Chapter 3

When I woke up the next morning, James was already gone from the bed.

A sliver of sunlight slipped through the curtains, casting dappled shadows on the floor. The air still held traces of last night's passion.

I shifted, and my body felt like it had been run over by a truck. Every bone screamed with pain, and when I looked down, my skin was covered in startling bruises.

Suddenly, tears flooded my eyes.

I curled up into a ball, hugging my knees and burying my face, weeping in silence.

I had no idea how long I cried until the door was gently pushed open.

I looked up and saw James standing in the doorway. He was dressed in clean loungewear, his hair still damp from a shower. He held a glass of water, his expression complicated as he looked at me.

Our eyes met, and the air seemed to freeze.

He swallowed hard, stepped inside, and set the glass of water on the nightstand.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, his voice rough with the aftereffects of a hangover.

I didn't say anything. I pulled the blanket tighter around myself, not sure how to face him, anger, feeling wronged, or just numbness.

He walked over to the bed and crouched down in front of me, his eyes level with mine.

It was the first time I'd ever looked at him from this angle. His eyes were bloodshot, and a hint of stubble shadowed his jaw, making him look less sharp than usual, more tired, and guilty.

After a long pause, James finally spoke, "What happened last night was my fault. I'll make it right."

Here we went again.

From the helplessness of being drugged to this clear-headed promise, the meaning behind those words couldn't be more different.

Responsible? What did that even mean?

A strange mix of emotions bubbled up inside me. Was it sarcasm, or maybe plain sadness?

"Responsible?" I finally spoke, my voice dry and unfamiliar. "How, Mr. Carter? Our agreement doesn't cover this. Or are you planning to add another payout for your 'victim'?"

My words stabbed him right in the heart, and mine, too.

James's face turned ghostly pale. He started to reach for me, as if wanting to touch my cheek, but his hand stalled halfway and finally dropped helplessly to his side.

"Emily, that's not what I meant," he said in a low voice. "From today on, let's try to be husband and wife for real."

Did he say a real couple?

I sat there, stunned, like he'd told me some wild fairy tale.

"Forget Claire?" I locked eyes with him, making sure he heard every word. "Is that even possible for you?"

His gaze flickered, and he looked away, unable to meet mine.

That tiny gesture told me everything I needed to know.

I felt my heart turn to ice.

"James," I said, tossing off the covers and stepping out of bed barefoot, not caring how much of a mess I looked. I walked straight to the closet to grab some clothes. "Let's just pretend last night never happened.

"I don't need you to take responsibility. Our deal still stands. If you ever want a divorce, tell me."

The silence behind me dragged on, heavy and endless.

Just as I finished getting dressed and was about to walk out of this suffocating room, he suddenly pulled me into his arms from behind.

He held me so tight, as if he wasn't going to let go no matter what I said.

"Emily," he murmured, his chin pressed into my shoulder, his voice full of defeat and helplessness I'd never heard from him before. "Please, don't do this. I'm begging you."

I froze.

James, the untouchable man who always seemed to be in command, was speaking to me in a tone that was almost pleading.

"I've put you through so much these past three years," he whispered, closing his eyes, his voice barely audible. "I know I've been an asshole. But I promise, I won't let it happen again."

I couldn't tell if he was being honest or just saying what he thought I wanted to hear.

Was it guilt? Or was it because, even with his first love still haunting his heart, his body was responding to me, the substitute he never really wanted?

To me, that was even more humiliating.

But his embrace carried a warmth I'd secretly yearned for all this time.

We stayed locked in that moment, neither moving nor speaking, until slowly, my defenses crumbled, and I relaxed against him.

From that day on, James really did change.

He stopped sleeping on the couch and moved into the bed with me. At first, we kept our distance, but gradually, the wall between us just melted away.

He started coming home for dinner and would chat with me about his work. He remembered my cycle and asked the maid to take care of me when I was sick. On weekends, he'd even tag along to see artsy movies I loved.

He started taking me back to Carter Manor more often. His parents were visibly delighted to see us getting along, and they kept urging us to have a child.

Whenever that happened, James would squeeze my hand and smile, saying, "Mom, Dad, we'll let nature take its course."

His palm was dry and warm, and for a moment, I almost believed we were a loving couple, like it was all real.

Little by little, I let myself get lost in his gentle warmth.

I began to believe that maybe he really had moved on. Maybe I could have a real family.

I even started learning to make homemade lunchboxes and bringing them to his law firm during his workdays.

The first time I showed up with lunch, everyone in the office looked at me like I'd landed from another planet. Alex, his assistant, was so shocked his jaw practically hit the floor.

James seemed as surprised, but a genuine smile tugged at his lips.

"Pretty good," he said, digging into the food I'd made.

He had a new seal made for me, a memory anchor, he called it. It was a piece of warm jade, engraved with "Emily's Seal." He told me I could stamp all my little illustrations with it.

In that moment, my heart overflowed with warmth and happiness.

When I thought things were finally starting to go my way, I realized my period was more than two weeks late.