Chapter 4

That night, I sat alone in my room. The burn on my hand still ached, but it was nothing compared to the dull, relentless pain settling in my chest.

The door was gently pushed open, and Edward walked in, holding a small bottle in his hand. Judging by its appearance, it was probably an ointment for burns.

I didn't acknowledge him. I kept my head down, staring at the angry redness swelling across the back of my hand, a chill settling deep in my chest.

He came over, pulled up a chair, and sat beside me. When he spoke, his voice was low, roughened in a way that felt almost rehearsed. "Charlotte, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that today."

I said nothing. I had no desire to look at that carefully composed expression or to listen to words that sounded hollow the moment they left his mouth.

He didn't press me. Instead, he took my hand gently, unscrewed the cap, and dabbed a bit of ointment onto his fingertip before spreading it over my skin with deliberate care.

His touch was light, almost overly cautious, and his gaze fixed on my hand with studied intensity, as though he were trying to convince both of us that he truly felt guilty and cared about the injury.

"Look at this. It's already blistering. You should've taken care of it sooner," he went on, his tone soft and coaxing, threaded with concern that might have sounded genuine to anyone else.

"Aurora's always had a temper. And after everything she's been through. And she's only just come back from the enemy kingdom. She's been through a lot. It's not surprising she's a bit difficult right now. Don't take it to heart, alright?"

A cold laugh rose silently in my chest. Not take it to heart? How, exactly, was I supposed to do that?

She walked straight into my home, tried to lure my husband right in front of me, and even went so far as to burn me on purpose.

I chose to let it slide and to be the understanding one and not make an issue of it, but all she did was take advantage of that, pushing further every time.

And Edward never stood on my side. Not once did he truly care about what I was feeling.

"Charlotte, I know you're upset," he said when I didn't respond, his tone turning softer, more deliberate. "I hate that you got hurt. I really do. But Aurora is Princess Royal. I can't risk crossing her."

When he finished applying the ointment, he didn't release my hand. Instead, he kept hold of it, his expression shifting into something strained, almost helpless. "You've always been the bigger person. I know you won't stoop to her level. But I can't just pretend this didn't happen either."

Then, without pause, he steered the conversation back to the past, to something he clearly thought would soften me.

"Do you remember our wedding day?" His voice dropped, gentler now, his eyes faintly reddened as he looked at me with carefully measured affection.

"I knelt outside your family's gates for three days and nights. No food. No water. Just to convince your father to let me marry you.

"I told you then that you were the most important person in my life. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I didn't want to lose a single day I could have spent with you."

He tightened his hold on my hand just slightly, his voice steady, almost persuasive. "Charlotte, I meant every word I said back then."

I couldn't deny it. That part still reached me.

Those memories, and the tenderness tied to them, had been real.

I could still picture him as he was back then: kneeling outside the Hughes Manor, unwavering, his voice raw with conviction, as if there had never been any future for him that didn't include me.

And in the early days of our marriage, he had been good to me. We weren't particularly wealthy, but he had been thoughtful and attentive, which made me believe I had found someone I could truly build a life with.