But before I can turn around, Logan grips my hand firmly. I wince in pain. “Logan, you are hurting me,” I hissed.
But he remained silent. Instead, he turns me around, and my breasts collide with his chest.
I notice his body stiffen from the effect of my touch, and my own body responds with tingling sensations erupting around me.
We stare at each other for what feels like forever. His mouth is close to my ear.
“You will follow my every command and know your place. You will be my wife in every sense of the word. You will fulfill your duty by producing an heir. And remember, no falling in love,” he says, gripping my hands lightly.
My heart pounds in my chest. His breath is warm against my ear, sending shivers through my veins. He releases my hands, but his words leave a lasting impact on me.
Logan steps back, his eyes dark and intense, never leaving mine. Fear and defiance boil inside me, but I know better than to challenge him now. I swallow hard, trying to steady my racing heart and gather my thoughts.
Hearing him mention the contract, I berate myself for letting my emotions cloud my judgment.
I had foolishly thought he saw me as more than just a part of our agreement. Whenever I brought up the contract, he had a way of shutting it out of our conversations. It becomes clear that I am merely a pawn in his game.
The last bit of resolve I clung to deflates in an instant. My legs move on their own accord, and I make my way to the car.
The bodyguards open the door for me. I give them a polite nod and step inside. I notice that the rest of his family isn’t in the limo; they have already left for their house. This means I will be alone with Logan for the entire ride back.
I sit quietly in the limo, looking everywhere but not at him. I can feel his gaze fixed on me the whole time, but I am determined not to give him any part of me.
I am resolved to shut him out of my life completely. Why did he insist on a contract marriage with me when he has someone else he loves?
“Nadine, get a grip on yourself. It’s called a contract marriage for a reason, you let your guard down and fall in love,” the voice taunts me.
After what feels like forever, we arrive home. I hurriedly open the car door, jump out, and make my way inside. But I suddenly stop, when I see Samantha standing at the door with luggage in hand.
She looks up at me. “Hi, Nadine. How have you been?” she says, stretching her hand to me.
I just stare at her, feeling a presence behind me, knowing it’s Logan watching my reaction. But I’m done being the good girl. I walk away without acknowledging her greeting.
“What is wrong with her? I’m only trying to be nice,” Samantha says in an innocent voice.
“Don’t worry about her; she will come around. Let’s go inside,” Logan reassures her.
With hurried steps, I walk up the stairs and soon find my way inside my room. Immediately, I lean my back against the door, placing my hands on my chest, feeling my heart beating fast.
I turn the key to lock the door behind me. As I begin to wipe my face with makeup wipes, the tears start streaming down my cheeks, mingling with the remnants of my makeup. The more I wipe, the more the tears flow, uncontrollably.
The gown I wear suddenly feels suffocating, and I struggle to shed it from my body.
I can’t control the flow of tears, and I collapse on the bed in exhaustion, thinking about everything.
It’s only a kiss; nothing more has happened. So why am I making it seem like such a big deal?
What if it was just a harmless kiss? The thought makes my heart reel, but the look on his face doesn’t seem harmless. He is smitten by her.
With wobbling legs, I make my way to the bathroom for a warm bath. The water cascades over me as I close my eyes, thoughts of Logan consuming my mind.
I clutch my hand to my chest; it feels so heavy, making it difficult to breathe. At last, I groan in pain and slump to the floor.
The cold tiles are uncomfortable, so I stand up, wrap a towel around myself, and walk back to my room. I carefully put on my nightgown and lie down to sleep.
I toss and turn in bed, but sleep eludes me. My stomach churns with hunger. I try to force myself to sleep and ignore the hunger, but it’s so damn hard.
I groan, put on a kimono over my nightie, and make my way downstairs to get some food from the kitchen.
I am grateful for the silence in the house. Carefully, I open the freezer, take out some cooked food, and heat it in the microwave.
My thoughts drift back to the last time I came downstairs for food. I remember how Logan startled me, how I missed my footing, and how he carried me to the bedroom where we ended up making sweet love that night.
But that’s all in the past now, I think, as a lone tear streamed down my cheek.
“You know you can’t continue with this habit of waking up to eat at night,” a voice says, startling me. Perhaps because I had thought about it earlier, I didn’t react as strongly.
I say nothing and continue with what I’m doing, but I can feel his gaze on me.
Suddenly, the microwave dings. I take out the food, sit at the kitchen island, and start eating.
As I eat, the food tastes bland, and my mind drifts back to the conversation with Logan. The silence in the kitchen feels heavy. I’m relieved that he left without saying another word. The only sound is the clinking of my fork against the plate.
I try to focus on the food, but my thoughts keep circling back to him. What is the point of all this? The contract, the expectations, the emotional turmoil-it all feels like a cruel joke.
The more I eat, the hungrier I become, as though a bottomless pit is in my stomach, pulling the food away.
When I finish, I grab some juice from the fridge and gulp it down in one go. Satisfied with how full I feel, I leave the kitchen. But as I make my way out, I see him seated in the living room.
“Nadine,” he calls out, and I stop in my tracks, waiting to hear what he has to say.
“Come sit down,” he says. My heart pounds in my chest, wondering what he wants. I guess he might want to apologize for kissing Samantha, despite his earlier assurances that she meant nothing to him.
I walk cautiously toward the living room and take a seat on the edge of the couch opposite him. Logan reclines, his posture relaxed, but his eyes remain intense.
He looks at me, with an unreadable expression. As he speaks, his words ignite a surge of hatred within me, making me wish I had never stopped to hear what he has to say.