Chapter 16
T he taxi’s faux leather seats felt cold against Conrad’s skin as he sat in the back, arms folded, staring out the window while the car descended the winding country road toward the cottage. The sharp scent of a pine air freshener filled the cramped space, making his stomach churn. He could still feel his wife’s touch—her warm fingers on his skin. He was drawn to her, but she was a fake—an illusion.
How could he have been so blind? From the corner of his eye, Conrad watched her hunched shoulders, radiating misery. Her hand brushed against his arm but withdrew quickly, leaving him with a longing he couldn’t shake.
That charm and warm laughter from earlier when they’d kissed ... Those mesmerising emerald eyes and that hair, alive and dancing around her face ... Was any of it real?
“Don’t be like that,” she said, her voice hoarse, raw with emotion.
With a deep sigh, he turned to face her, taking in her ashen face. The wrinkles on her forehead and around her eyes caught his attention—a more mature look he found oddly alluring. Was she older than she seemed? And what had her life been like before she became Louise? Maybe she was an actress. If so, a damn good one. She’d fooled him. They all had. How could he have been so stupid?
“I understand you’re upset, but it was just my parents crashing our lunch, not a tragic disaster. I didn’t like it either.”
“You’ve got nerve.” His jaw tightened, anger bubbling beneath the surface. “It’s way more than that.”
“And what do you want me to do? I didn’t invite them. They showed up unannounced.” Her voice was a blend of defiance and desperation, her green eyes now clouded. Her worried face was framed by hair that had lost all its shine. He wondered if it was all an act—a well-rehearsed performance designed to tug at his heartstrings.
The taxi came to a halt at the entrance of the cottage—a soft groan from the car engine marking the end of the journey. Conrad pointed at the door.
“This is your stop. I’m going to the inn. I have work to do.” The words trickled through his clenched teeth.
“So, this is how you deal with problems? Run away from them?” Her voice was sharp, her green eyes flashing with anger and frustration.
He shot her a look, his tone as cold as the steel-blue sky outside. “What do you want me to do?”
“Come inside and talk. Straighten things out instead of burying your head in the sand.” She crossed her arms. “Or I’m going with you.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea, but have it your way.”
Conrad reached for his wallet, his fingers brushing against the rough edge of the plastic card as he held it over the card reader. As he stepped out of the car, the howling wind cut through his thin shirt, chilling him to the bone. Without pausing at her side of the taxi, he stormed toward the cottage. Behind him, she followed, her scent of jasmine and coconut filling the air when they stepped inside.
A dream catcher rattled outside while voile curtains whipped in a frenzy. Conrad leapt to the open windows, pressing against the old, rough wooden frames until they finally shut. Across the room, his wife slammed another window closed and silence enveloped them. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words.
“So?” Her voice echoed in the quiet room.
Conrad turned to face her, hands on his hips. “So what?”
Her lips thinned, her green eyes blazing. “So, why are you so angry at my parents? Is it about the paperwork? You agreed to give them the cottage, and now you’ve changed your mind, so you want to blame it on them, right?”
A knot of guilt tightened in his chest. There was a bit of truth to her words, but that wasn’t the point.
Conrad cleared his throat. “Oh, so you think I’m overreacting?”
She raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Aren’t you?”
He stepped closer, his voice low and measured. “No, I don’t think so, Annie. ”
***
?
W ait, what?
Annie blinked, her pulse tripping over itself like a clumsy dancer. Conrad’s icy voice cut through the silence of the cottage, his words hanging heavy in the air.
“This is your real name, isn’t it, Annie?” He enunciated her name like it was the punchline to a cruel joke. “And don’t try to pretend this is what your parents call you. I know Louise is your sister.”
A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to escape her throat. Conrad’s face was set in a grim mask of revelation, as though he’d just uncovered a state secret. The absurdity of the situation, combined with the relief of her secret finally being out, was almost too much to bear. No more pretending. No more guilt. But this was no laughing matter. She bit her lip hard, letting only a wry smile paint her lips.
“When did you find out?” Her hair tumbled into her eyes, but she made no move to brush it aside.
“I overheard your little chat with your mother today.”
She nodded. They’d been shouting, so probably the entire restaurant had heard them.
“Then you know it wasn’t exactly a friendly chat.” Her voice sounded steadier than she felt, despite the chaos inside her.
His eyes, like liquid steel, bore into her, a stark contrast to the warm, rustic hues of the cottage interior.
“Is that your excuse? No apology? As if it’s perfectly normal to impersonate your own sister?”
His hands clamped down on her shoulders, forcing her to face him. The move was so familiar, so reminiscent of Darren’s controlling grip whenever she’d displeased him, that it sent an icy shiver through her. Sweat dripped down her spine, pooling in the small of her back.
“Conrad, you’re hurting me.”
“Sorry.” He jumped back like he’d been burned, his hands dropping to his sides. His clenched jaw softened, and a flicker of regret darkened his eyes. Not like Darren. Darren would never have let go so easily, and would never have shown shame or regret. Darren would’ve made her beg for forgiveness.
Behind Conrad, a vase filled with lilacs wobbled and crashed to the floor as he bumped into the side table. Shattered china swirled in a pool of murky, rotten water, spreading in every direction.
“I meant to tell you.” Annie stepped over the growing stinky puddle and hastened toward the kitchen area.
“Really?” The rapid staccato of his footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as he followed her. “Before or after I handed you my home?”
She rummaged through the cupboards, searching for a microfiber cloth. “Your home?” Her gaze fell on a colourful piece of fabric—an oven glove. Useless for mopping water.
“Yeah, that cottage you all want so badly.” He leaned against the counter, inches away from her, his presence still intoxicating, his exotic cologne making her cheeks flush despite her anger.
“It’s not your home. Your home is a posh mansion in Bath.” She jabbed her palm against his chest, taking a step back. “And how dare you compare what you did to me with that?”
His eyebrows narrowed in confusion. “Compare what? Did what?”
Annie’s eyes caught the shiny reflection of the metallic kitchen towel stand.
Her voice sharpened like a blade. “Buy a woman who could be your daughter with that damn cottage.”
His face flushed deep crimson. “What? No!” He waved a hand in exasperation. “You know damn well this marriage was a means to an end. Your parents wanted that cottage, and they promised your sister’s marriage fund in exchange. That’s all it was.”
A bitter taste filled her mouth, sour and metallic. It all made sense on paper, but the reality felt so much uglier. Conrad was no different from her parents. All he cared about was money.
“So, you ruined a young woman’s life—not because of her, but because she was just part of a business transaction. You bastard!”
***
?
A nnie yanked the kitchen towel roll off its stand and hurled it at him. He ducked, his mouth open in surprise, and the roll flew past his ear.
It bounced off the floor, unspooling mid-air, leaving the room littered with strands of paper towel. Combined with the shattered vase in the corner, the living area now resembled the aftermath of a stag party.
How on earth did she turn this around? Somehow, she was making him look like the villain while conveniently ignoring her part in this mess.
Conrad’s gaze locked on Louise—no, Annie—standing on the other side of the counter with her arms crossed over her chest.
“And now I’m the bad guy?” He leapt around the counter, towering over his wife as he halted inches away from her. “Never mind the fact that you tricked me into this marriage.”
She met his gaze head-on. “You were the one so eager to put a ring on it. I just stepped in to prevent a disaster.”
“Oh, really?” His laugh was bitter. “Heard you were pretty eager to play the blushing bride. Not many chances left at your age, huh?”
Her cheeks flared crimson at his words. “My age? How dare you!” She jabbed a finger at his chest, her voice rising. “I’m still younger than you, but for you, it’s probably too old. You need a young and beautiful wife to validate your status. Isn’t that what men your age crave?”
Conrad curled his lips into a wry smirk. “Was it my charm that worked on you, or is it my bank account you find so irresistible?”
Her hands shot to her hips, her chin thrusting out defiantly. “Oh, really? Who’s after whose money? You wanted to marry my sister to snatch her inheritance. I stepped in to stop that!”
A whirr from the coffee machine cleaning cycle filled the air, accentuating her words.
“I did this for Louise, you know. I couldn’t let her be used like that—not by my parents, and certainly not by you.”
Her eyes sparkled like the purest of emeralds while her hair danced around her animated face. Conrad swallowed hard, resisting the urge to end this argument by crashing his lips against hers.
“A sacrifice so immense you didn’t think to stop the charade at the altar?” His tone was biting, his eyebrows furrowed.
“You were so wrapped up in your plans you didn’t even notice your bride was a different person!” Annie’s words stung, hitting the mark.
Conrad grimaced. “You know damn well I only met your sister once. But your parents? Oh, that’s a different story. They knew exactly who you were and didn’t stop the wedding.”
“They must have been in shock,” she murmured, her gaze faltering for a brief moment as her shoulders sagged.
Conrad kept advancing, jabbing a finger in her direction until her back pressed against the shiny white surface of the fridge. “I beg to differ. I bet they were thrilled to kill two birds with one stone—get their hands on the cottage and rid themselves of their biggest disappointment: their daughter from hell.”
Something in her shifted. The fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a vulnerability that hit him harder than any argument ever could. Her shoulders drooped further, and her defiant expression crumbled.
In a trembling voice, she said, “You’re right. I was never good enough for them. Always a disappointment. And I don’t think that will ever change.”
Her words hung in the air, raw and heavy. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Before he could respond, she pushed him away and bolted, the slam of the bedroom door echoing in his ears.
Conrad stood rooted to the spot. His anger evaporated, replaced by a sour taste of regret.
Why the hell did I say that? He raked his fingers through his hair, pacing the room as guilt settled over him.
It was her fault. No one else had ever rattled him this much. But his wife—since the moment they had met—pushed his buttons like no one else, always finding a way to get under his skin.
But why now? Why those tears? They’d traded worse words than this before, yet he’d never seen her like that—fiery and defiant, yes, but never broken.
The harsh reality of the situation hung in the air like a thick fog of regret and confusion. He had wanted to corner her, to force her to face the truth, but his words had struck deeper than he intended.
He’d hit his mark, sure—but at what cost?
***
?
T ears streamed down Annie’s cheeks, hot and stinging as they fell onto her trembling lips. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she crossed the room in two long strides, her heart hammering against her rib cage, her gaze fixed on the open suitcase lying on the wooden floor near the dresser.
Bending down with a swiftness born of desperation, she clutched the worn suitcase handle, her fingers trembling, the knuckles white from her grip. Using all the force she could muster, she heaved it up and hurled it onto the bed, her hands shaking with anger and frustration.
The sudden motion sent half of the suitcase’s contents—bits of her old life, her past—scattering across the floor. Clothes spilt like fragments of memories, falling into a chaotic mess.
Muttering a quiet curse, Annie crouched to gather the scattered items, knocking the photo of her grandmother off the dresser. The wooden frame hit the hard floor with a dull thud that echoed in the silence.
Annie reached out, her fingers tracing the edges of the polished frame—its cool, glossy surface a stark contrast to her warm tears. Her thumb grazed over the familiar face in the picture, and a sad smile tugged at her lips.
“Wish you were here, Granny. I miss you so much.”
As if triggered by a sensory switch, the subtle fragrance of lavender emanating from the dresser zapped Annie into a different realm. The scent was a one-way ticket to a past era, an era filled with warmth, love, and the unwavering presence of Grandma Ann.
In her mind, she was sixteen again, a naive girl in love, too insecure to say no when her boyfriend had insisted they be intimate. If only he had kept it to himself. But no, he had bragged about their encounter, and word had reached her mother.
Never before had she seen her mother’s face twisted in such a potent mix of fury and disgust. The words had been few, but the message was unmistakable: the half-packed suitcase by the gaping front door said it all.
“You are dead to me,” her mother had said, slamming the door shut behind her.
At first, Annie had stood her ground, banging on the door and begging her mother to let her in. But all she’d got was silence, punctuated by a sorrowful glimpse of her nine-year-old sister’s tear-streaked face and smudged palms pressed against the cold glass of a window.
How long Annie had stood there, she couldn’t remember. The shadows had stretched longer, and the streetlights had flickered on. That night had been the longest of her life.
The biting cold and descending darkness had not been her worst adversaries—it was the crippling loneliness, the overwhelming feeling of utter abandonment.
She had woken up stiff and shivering to a calm, soothing voice and the smell of lavender.
“Everything will be okay, honey. Let’s go.”
Grandma Ann had swept in like a guardian angel, wrapping her in a soft, pale blue blanket and helping her to the safety of a waiting car.
It had been eighteen years ago—almost to the day. Since then, until her passing earlier this year, Grandma Ann had been a safe port in Annie’s tumultuous life. Despite Whether Annie had got into trouble with one boyfriend after another, lost her marriage fund to the gambler she’d married in haste, or barely stayed in touch because Darren had convinced her she was better off with him than her family, Grandma Ann had always had her back.
With trembling hands, Annie placed the photo in the centre of the dresser.
She could never forgive her mother. She wondered if her mother even remembered what had happened that day. And if she did, did she regret it?
But now, Annie was the one betraying someone. Doing her parents’ bidding, she had deceived Conrad.
“Granny, how did I end up in such a mess?”
Annie looked out the window. Outside, the fiery sun sank lazily behind the horizon, painting the sky in hues of scarlet and gold—an ironic contrast to the turmoil within her. The ghastly wind subsided, replaced by a chilled evening breeze carrying the sweet aroma of night-scented stock.
Birdsong mingled with the faint rumble of a distant tractor. Annie closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, savouring the brief peace and quiet.
“Granny, it would be bliss to raise my child here.” Her whisper was barely audible.
But she couldn’t stay. Not here. A quiet sigh escaped her lips as she zipped the suitcase. There were only a few items left to pack from the bathroom, and she would be ready to go.
The sound of footsteps outside the door made her heart pound faster. Annie froze, unsure of what to do. She didn’t want to face Conrad—not now. She needed to leave before he could stop her.
Suddenly, a familiar pain gripped her lower belly, forcing her to double over. A hot flush swept through her, and her knees buckled as she collapsed onto the bed, weak and powerless, like a newborn.
“Not now. It can’t happen again. Please, God.”
***
?
H e rapped on the door once more. Silence.
“Fine.” Conrad pursed his lips and marched toward his study. With his hand on the handle, he furrowed his brows, hesitating, then turned around.
The wooden wine rack, holding a few bottles of his favourite Merlot, shimmered under the artificial glow of a side lamp. His gaze landed on the shards of the broken vase scattered near the rack.
“Who cares?” Conrad smirked and shrugged.
In a few long strides, he reached the rack, grabbed the nearest bottle from the top row, and pulled a sizeable wine glass from the hanging cabinet.
He stomped back down the hallway, pausing briefly to glance at the closed door to her bedroom before disappearing into his study.
With one swift motion, he cleared his desk. Papers fluttered into the air, landing on the floor, the bookshelf, and the windowsill—the perfect mess.
Like my entire life.
Conrad planted the bottle and glass in an empty spot on the desk, then swung his computer chair around and sagged into it.
Women are nothing but trouble.
Why had he ever thought this was a good idea?
After unscrewing the bottle’s cap, Conrad poured half a glass of wine and lifted it to his mouth. A slightly sour and bitter taste hit his tongue.
“Con artists, all of them!”
How could he have been such a fool, and not realise she couldn’t be that young, innocent girl he’d first seen in that coffee shop?
“Because you didn’t want to see it, you idiot.”
From the moment she’d stood next to him in that church, smelling of coconut, he’d wanted to touch her, to know her better. He should have known. He would never be drawn like that to a woman that could have been his daughter.
Conrad poured another glass, his gaze drifting to a neat stack of letters sitting on the edge of the desk—brought in by Colton, no doubt.
The bold lettering on the top envelope made his stomach twist. Still, with an inexplicable urge to torture himself further, he dragged the stack closer.
The envelopes felt thin and cheap beneath his fingers. He sliced the top one open with his leather-bound letter opener—a gift from his grandfather—and pulled out the stiff, ink-stained paper inside. Bold letters stared back at him.
He swallowed hard and downed the entire glass in one go, refilling it instantly. The bank stopped playing around. No more reminders or polite requests to pay. Just a statement of fact. “Your house will be repossessed a month from the date of this letter ...”
With trembling hands, he tore open the rest of the envelopes. Six in total. Each with a similar deadline, each driving the dagger deeper into his heart.
Conrad didn’t care much about the house in Bath—it was just his official residence. His home was here, in this cottage. The cottage he’d promised to his wife.
“Not a chance in hell.” He threatened the air with his fist, sending the glass flying. Wine splattered across the papers like blood from a fresh wound.
“You’re not my wife! Do you hear me? You’re an imposter!” he shouted toward the closed study door, his voice echoing in the empty room.
He grabbed the bottle and took a long swig, his throat burning.
“There is no wedding fund for me, is there?”
The whisper barely left his lips, so quiet even he could hardly hear it.
He had promised his employees that they would keep their jobs. He had promised that he’d found a way to save the business.
And now? Now it was all gone. There was nothing he could do.
He clenched his fists and roared into the void. “You conned them all! Are you happy now?”?