Chapter 12

BLAKE 

It’s been four days since that night.

The fundraiser. The slap. The rain. The scream. The rope. The beach. The slap again. The silence after that.

She hasn’t said one word to me. Not at home. Not at work. Not in the car. Not in the hallways. Not even accidentally.

Nothing.

I’ve tried. Not because I wanted to talk but because… I don’t know. Maybe guilt. Perhaps fear. Possibly shame.

She almost died and it was my fault.

I didn’t plan it. I didn’t mean it. But still… it happened. I left her in the rain, knowing fully well it was her phobia. I drove off, leaving her alone, and she could’ve been gone.

I still hear her scream occasionally. In my head. Like a bell. Like a constant warning. I’ve apologized. Not once. Not twice. So many times.

She doesn’t reply. She doesn’t even look at me.

During work day's, she goes to office very early, she refuse to reply to my tests and answer my calls. And she closes early every day, so I won't get the chance to corner and pick her at the company, she comes home with her files and finishes it up in the room. When I get home hours later, she's already in the bedroom, not waiting for me and asking if I'm okay, she orders food every night, but you know I cook, but he won’t touch it. Not one bite. She doesn’t even open the plate. She just lifts the lid, looks, and closes it again.

I tried asking. “Why don’t you eat?”

But no answer.

“You don’t like the food?”

Silence.

“Say something to me, please.”

Nothing.

She sleeps early, which is infuriating, every time I come in, she’s already under the blanket, eyes closed. Or maybe just pretending.

I tried giving her space but didn’t work.

I tried making jokes, but she didn’t laugh.

Likewise, I tried leaving notes on her pillow, but she didn’t read them. I know because I wrote a wrong name once just to check. Still no reaction.

I even bought gifts, costly ones.

She accepted them and seriously, that gave me a little hope.

At least she’s taking them but won't talk to me.

The first gift was a gold bracelet. She opened the box, stared at it, then walked away. But the next day, she wore it.

That was something.

The second gift was a designer bag. She picked it up without a word and left the room. But later, I saw it on her chair.

I smiled happily for the rest of that day.

She still hates me. Although maybe not enough to reject the gifts.

That’s a start.

It might be.

I hate this.

I hate being ignored like the way she was doing. I hate to be judged, studied, like I’m under a microscope.

I think of Jasmine again, of her silence. Of her face when she slapped me. Of the way she said, “don’t talk to me again.”

That was the last thing she said to me four days ago. Now we’re just two strangers in one house.

I made a mental to talk to her after I got home today. I met her at home already, the lights were on, and her shoes were by the corner, her bag on the table, which meant it wasn't long she came in. The TV was on, a broadcast was playing on. I walk in slowly, moving forward into the room to meet her on the couch, laptop open, plate of food beside her.

Not my food. She ordered again.

I sit across from her… She doesn’t look up.

I try to talk to her again.

“I saw the bracelet today. You know, good on you.”

No reply.

I lean forward. “I’m sorry.”

Still nothing.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you that day. I was angry. But I never wanted you to get hurt.”

She types something on her laptop.

“Can we talk?”

Click. Click. Click.

“I’ll do anything. Just… don’t shut me out like this.”

She closes the laptop slowly. She stood and walked past me. No word. No glance. Just silence…But I saw the bracelet again. And the bag…And her phone case — the one I bought last week.

Maybe she doesn’t forgive me.

Potentially she won’t ever forgive me.

Yet she’s still here.

Still under the same roof.

Still wearing the things I gave her.

That means something.

Even if it’s small.

Even if it’s just a thread.

I’ll take it.

I just hope she speaks again soon.

Even if it’s simply one word.

Even if it’s only my name.

.......

Today was such a busy day as it kept my mind away from jasmine and her silent treatment which was eating me up. I sat across from Mr. Caldwell, legs crossed, hands folded. The man had money. A lot of it. And money means power. And power makes people bold. Too bold.

He looked me straight in the eye like he was trying to see through me. Like I was glass.

“I was at the fundraiser,” he started another round of discussion.

I nodded, seemingly not interested. The fundraiser her caused the problem between me and Jasmine. “Yes. We were glad you came.” I responded even though I wasn't sure he came. But plenty of people came and there was no way I would be keeping track of it.

He smiled, but not the kind I liked. “Your wife gave a good speech.”

“She did.”

“She was glowing,” he said. “You, on the other hand, looked like a man chewing nails.”

I forced a small laugh. “It was a long night.”

His smile got wider. “Long nights show truths, Blake. I saw the way you looked at her. Or didn’t look.”

“We’re private people,” I frowned slightly, wondering where he was heading.

“Private people don’t flinch when the media says ‘kiss.’” He leaned in. “When did you suddenly turn private. Or warn to be left alone. Or walk out away from it. You two pulled away like magnets the wrong way.”

I said nothing.

“And let’s talk about that marriage. One minute, no one even knew you were dating. The next minute, there were rings, photos, smiles. And boom, you guys are married.”

“Some things happen fast.”

He chuckled. “Love happens fast, huh?”

I clenched my jaw, having an insight on where he was heading already.

He leaned back, tapping his fingers. “I’m no fool. You’re fooling the world, but not me.”

“Mr. Caldwell…”

“I see cracks,” he said slowly. “And when there are cracks, I pull my money.”

My eyes narrowed.

He smirked. “Unless, of course, you prove me wrong.”

I stayed quiet.

“My daughter’s engagement is next weekend. There will be a big party, press rallying everywhere, partners gracing the occasion, friends too, everyone who matters. Why don't you show up with your wife together and be real like you're in love, you made us believe? Or I’m out.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

“Be sweet. Hold her. Kiss her. Whisper something stupid in her ear. I want to see a man in love.”

“I’m married,” I said, reminding him.

“So act like it,” he snapped. “Or I won't believe you got married for love.” 

The meeting ended. I didn’t even shake his hand. I left that building with heat in my chest and fire in my head. I didn’t go home. I drove to Jasmine’s company and straight up to her floor.

Her secretary, Julia, tried to stop me. “Mr. Remington, she’s busy…”

“I’m her husband,” I snapped, glaring hard at her.

I pushed the door open. Jasmine looked up from her desk.

I smiled.A cold, sharp smile.

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” I said. “We’re going on a romantic trip.”

She blinked. “What?”

“To a vulture’s nest.”

She stood. “Blake, what is this about? And what are you doing here?”

“Caldwell. I am doing him”

“What about him?”

“He’s pulling out.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because he thinks we’re fake.”

She folded her arms. “Is he wrong?”

“He said he saw cracks.”

“He’s observant,” she said, walking around her desk. “And, well, I'm afraid, he's right.” She shrugged.

“He wants us to prove we’re in love publicly at his daughter’s engagement party.”

“I’m not going.”

“You are.”

“I didn’t sign up to parade like your puppet.”

I stepped closer. “You want your charity projects funded?”

She said nothing.

“You want that new girls’ school built in three cities?”

Still silent.

“Then you better act the role,” I grinned 

She sighed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m rich and 5here’s a difference.”

She rolled her eyes. “We’ll practice tonight.”

She scoffed. “Practice?”

“Intimacy,” I said with a grin.

She looked as if she wanted to slap me again. Instead, she walked past me. “Fine. But you touch me weird, I’m calling my lawyer.”

I laughed. “Touching you is already legal, sweetheart. You’re mine.”

She paused at the door. “Only on paper.” she reminded me.

We got home. Ate and freshened up. We stood in the living room like awkward strangers.

I stepped closer. “Start with the basics.”

She sighed. “Like what?”

“Smile at me.”

She tried, but it looked forced.

I tilted my head. “That smile looks like you're about to stab me.”

“That’s probably true.”

“Try again.”

She gave a softer one.

“Better,” I said. “Now touch my arm.”

She placed her hand on my elbow.

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not touching a goat.”

She squeezed.

“Ow.” I yelped.

She smiled for real.

I grabbed her waist gently. “Now, my turn.”

She stiffened. “Careful.”

“Relax.”

I pulled her closer. My hand stayed on her lower back. Her body pressed against mine. She stared up at me.

“Too close,” she whispered.

“You agreed to practice,” I said, my voice low.

“This isn’t practice,” she said. “This is something else.”

I leaned down near her ear. “I’m sorry.”

She froze.

“For what?” she asked.

“For everything.”

I let my breath brush her neck. “For that night. For the beach. For scaring you.”

Her chest rose slowly.

“For making you cry,” I whispered. “I saw it. That night. You cried.”

She looked away.

I touched her cheek lightly. “I’m sorry, Jasmine.”

Her eyes met mine. “Do you mean it?”

I nodded.

She pushed at my chest lightly. “Don’t say that while holding me like this.”

I smirked. “Why not?”

“Because… you’re confusing.”

“Confusion keeps things interesting.”

We practiced again. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me. I whispered jokes. She tried not to laugh. She played with my tie. I brushed hair from her face. We sat on the couch, legs touching.

She laughed once. A real laugh.

Then she caught herself and stood.

“This isn’t real, don't let it get into your head,” she warned sternly.

“I know.”

“We’re just acting.”

“Of course.”

But my heart thumped too loud.

I wasn’t supposed to enjoy this.

I wasn’t supposed to want her close.

But I did.

And that scared me more than Caldwell’s threats ever could.