Chapter 3 #2
Cecilia's expression looked like she'd heard a joke.
She leaned close to my ear and laughed meaningfully, her voice dropping low.
"Ivy, you're pathetic. You think a mere friendship could make him skip his own master bedroom in the middle of the night to stay with me in the study reviewing contracts? "
"What else?" I slammed the knife heavily onto the cutting board. "He married me, not some 'friend.' I think that proves enough."
Cecilia's expression froze slightly, as if she hadn't expected meek little me to fight back. But quickly she pulled on that ambiguous smile again, leaning close to my ear. "Really? Then let's... wait and see."
She patted my shoulder with pitying condescension and left the kitchen.
I stood there, frozen cold, slumping heavily against the cabinet behind me.
"Madam? Are you all right?"
Butler John walked in carrying a plate of washed fruit, his expression worried and awkward. Obviously, he'd heard part of our exchange.
"I'm fine, John." I took a deep breath, hastily wiping my stinging eyes. Seeing John's face full of sympathy, I really didn't want to show weakness in this house.
I forced a smile. "By the way, John, you took time off the other day because your daughter had a fever? Is she better?"
John paused, gratitude flashing in his eyes.
He bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you for your concern, madam.
Her fever broke. She's much better. Madam...
I heard from Mrs. Mackenzie about what's been happening these past days.
Perhaps the sir is just very busy with work lately. Please don't take it to heart."
"I know," I replied softly.
Maybe seeing my low spirits, John brought up Cecilia voluntarily. "I was already working at the estate when I first met that young lady. Madam, please believe me—Sir has no special feelings for her. I've seen how he looks at you and how he looks at Miss Ashton. Very different."
"Oh. Thanks, John. I'm really fine." I kept my head down and couldn't meet John's eyes, afraid I'd lose it and cry.
Cecilia's provocation worked. Since her arrival, the seed of unease in my heart had grown larger every day. I'd even started doubting my relationship with Damian. Did he really love me?
That night, when Damian came home from work, he went straight to the study for business. The manor was eerily quiet.
I returned alone to the empty bedroom and looked at that enormous, cold double bed. Tears finally spilled over.
I loved Damian. Two years of companionship wasn't fake. I could tolerate Cecilia's temporary stay. I could even convince myself not to care what kind of past they'd shared. As long as Damian still had me in his heart.
I was his legal wife. We'd lived together for two whole years. Could two years of daily life really become worthless just because Cecilia came back?
I instinctively rejected that answer.
No. Maybe things weren't as bad as I thought.
Maybe Damian was just too exhausted. Maybe he'd just gotten too used to my compliance, forgotten I needed to be loved too.
Or maybe... our recent lack of intimacy had caused this recent coldness.
I needed to confirm whether he still wanted to stay with me, whether he still held even the most basic interest in my body and emotions.
As long as he cared about me even a little, I would keep loving him.
I wiped my tears and hurried to the walk-in closet.
I pulled out that sexy nightgown I'd bought six months ago but never worn.
I stood in front of the mirror holding it, hesitating a long time before finally putting it on.
The soft white lace clung to my body, the hem very short, exposing expanses of skin I'd never dared show him so boldly before.
The reflection made me feel like a stranger. Made my heart race with nerves.
I let my hair down and lit Damian's favorite scented candle. The faint, warm firelight flickered in the dim bedroom, making the atmosphere intensely intimate. I even placed a few freshly picked red roses on the nightstand.
After doing all this, I lay on the bed, heart pounding. But I couldn't help worrying. For the past few days, Damian had slept in the study.
But tonight, the bedroom door opened.
Damian walked in carrying exhaustion. When he saw the candles and me on the bed, he clearly froze.
His gaze lingered for several seconds on that sexy lace nightgown. In his previously emotionless eyes, finally, in this moment, appeared some desire and tenderness belonging to a man.
"What made you do all this tonight?" His voice was hoarse. He unbuttoned his shirt while walking toward the bed.
"Damian... I missed you." I reached out somewhat shyly and wrapped my arms around his neck.
Damian pulled me closer, his hands warm on my waist. He leaned in and kissed the side of my neck, just below my ear, then slowly worked his way down.
His lips felt soft and steady against my skin.
I shivered a little and held onto his shoulders.
He didn't go for my mouth. Instead, he kept kissing along my neck and collarbone, taking his time.
"You really went all out tonight," he said in that low, tired voice. His fingers slid the strap of the nightgown off my shoulder. I could feel him getting harder against me as I sat on his lap.
I reached down and helped him with his shirt, pushing it open so I could touch his chest. He lifted me up a bit, scooting back against the pillows, and settled me right on top of him like he usually did.
My knees sank into the bed on either side of his hips.
His hands stayed firm on my thighs, guiding me, strong but not rough.
I rocked against him slowly, feeling the heat building between us.
He tugged the nightgown higher, then pulled it over my head and tossed it aside.
His hands were warm as they ran up my sides and cupped my breasts.
He leaned up and kissed down my chest, his mouth gentle and focused.
I let out a soft moan when his tongue brushed over my nipple.
"Damian," I breathed, moving my hips a little faster.
He helped me with his belt and zipper, and I wrapped my hand around him, stroking slowly.
He was rock hard and warm. I shifted up, lined him up, and sank down onto him inch by inch.
We both groaned at the same time. He filled me completely in this position, stretching me just right.
I started riding him, hands braced on his chest. He thrust up to meet me, steady and deep, one hand on my hip keeping me in rhythm while the other slipped between us to rub my clit with his thumb.
It felt so good I clenched around him. His touches were confident, like he knew exactly what to do to make me feel amazing. I leaned forward, my hair falling around us, and he kissed along my shoulder and neck again, never breaking the steady pace.
The bed creaked softly under us. I moved faster, chasing that building feeling. He gripped my ass with both hands, helping me bounce on him, his breaths getting rougher against my skin.
"That's it," he muttered, voice hoarse. His fingers kept circling my clit in perfect little strokes.
I came first, shaking on top of him, my thighs squeezing his sides as the pleasure hit hard. He kept thrusting through it, then pulled me down tight and came inside me with a deep groan, hips jerking a few times before he relaxed.
Afterward, I felt no satisfaction—only my heart sinking deeper.
Damian's movements had been as forceful and tender as always, but somehow I sensed he was weighed down by something. He'd kissed my ear, my neck, but when I tried to kiss him, he'd gently turned away. Why wouldn't he kiss me? Was this just some obligatory marital duty?
In that moment, enormous sorrow drowned me like a tide—had I traded my body for nothing but cheap charity?
The air still carried the afterglow. Damian lay beside me, chest heaving, pulling the blanket over his body, closing his eyes.
I turned on my side, reached out to touch his chest, but bitterness made me pull back halfway, clutching the corner of the blanket instead.
"Damian, are you going to sleep?" I asked softly.
"Yeah. Tired." His voice carried thick exhaustion and dismissiveness.
"I wanted to mention something... maybe we should address Cecilia's wardrobe choices? She is a guest, after all. Isn't it a bit inappropriate—"
"Ivy."
Damian cut me off. Maybe because of what we'd just done, his tone lacked its earlier irritation.
But he didn't even open his eyes. Just reached out and pulled me roughly into his arms, brushing me off like placating a child.
"Stop overthinking. Cecilia lived as an artist in Paris—that's French aesthetics.
She doesn't mean anything by it. I'm really exhausted.
Two meetings tomorrow at the office. Sleep. "
He pressed a brief kiss to my forehead, then turned over, his back to me. I lay beside him but felt more alone than ever. He couldn't even spare me a proper kiss, yet expected me to believe those explanations.
Less than a minute later, steady, even breathing came from beside me.
The scented candle still burned, filling the room with cloying sweetness. I lay in the darkness, staring at his cold back, tears sliding silently down my cheeks.
Mechanical compliance. Hasty dismissal.
My carefully planned romance had changed nothing. He couldn't even be bothered to explain.
How much longer could I hold on in this marriage that was only in name?