15I Didn’t Come With A Shovel
Mara
I couldn’t breathe. The shock sat heavy in my chest, pulsing with a quiet, furious ache. Darian had finally confessed his feelings-now, of all times? After everything?
It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t touching. It was infuriating.
What did he think I would do? Smile? Cry tears of joy? He waited until I was already someone else’s wife-Lucian’s wife- before deciding his heart suddenly mattered.
He’d rejected me once without blinking, then stood by while his family handed me off like some burden to be managed.
He watched it happen. He let it happen.
If he cared, he should’ve told his parents the truth. He should’ve fought for me. Instead, I spent two years pretending not to care as he paraded girlfriends in and out of his life like a revolving door. And the rumors-God, the rumors. Pregnancies,
abortions.
Things he never admitted to, but never denied either. I couldn’t even recognize him anymore. Was any of it real? Had I ever
truly known him?
I wasn’t crying because my heart was broken. I was crying because I was furious. Furious at him. At Lucian. At this entire twisted, dysfunctional family that treated me like a pawn.
And Lucian-he had the nerve to reach for me as the others left, brushing my shoulder like we were something. I pulled
away.
He didn’t even stay on our wedding night. He was too busy proving to everyone, including me, that I meant nothing. That his girlfriend still came first.
“Mara,” he said, soft behind me.
I didn’t answer. I walked straight to the closet, ignoring the trembling in my hands.
“Mara,” he tried again, but I spun around, steel in my voice.
“Why would you buy me sexy outfits?” I asked. “We both know we’re not going to sleep together. You made that clear. You have a girlfriend. She’s the one who’ll give you children. So what are these for? Decoration?”
He blinked, caught off guard, his silence more telling than words.
“I need joggers,” I said flatly. “I’m going out to shop this afternoon.”
“I don’t have much in my account right now,” he began gently, “but I’ll get my salary next week. If you give me a little time, I’ll buy you new clothes.”
I stared at him, then shook my head. “I wasn’t asking for your money, Lucian. I didn’t marry you to dig for gold, despite what you and your family think. I can take care of myself. I have enough to get by.”
He winced. Those words landed harder than I expected.
“I only said that because I was angry,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t think you’re a gold digger, Mara. I acted on what my stepmother told me about your parents. I… I misjudged you. I know better now.”
But what did that even mean? The damage was already done. Apologies didn’t change the fact that we were both trapped -strangers sharing a life neither of us chose.
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<151 Didn’t Come With A Shovel
And I wasn’t sure forgiveness was even part of the equation anymore.
“I’m going hunting this evening,” Lucian said. “I’d like you to come.”
I didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him, waiting.
“Do I have a choice?” I finally asked.
He nodded, which only made my response easier. “Then no. I’d rather go shopping.”
His jaw tightened, just a flicker, but I caught it. I didn’t care.
+8 Points>
“You can’t leave the estate during the Honeymoon phase,” he said, more serious now. “I’m supposed to claim you. We wait for your heat to start. That’s how it works. The phase ends after that.”
I exhaled hard. “Lucian, we both know that’s not going to happen. You made that clear when you left me alone on our wedding night to be with your girlfriend. That said enough.”
I didn’t love him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. No matter how empty this marriage was, I was still a person. Still his w ife-at least in name. He didn’t have to touch me. He didn’t even have to like me. But he could’ve shown a shred of
respect.
He didn’t respond. Just left the room, then came back a few minutes later and tossed me a pair of joggers with a t-shirt. “Breakfast is in an hour,” he said stiffly. “Be ready in thirty minutes. It’s in the right wing, and we’re expected to be seated before my father arrives.”
He turned and disappeared into the bathroom.
I sat on the edge of the couch, staring into nothing. This whole situation was suffocating. A farce of a marriage, built on someone else’s decisions and everyone else’s silence.
When Lucian stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his waist, I instinctively looked away. But not before catching a glimpse-he looked exactly how I imagined. Strong. Confident. Cold.
I walked into the bathroom next. The air was warm, thick with the scent of cinnamon. I glanced at the bottle by the sink. His wash was unscented. So the cinnamon… that was just him.
Of course it was.
I rushed to clean up and dressed quickly. When I came out, he was already in his jeans, shirt fitted just right, hair still
damp.
“My father will ask why we haven’t claimed each other yet,” he said without looking at me. “I’ll tell him we were tired. That
we fell asleep.”
I nodded. “Fine.”
It didn’t matter. None of it did.
We were both just playing roles in someone else’s story.
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