Chapter 2

I pissed Maria off so badly she had a relapse right on the spot.

Furious, Edward stormed into my room, hell-bent on making me his that night.

"Do you know how close my mom came to dying tonight?" he snapped, his voice icy with rage. "You wanted this, right? Fine, I'll give you what you asked for."

He ripped my dress apart with brute force, pressing down on me so hard it felt like he wanted to choke the life out of me.

But my hatred for him burned even hotter. I kicked him with all my strength, my fingers finding the scar on his waist, and without a second thought, I dug my nails deep into it.

"Serves you right. You're the one who started this," I snarled.

He winced from the pain but stayed silent. He gripped my legs tightly, moving even more roughly.

Half a year later, Edward got his own place, the Keaton manor. He dumped me there and left me high and dry.

I'd spent every day and night hating him, and yet suddenly, he was gone.

My heart felt strangely empty. Glancing back, I realized three whole years had flown by.

*****

There had been a lot going on in the city lately.

A sudden plague swept through every street and alley. People locked themselves indoors, afraid to go out.

William was taken by the plague.

With hundreds of people dying every day, the authorities banned all funerals.

The Keaton family snatched up the last coffin they could find, gathered for a quick mourning, and that was it.

Edward and Charlotte weren't in the mourning group.

I walked through the corridor and saw the two of them.

Charlotte's face was flushed and streaked with tears.

Edward looked like his heart was breaking as he held her close, whispering soft words to calm her down.

She was the girl he truly loved.

And I was just the tool he used to make her happy.

Back then, Edward pretended to be William and sought me out.

I really thought he was William, the guy I was supposed to marry, and my heart quietly went out to him.

But then the truth came out: he was actually Edward. He invited me to the fireworks festival.

He'd had a couple of drinks, and under the moonlight, he spilled everything to me.

He said the girl he liked only had eyes for William. Nothing he did ever made a difference.

He looked so down, his eyes all gloomy and lost.

I hugged him tight, feeling a flicker of courage stir inside me.

I knew my parents would try to stop us, and I knew people would talk. But I couldn't hold back anymore; I had to spill my heart out to him.

"Edward, listen to me," I said, my voice shaking. "I don't care who you are, or if you're just some spoiled brat. Even if you weren't a Keaton, I'd still love you. I only love you."

But I never expected he would never love me back.

Fireworks burst brilliantly across the night sky, but Edward just stood there, his hands hanging limply at his sides.

"Is that so? Well, that's good, I guess," he muttered, his voice hoarse and defeated.

I was so happy, I threw myself into his arms.

If I'd looked up, I would've seen lies swimming in his eyes.

The next spring, I put on my wedding dress and married him without a second thought.

*****

The autumn wind howled timidly, slipping cold and restless into my ears.

The way Edward held Charlotte made all the soft wails in the mourning hall seem almost like a cruel joke.

I sneered silently, 'Now that nothing stands in their way, Edward can finally be with Charlotte, the woman he's loved all along.'

Just as I was about to walk off, Edward noticed me and instantly let go of Charlotte, looking flustered.

If this had been before, when I had the moral high ground, I would've marched right over, slapped both of them, and called them out as a pair of adulterers.

But now, I just glanced down, looking at the fresh crimson lacquer on my nails.

They were so pretty; I'd spent ages getting them just perfect.

Forget it. I'd rather head home to do some embroidery.

I looked away, turned, and walked off.

*****

That night, Edward finally returned to the Keaton manor after being away for so long.

Edward pressed his lips together, looking at me. "I've been buried in official business lately, so I've been staying at the office. Did you receive the face powder I had delivered?"

He'd changed so much over these three years. The carefree boy was gone; now, dressed in his official suit, he exuded a calm, steady authority.

After years steeped in government affairs, he'd started talking like a proper official to everyone, including me.

I kept quiet, my attention fixed on carefully tending to the crimson polish on my nails.

He leaned in, gently took my hand, and looked it over, giving a quiet smile. "So beautiful."

I ignored him. But he didn't care; he just rested his head against me, looking completely drained.

After a long while, he nuzzled against my neck, finally getting to the real reason he'd come.

He said quietly, "I can explain about today.

"William's death has been rough on both Charlotte and me. She cried so hard she could barely stand, so I tried to steady her. Please, don't blame her for it, alright?"

My brush froze above my nail.

He didn't notice at all, just kept going. "Clara, I told you I wanted to be with you. That wasn't just talk."

I looked down, digging through my memories.

He did say that, right after he almost killed me.

It was the dead of winter when word came to the Keaton residence that Charlotte had given birth to a son.

Things between Edward and me had started to thaw a little.

He began to learn how to love me.

He'd come home every day, bringing me delicate hairpins, carefully drawing my eyebrows, and taking me out on strolls.

Sometimes he'd fake being asleep, just so when I couldn't resist braiding his hair, he could demand two kisses from me as his "punishment."

One evening, he came home, shrugged off his cloak, and exhaled, his breath misting in the chilly air.

He pulled me into his arms as I sat reading by candlelight, his grip firm and possessive on my waist.

I tried to push him away. "Stop."

But he held me tight, leaning in to claim my lips, lifting my dress as his hand wandered boldly beneath me.

My vision blurred, and I surrendered to the pleasure he brought me.

His face was lost in the shadows as he murmured, "Clara, let's have a baby."

I snapped back to reality. "Why are you suddenly talking about having a baby?"

He ignored me, his touch growing more forceful by the second.

The pain was unbearable. I pushed him away as hard as I could.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snapped.

He panted, reaching for me again.

That was when it hit me: his clothes were still neat, not a wrinkle on him, and there wasn't even a flicker of desire in his eyes.

Meanwhile, my dress was ripped to pieces, scattered across the floor. I looked like nothing but a plaything for him to mess with.

The uneasy calm we'd been living in was finally shattered.

I slapped him hard across the face, my heart trembling with a cold, sharp ache.

"Why?" I asked, my voice barely steady.

He lowered his eyes, silent.

"It's because of Charlotte, isn't it?" I pressed.

He didn't answer, but his silence said it all.