Chapter 3: A Marriage on the Edge

Book page. Weak. I dodged, "Just… got scratched by a book page yesterday."

He didn’t. The excuse was flimsy, but it was all I had. I forced a laugh, hoping he’d let it go.

"Book page…" Carter blinked very slowly. "What were you doing last night?"

He waited. His eyes narrowed, searching my face for the truth. I looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

Too close. His fingertips probed into my collar. If he pulled any harder, he’d see the lipstick marks hidden underneath.

Don’t let him see. My breath hitched, panic rising. I clutched the fabric, trying to keep it in place.

Hair treatment. Lame. I swallowed. "I went out for a hair treatment last night."

He didn’t believe me. The lie slipped out easily, practiced and smooth. I prayed he wouldn’t press further.

He was angry. Carter’s breathing grew heavier.

I could feel it. His chest rose and fell, each breath louder than the last. The tension between us was electric, crackling in the air.

He was barely holding it together. He stared at me expressionlessly. For a moment, I thought he might tear me apart.

I waited. His eyes were cold, unreadable. I felt like a bug pinned under glass, waiting for the hammer to fall.

I pushed back. His fingers gripped my collar. With that force, I staggered and almost fell into his arms. I quickly put my arms up to block his chest.

Let me go. The contact was brief but intense. I pushed against his chest, trying to create space between us. My heart raced, fear and adrenaline mingling.

He held on. His palm wrapped around my lower back, gripping like an iron band, tightening bit by bit, as if he was venting his pent-up anger.

Too close. I gasped, the pressure almost painful. He held me close, his body radiating heat and frustration.

I gave up. I couldn’t match his strength. My arms started to weaken.

No tears. My resistance faltered, my muscles trembling with effort. I bit my lip, refusing to cry.

He was right there. Carter leaned in closer.

I froze. His breath was warm against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. I froze, uncertain and afraid.

Don’t. Please. "Mr. Whitman, don’t," I said, my voice trembling. I didn’t know what he wanted, but my instincts screamed danger.

Let me go. The words spilled out, desperate and pleading. I tried to twist away, but he held me fast.

I begged. My mind went blank, my voice shaking, begging incoherently.

Please. Just stop. I stammered, the words tumbling over each other. "Please, I—just—don’t—"

He let go. After three or four seconds, he actually pulled his hand away, clenching it into a fist, his face darkening, lips pressed tightly together.

He looked furious. The release was sudden, almost violent. He stepped back, jaw clenched, eyes blazing with something I couldn’t name.

Did I really say that? Only then did I realize what I’d just said—"I’m scared, don’t touch me, please."

I hugged myself. The words echoed in the silence, heavy with meaning. I hugged myself, suddenly cold.

"You’re getting two bodyguards. They’ll follow you everywhere." Carter announced flatly.

No room for debate. His voice was all business, emotion wiped clean. The decision was final, no room for argument.

He left. Then, without hesitation, he turned and left.

I collapsed. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in the quiet. I sank to the floor, knees drawn to my chest, shaking.

His car roared to life. When I heard the familiar engine sound outside, it was like waking from a dream—

Gone. The car roared to life, tires squealing as he sped away. The sound faded into the distance, leaving only the thrum of my heartbeat in its wake.

He just left?

He always pushed. I stared at the door, disbelief warring with relief. It didn’t make sense. Carter never let anything go.

Why?

Did I mess up? I replayed the scene in my mind, searching for clues. Had I gone too far, or not far enough?

No way to call for help. I was under strict surveillance, with almost no chance to use my phone to contact anyone.

Always watching. The bodyguards were everywhere—two men in dark suits, always just out of sight. They watched me with blank expressions, silent and unyielding.

He came home early. For some reason, Carter, who was supposed to be overseas, finished his business trip in just five days and rushed back.

What did he know? He’d never cut a trip short before. The urgency in his return unsettled me, made me wonder what he’d seen—or what he suspected.

Finally, a chance to breathe. After he returned, the surveillance eased up a lot. I finally had another chance to pick up the phone.

Bathroom. Safe, for now. The bodyguards lingered in the hallway, but I found a moment alone in the bathroom. My hands shook as I powered on the spare phone, heart pounding.

I texted again. I used the anonymous SIM to send a message.

I didn’t hold back. I typed quickly, fingers flying over the keys. The words were reckless, taunting.

"Chill, man. Even if she cheated, just divorce her. Why lock her up?"

I couldn’t stop. I hit send, my breath catching in my throat. The risk felt enormous, but I couldn’t stop myself.

Carter replied quickly: "She didn’t cheat. I believe her. Jenna isn’t someone who would do that."

He believed me? Why? His response was immediate, unwavering. The certainty in his words stunned me. I stared at the screen, trying to make sense of it.

I stared blankly at the message.

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t add up. Carter had never shown any faith in me before. Why now?

What was he up to?

He didn’t know me. It was true that I couldn’t bring myself to actually cheat, so I came up with this plan. But how could Carter be so sure of what kind of person I was?

Why now? He’d never bothered to know me, never asked about my dreams or fears. Yet here he was, defending me to a stranger. It made no sense.

Always cold. He was always, always so cold to me.

His silence hurt. His indifference had been my prison, the silence between us a wall I could never scale. I felt a familiar ache in my chest.

Fine. Let’s see how far he’d go. I went all out, stirring the pot:

Let’s play. If he wanted to play games, I’d play to win. I typed, my fingers flying.

"You don’t know her like I do."

"Three freckles. Rib, navel, and… connect the dots, she shivers."

Bet he’d hate that. I could almost see his face, the way his eyes would narrow, jaw tightening. The details were intimate, impossible to ignore.

"Three years and you never noticed?"

He never touched me. The last line was full of sarcasm, because in these three years, Carter has never touched me.

Let him feel it. It was a cruel jab, but I wanted to hurt him, just a little. I wanted him to feel the emptiness I’d lived with.

Crash. Something broke upstairs. Just as I sent it, a loud bang came from upstairs.

He was losing it. The sound made me jump, heart hammering. It was followed by another crash, louder this time. Something heavy hitting the floor.

Upstairs. His study. It was from Carter’s study.

He was furious. I pictured him pacing, fury boiling over. The image both terrified and thrilled me.

I hid the phone. I trembled, hurriedly hiding the spare phone in a panic.

Don’t let him find it. My hands shook as I shoved the phone under the mattress, praying he wouldn’t find it. My breath came in short, panicked bursts.

More crashes. There were several more crashing sounds.

He was breaking things. Books, maybe a lamp—things breaking, shattering. The violence of it made me shiver.

Footsteps on the stairs. Then I heard Carter coming downstairs.

He was coming. His footsteps were heavy, deliberate. I pressed myself against the wall, listening.

He told the housekeeper to clean up. Replace the computer. He said wearily to the housekeeper, "Get someone to clean up. The computer needs to be replaced."

He didn’t care. His voice was flat, emotionless. I could picture the mess, the shattered glass and splintered wood.

Getting closer. Footsteps approached.

I held my breath. They echoed down the hallway, slow and measured. My heart raced, every muscle tensed.

Would he hurt me? I was so scared I trembled, feeling like I’d be the next thing he’d destroy.

I wanted to disappear. I curled into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest. The fear was suffocating, thick in my throat.

Maybe he’d go away. I hid under the covers, pretending to sleep.

Don’t move. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my breathing to slow. The sheets were warm, but I felt cold all over.

The lock didn’t work anymore. Since he returned, my door lock had mysteriously stopped working.

He wanted control. The handle turned easily, no resistance. I wondered if he’d done it on purpose, a silent reminder that I was never really safe here.

He didn’t say a word. Carter gently turned the handle. Seeing the room was dark, he said nothing.

I didn’t move. He stood in the doorway, a silent shadow. I kept my eyes closed, barely daring to breathe.

Could he hear my heart? In the silence, his heavy breathing and unsettled, chaotic heartbeat were so obvious I wondered if he could hear my own frantic heart.

The silence was deafening. The air between us was electric, charged with things unsaid. I listened to his breathing, matching it with my own.

He was right there. He came closer, closer and closer.

He sat on the bed. I felt the mattress dip, the heat of his body nearby. My skin prickled with anticipation and fear.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Stay still. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I forced myself to stay still. I couldn’t give myself away.

He didn’t touch me. Carter didn’t shake me awake or grab my neck in a rage demanding answers.

Waiting. Instead, he just stood there, silent and still. The tension was unbearable.

He didn’t move. He stood by my bed.

He was watching me. I could feel his gaze, sharp and burning, fixed on me. It was almost a physical weight, pressing down on my chest.

What was he looking for? Even with my eyes closed, I could feel his sharp, burning gaze fixed on my lower abdomen, as if he was hesitating about confirming something.

Still nothing. I wondered what he was looking for, what he hoped to find. The silence stretched, heavy and fraught.

Don’t blow it now. Don’t tremble, keep your breathing steady, keep acting!

Please go. I focused on the rhythm of my breath, willing my body to relax. I counted the seconds, praying he’d leave.

I didn’t move at all.

Frozen. I lay as still as possible, every muscle tensed.

He sat down. Suddenly, I felt the mattress beside me sink.

He was right there. The bed dipped under his weight, the springs creaking softly. My heart skipped a beat.

He lay down beside me. Carter slowly lay down next to me.

Don’t move. His presence was overwhelming, the heat of his body radiating through the covers. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to sleep.

He was watching. That cold, yet scorching gaze was still fixed on me.

Don’t flinch. I could feel it, burning a hole through my defenses. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.

Now or never. I gritted my teeth. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Time to push. If I wanted to end this, I had to push further. I took a deep breath, steeling myself.

Go for it. I decided to push things further!

I moved. I shifted, rolling onto my side. My heart pounded, adrenaline surging.

I pressed against him. Pretending to be in a sweet dream, I rolled over sleepily, snuggling my head into his chest.

He froze. His body tensed, muscles rigid. I pressed my cheek against his shirt, breathing in the faint scent of cologne and soap.

He softened. Carter froze, that burning gaze suddenly softening.

His heart was racing. I felt his heartbeat, rapid and uneven, under my ear. The tension between us shifted, something fragile and uncertain blooming in the silence.

I whispered, "Husband…"

I waited. The word felt foreign on my tongue, but I let it linger, soft and pleading. I waited, holding my breath.

He stiffened for a moment.

He hesitated. His arms hovered uncertainly, as if unsure whether to push me away or pull me closer.

I held on. "Hold me," I whispered. I refused to let go, wrapping my arms around him, using the sweetest voice I could manage. "Husband, hold me."

It was just us. My voice was soft, trembling with vulnerability. I clung to him, desperate and determined. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of us, suspended in the quiet darkness.

He could have pushed me away. I thought he’d get angry, maybe even shake me awake.

He knew I’d never called him that before. Because I had never called him husband before, and he knew—the one I called wasn’t him.

Maybe this time would be different. A part of me waited for the fallout, for the cold rejection I’d come to expect. But for now, I held on, refusing to let go of the hope that maybe, just maybe, something had changed.