I stood there, frozen in the doorway, my pulse pounding against my ribs. The sound of cutlery clinking and the low murmur of voices filled the dining room. For a long second, I couldn't move. I just stared at Grey sitting across from his mother, calm and composed, as if he hadn't just abandoned me on a city street hours ago.
He looked up from his plate with that same unreadable expression, and a faint, practiced smile curved his lips. The kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Seraphim," his mother's voice broke through my shock, gentle and lilting. "Why are you just standing there, dear? Come, join us."
I blinked, forcing my face to relax. "Of course," I murmured, stepping into the warm glow of the dining room lights. Every step felt rehearsed, as though I was walking onto a stage I hadn't prepared for.
Grey's mother dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin, watching me with polite curiosity. "You came back alone?" she asked lightly. "Why didn't you and Grey come in together?"
Her tone was soft innocent, almost teasing but it landed like a question I hadn't planned for. My mind scrambled for an answer, but before I could speak, Grey's smooth voice cut through.
"She had a call to take," he said.
I blinked. "No," I said at the same time, my voice overlapping his. "He he had something to handle."
Silence. A quick, sharp kind that drew every breath out of the room.
We both realized our mistake too late. Grey's mother's brows lifted slightly, her smile faltering for a heartbeat before she recovered. "Oh," she said, a small laugh escaping her. "Well, it's good you're both back safely."
I forced a polite laugh, but my heart was still racing. Grey didn't look at me, didn't have to. I could feel the irritation rolling off him like heat.
Dinner continued in quiet, delicate politeness. His mother filled the silence with questions about the company, about our plans, about married life. I answered with care, matching Grey's tone, mirroring his words, pretending. That was what we were good at pretending.
When the meal finally ended, Grey stood and called the housekeeper to clear the table. He smiled faintly at his mother and said something about being tired. I followed his lead, keeping close, keeping quiet. Together, we walked down the hall two perfect actors in a play that neither of us wanted to be in.
But as soon as we reached the passage, away from his mother's hearing, his composure cracked.
"Why did you contradict me back there?" His voice was low but sharp, the kind of whisper that carried more danger than a shout.
I turned to face him. "Maybe because I wasn't expecting to lie for you again," I said quietly. "Or maybe because you left me stranded on the road."
His jaw tightened. "Don't turn this around on me, Seraphim."
"Oh, I'm not turning it around," I said, arms crossed. "I'm just reminding you that if you want me to act like your wife, you could at least try not to treat me like a nuisance."
For a second, I thought he might actually apologize not because he meant it, but because it was what he was supposed to do. But instead, he exhaled, short and annoyed, like he was trying to hold himself together.
As I turned to leave, he called out, voice cold and mocking. "Uhmm, Mrs. Williams."
I stopped, my back still to him.
"Imagine this," he continued, stepping closer. "A newly wedded couplevsupposedly in the middle of their honeymoon sleeping in separate rooms. Tell me, does that sound like the perfect couple to you?"
He chuckled, the sound hollow, cruel. Then his face hardened. "Didn't think so."
I muttered under my breath, "Oh, Lord, not now. Not again."
He tilted his head, amused. "What was that?"
"Nothing," I said, brushing past him. His smirk widened as he moved aside, gesturing toward the door like he was doing me a favor.
"After you, Mrs. Williams."
I entered, refusing to look at him. The sound of the door closing behind us was soft but final.
The room was dimly lit, the faint scent of cologne lingering in the air. I dropped my bag on the couch and sat down, the silence between us growing heavier by the second.
He loosened his tie and sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone as if I didn't exist. I could feel my pulse in my throat. Every unspoken word seemed to fill the space around us until it felt almost unbearable.
Then, without looking up, he said, "Take a duvet from the wardrobe and sleep on the floor."
I stared at him, blinking slowly. "You're serious?"
He finally glanced at me, eyes cold. "I don't joke about my space."
A humorless laugh escaped me. "You really can't treat a woman right, can you? Telling a woman to sleep on the floor God, that's diabolical."
His mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Don't flatter yourself," he said quietly. "You're not that special."
The words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I swallowed the sting, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing it. "Right," I said, forcing calm into my voice. "Then I'll need a shirt. I'm not going back out there tonight."
"No." His response was instant. "You can't wear my clothes."
"Why not?"
"Because your body isn't worth touching them."
Something inside me cracked, but I kept my voice steady. "Grey," I said, meeting his gaze. "I don't want another argument tonight. Just lend me the shirt."
I saw something flicker in his eyes hesitation, maybe guilt, though he'd never admit it. "Can't Mrs. Williams wear Mr. Williams's shirt now?" I added, echoing his own mockery from earlier.
That did it. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. He turned to the wardrobe, pulled out a white shirt, and threw it onto the couch beside me.
"There. Knock yourself out."
I took it without another word and went into the bathroom to change. The shirt was too big, the sleeves falling past my wrists, the fabric smelling faintly of his cologne. I caught my reflection in the mirror and almost didn't recognize the woman staring back. Tired. Angry. Lonely. But somehow still standing.
When I came out, he was already lying on the bed, one arm thrown across his eyes. I spread the duvet on the floor, my body aching from exhaustion.
As I lay down, the quiet returned thick, unyielding. My mind wouldn't stop spinning.
I thought about Lucy, about her smirk and her threat, about how easily she could destroy what little stability I had. I thought about Grey's mother, about how her kindness only deepened the guilt of all our lies. And I thought about Grey himself the man I was tied to, trapped with, pretending beside.
The silence grew louder until it filled my head completely.
I closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. My thoughts kept circling back to one truth I couldn't escape:
No matter how hard I tried to keep up the act, the mask was starting to crack and when it finally broke, I wasn't sure who I'd be underneath it.