her footsteps brisk with irritation. Once the four of them disappeared from the living room, silence fell. Daven rubbed his face slowly, looking completely exhausted. "Whatever is going on between you all, don’t make it my problem this morning." Althea, who had been standing calmly despite the turmoil tearing through her heart, finally found the courage to look up at her husband. Her voice was soft, but steady. "Then, please allow me to prepare your breakfast. It’ll only take five minutes. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?" Daven didn’t respond immediately. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just don’t waste my time." Althea gave a slight nod and quietly turned toward the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with neatly arranged toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a steaming cup of coffee—even the napkin had been folded to perfection. Daven was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. "Here," Althea said, setting the tray down in front of him. "I know it’s simple, but... I hope it helps you start your day right." Daven glanced at the food for a second, then began to eat without saying much. Althea pulled out a chair and sat across from him, folding her hands on her lap. Her lips parted, hesitant at first, but then she spoke up again. "You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?" she asked gently. "I just wanted to remind you." Daven set down his fork and knife, meeting her gaze with a neutral expression. "No." Althea gave a small nod. "Then I’ll do my part as your wife—as I should. I’ll prepare your breakfast, make sure you don’t forget any important documents for work," she said with a faint smile, "and everything else a married couple might normally do." Daven sighed and briefly massaged his temples. "I don’t want any unnecessary drama. You know the limits, Althea. Don’t make me regret agreeing to this." "I won’t make you regret it," Althea replied, steadying herself. Her brown eyes locked onto his without hesitation. "Just one thing this morning... I only want to ask for one thing." Daven returned her gaze, disinterested. "What is it?" "Could you give me... a morning kiss?" ** "Are you ... lost your mind?" Althea understood perfectly why her best friend reacted that way, her face frozen in disbelief. She had told Lydia everything—though without shedding a single tear, Lydia knew just how deep the pain and disappointment ran. Not all pain needed tears to be felt. Sometimes, the wound cut so deeply that even tears no longer had the strength to fall. "You can say whatever you want," Althea replied with a faint smile. "But I think this is the only chance life has given me." "You have me, Althea. You’re not alone in this world," Lydia snapped, frustrated. "I’ve told you so many times, the Callister family is no place for someone like you. You’re too kind… too gentle to be forced to survive among them." Althea stared at her now-lukewarm cup of tea. Her hands still wrapped around it, as if whatever warmth remained could calm the storm inside her chest. "I know," she whispered, barely audible. "If I could turn back time, I would never have wanted to be part of their family." A bitter smile curved her lips, one meant only for herself—for the life that felt like an endless tidal wave crashing repeatedly. Lydia let out a long sigh, leaning closer toward Althea, who sat slumped in defeat. "Why are you choosing to wait a whole month? In the end, Daven’s still going to divorce you, isn’t he?" Althea nodded slowly. "Like I said before… who knows? Maybe sometime within that month, Daven might spend the night with me." She gave a pained smile, her head bowing lower. "My life is pathetic, isn’t it?" Silence stretched between them. "But who knows," Althea said softly. "Maybe God will take pity on me. Maybe I’ll get pregnant." "Aren’t you afraid?" Lydia asked cautiously. "What if Daven finds out someday?" "Why should I be afraid? It’s just a night like the ones he spends with other women, isn’t it? I can give him plenty of reasons. I won’t ask anything from him. There won’t be a Callister name tied to me—or my child—ever again." Lydia exhaled heavily. The despair Althea carried wasn’t baseless. If this was what Althea wanted, then there was nothing Lydia could do but stand by her. "And you’re really sure you want to sell the house?" "Yes," Althea answered without hesitation. Lydia looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow in her eyes. "But that house—it was your mother’s. You two made so many memories there." Althea paused for a moment, then offered a faint, wistful smile. "I don’t want to leave any trace of myself in this city, Lydia. I’ve made up my mind. I’m truly leaving." ** After organizing a few shelves and small cabinets in the bedroom, Althea dozed off from sheer exhaustion. Some of her favorite books were neatly packed into boxes. She’d decided it was best to be ready—just in case things didn’t go the way she hoped. “Ugh,” Althea groaned, her body aching in a few spots. Maybe she’d slept in a weird position? Who knew. Either way, the discomfort stirred her awake. Her throat felt dry too. She grabbed a light robe and quietly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Each step down the stairs was careful and slow. The house was completely silent, almost eerily so. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual. But as she stepped into the dining area, she froze. The soft glow from the kitchen light was on. And he was there—Daven. Althea stood still for a few seconds, watching him in silence as he reached into the fridge. His hair was slightly tousled, his suit jacket gone, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolling up. He looked tired—truly worn out. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something softer, heavier. “Daven?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if needing confirmation that it was really him. He glanced over. “You’re still wake up?” “I woke up thirsty.” Daven gave a small nod, then shut the fridge door. “You just got home?” “Yeah,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh. Althea bit her lip, then reached for a glass from the rack and filled it with cold water. She drank half of it before glancing back at him. “Are you hungry?” He didn’t answer immediately. “I can make you something if you don’t mind waiting.” “…Sure. Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Althea gave a small nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the stove. She chose something simple—cheese omelet with parsley and toast. Easy to make, filling enough to ease an empty stomach. Daven took a seat at the table near the kitchen while the aroma of melting cheese slowly filled the air. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. He watched Althea move about the kitchen, quick and precise, like she belonged there. Every motion was smooth, effortless. Like this was her space. Like she found comfort in it. “You’re pretty skilled,” Daven said, breaking the silence. Althea looked over her shoulder, blinking. “Skilled?” “In the kitchen.” A soft laugh escaped her, half-surprised. “I’ve had some practice,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Althea laughed softly. “I enjoy cooking. It makes me happy to turn simple ingredients into something delicious—especially when someone else enjoys it too.” Ah. She’d forgotten—Daven didn’t like it when she talked too much. “Sorry, Daven,” she muttered quickly, cutting herself off. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, smirking. “Keep talking, if you want to.” “Um... what about the merger talks with the Asian company yesterday?” she asked suddenly, without turning to him. “Was a decision made?” Daven raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve been keeping up with the news, haven’t you?” Althea just shrugged. The food was ready, and she placed the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” “The problem wasn’t the merger proposal,” Daven said, slicing into the omelet. “It’s the board. They’re too conservative.” He took a slow bite. The aroma alone had already awakened his appetite, and now, with the first taste, it was clear—this was exactly what he needed. “This is good, Althea. You really do know how to cook.” A bright smile lit up her face. “Thanks for the compliment.” She poured him a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over.” Daven took another bite. “Maybe.” After a few more mouthfuls, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s better than I expected.” “The omelet?” “Mhm. Or maybe I was just starving.” Althea chuckled quietly, then began gathering the dirty dishes. She stood, ready to clean up—but Daven spoke again. “Sit with me. Just a little longer.” She obeyed without question. Silence returned, comfortable yet thick with something unspoken. Then, Daven turned his head slightly, studying her with a gaze that cut deeper than before. “I’m curious,” he said. “Do you really understand what it means to ask me to make you my wife—for real?” Althea swallowed hard, her nerves prickling, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the question. “Yes. You even warned me to be ready—whether that meant spreading my legs or playing the role of the obedient wife.” Daven let out a short breath, followed by a quiet laugh—part disbelief, part something else she couldn’t quite name. “So you’re really offering yourself just like that?” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you see it as desperation or a lack of pride… I won’t argue. Because it is my choice. My decision.” A taut silence stretched between them—until Daven suddenly moved. His large hand gripped Althea’s face—not harshly, but not gently either. Just enough to make her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His breath hit her skin, hot and close—and then the kiss landed like a storm. Deep. Rough. Unyielding. It crashed into her like a wave, giving no space, no hesitation. Althea gasped, her body jolting from the sheer intensity. Daven kissed her like he was trying to burn away every trace of doubt. There was no tenderness in it, none—as if to remind her that this was what she had asked for. Not him. It hurt. God, it hurt. But Althea forced herself to meet him halfway. Her fingers clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady herself as her breath caught in her throat. Only when Daven pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—did she finally drag air back into her lungs, shaky and uneven. But before she could gather her thoughts, his voice dropped low, brushing against her ear like a warning wrapped in fire. “Tonight… will be a very long night for you, Althea.” It would be a lie to say Althea wasn’t nervous. She’d only gotten up to grab a glass of water. Then she ended up making a light dinner because Daven looked exhausted and hungry. And now… now she was here. In Daven’s bedroom. A room she had never stepped in before. “God, how did I end up this nervous?” she cursed inwardly. But no matter how she tried to play it down, tonight was the night. The night she had longed for. The night she would finally spend with Daven—not just as the woman living in his house, but as his wife. A night that should’ve been theirs a year ago. “Don’t do anything stupid, Althea,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep up with him. You can do this.” She squeezed the fabric of her sleepwear tightly in her fists. “Think of all those romantic novels you’ve read. You’ve got this.” When she’d first entered Daven’s room, she was met with dim lighting and a quiet, minimalist space. Shades of grey and white covered every surface, neat and impersonal, like a hotel suite. Daven had asked her to wait—he wanted to take a shower. Now, only the ticking clock kept her company, along with the faint sound of water from the bathroom. But when that sound finally stopped… her heart skipped wildly in her chest. He was done. “Stay calm. Don’t panic. Just breathe,” she reminded herself, steadying her nerves. Althea stood by the window, not daring to sit on his perfectly made bed. Her back faced the light, casting her in silhouette. The soft cotton of her sleepwear clung gently to her frame, making her appear smaller, more delicate than usual. Daven walked toward her. “You really waited for me,” he said with a small laugh. Honestly, he’d half expected her to run away. But no—Althea had meant what she said. “You told me to wait, didn’t you?” she replied, turning around—only to freeze in surprise. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. Althea didn’t know what to do next. Daven’s broad, sculpted back had been wrecking her focus since the moment he sat down. Maybe she should just leave—quickly—before this went any further. Because of that question he asked earlier? It had sounded an awful lot like a lie. A beautifully packaged excuse with no real intention behind it. "Come here," Daven said suddenly, turning around to face her. Althea froze, her gaze falling to the floor as her cheeks flushed crimson. Why was she blushing? Embarrassed, maybe? God—was she really acting like some innocent teenager facing a man for the first time? Or maybe... The stiff way she stood there made Daven chuckle under his breath. The sound made Althea lift her head, confused. “You’re laughing at me?” “What else?” he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes sharp and dark as the midnight sky, trained solely on her. “You’ve been begging me for this, haven’t you? Going on and on about our agreement since yesterday…” His tone was intentionally laced with provocation, each word a calculated push. He took a step forward. “And now that I ask you to come closer, you hesitate?” “I’m not hesitating,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I told you—I want tonight to be the night we’re husband and wife. For real.” Daven didn’t stop approaching. Step by step, he backed her up until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. “Ugh,” Althea let out, startled, but she had nowhere else to go. “This is my first time, Daven,” she admitted, her voice quiet, trembling not just from nerves—but honesty. She hoped he’d ease up on the pressure, even just a little. Because right now, she was afraid. Daven said nothing. His eyes—sharp and unreadable—narrowed slightly as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re scared?” “No.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “What hurts more is when you ignore me. Like I don’t exist.” Daven’s voice was barely audible. “Stubborn woman.” “You should’ve figured that out the day we got married.” He stepped in even closer. This time, his fingers brushed against her cheek—soft, cool skin that radiated heat beneath his touch. Whether it was from nervousness or the cold air in the room, he couldn’t tell. He kept staring at her, his thumb drawing idle circles against her skin, as if something inside him was warring with reason. He exhaled slowly—was it frustrating? Or something deeper unraveling inside him? “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “Like what?” Althea whispered. She could sense it—he was the one on the verge of retreating. And that realization pushed her to do something bold, maybe reckless. Her trembling hand reached out, gently tracing the lines of his chest. “This is your final warning, Althea,” Daven said, his voice tight, full of strain. Like a man on the edge of restraint. “I’m not backing down, Dav. I’ve already thrown away every shred of pride I had just to stand here in front of you and ask for this…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Tell me something—am I that unattractive to you? Is that why you keep rejecting me?” “Damn it.” He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other returned to her face, his grip firm but not cruel, anchoring her there as his mouth crashed onto hers—rough, sudden, desperate. His tongue forced its way past her lips, leaving her no time to catch her breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to hurt you or not,” he growled between kisses, “but this is your choice. You didn’t walk away.” “D-Do whatever you want, Dav.” It took everything she had to get the words out. Keeping up with Daven felt like being swept into a current she had no hope of escaping. But she didn’t want to. He sucked in a breath, eyes blazing. “You’re driving me insane tonight, Althea.” She met his gaze, her voice steady even as her heart raced. “Then maybe the only thing left to do... is go insane together.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air, heavy and uneven, mingling in the silence like a delicate thread threatening to snap. Althea’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. But to Daven, she had never looked more captivating—like something fragile wrapped in fire, burning softly yet refusing to be extinguished. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. And maybe that was why, without a word, he swept her into his arms in a swift motion and carried her toward the bed. Every kiss he gave her was returned with soft gasps and breathless whimpers. His touch left trails of warmth across her skin, branding her in ways that made her tremble. There was something about the way she looked at him—those wide amber eyes filled with vulnerability and longing—that made Daven falter for the briefest second. He didn’t understand what he felt... only that he didn’t want to let her go. When he leaned in to press another kiss onto her lips, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him with trembling hands, her touch hesitant but sincere. "You’re really not backing down," Daven murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Wasn’t that what you asked for?" she replied softly, her breath brushing against his lips. He paused—just long enough to give her one last chance to walk away. "This is your last warning, Althea," he said, his forehead pressed against her. "Once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop." Althea’s hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in just slightly as she whispered, “Then don’t stop. Let this night be mine, Daven. Just this once.” There was a flicker in his eyes—something between restraint and surrender—before he leaned in again, this time more gently. His kiss was slower, deeper, and laced with the kind of unspoken emotion neither of them could name. As their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the room, Daven moved with a mixture of intensity and care, as though he was memorizing every inch of her. Althea gave herself over to the moment, not out of recklessness, but because she wanted to remember this night—not with regret, but with quiet gratitude. She wasn’t asking him to love her. She wasn’t hoping he would change. All she wanted... was to carry a memory that mattered. Something real. Something hers. Please, God, she prayed silently, let this be the one night I never have to forget. ... “Mm… why is it hurt so much?” Althea mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft morning light filtered in, helping her vision adjust. Wait… Her senses scrambled to make sense of it all—the feel of the comforter, the plushness of the mattress, and then... that faint, unmistakably masculine scent. Familiar. Warm. Clean. Daven Callister. Her face flushed red as memories of last night rushed back—those naked, intimate moments, their sweaty skin pressed together… “You’re awake?” His voice sent a jolt down her spine. Althea turned sharply toward the source. There he was—sitting casually on a sofa just a few feet away from the bed. Daven took off his glasses and set down his work tablet, then rose and walked toward her. She didn’t move. Her thoughts were still catching up, still trying to process the fact that they actually did it. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice tight. Already slipping on his blazer, Daven glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Just past seven.” “Oh my God!” she gasped, panic spiking again. “I overslept!” Daven raised an eyebrow. “So? Is that a problem?” She threw the covers aside in a flurry, frantically searching for something. He watched her curiously. Was this how she always woke up? “I-I haven't even made you breakfast.” she murmured, eyes lowered in embarrassment."Sorry, I just-" “It’s fine,” he cut her off gently, now standing right beside the bed. Her face was completely bare, her soft and unguarded. A few stray strands of hair framed her cheeks. Disheveled, but in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Was this what Althea looked like when she first woke up? Daven had never seen her like this before. It was… unexpectedly endearing. “I should be the one apologizing,” he added, voice lower now. “I… didn't let you rest last nig—” "It’s alright, I’m fine!" Althea almost shoved her face into her pillow. How could Daven say such things? She didn’t know how to face him anymore. For a while, neither spoke. In that rare moment of quiet and warmth, time seemed to slowly pass by. And something between them seemed to quietly change. Althea knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. She finally cleared her throat and said softly, “I should head back to my room. If you don’t mind waiting a little, I’ll prepare breakfast quickly.” “I’ll wait,” Daven replied without hesitation. “I’ve still got some work to finish, anyway.” Althea nodded. “Alright then.” But just as she stepped toward the door, the sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway—followed by the door flinging open with force. “DAVEN?!”