Chapter 2

Enlyan’s heart shattered anew at the confirmation of her worst fears.

The room seemed to tilt as the realization settled over Enlyan. Katrina wasn’t just any woman—she was the one Damian had always loved, the one he had been forced to give up when their arranged marriage was imposed on him.

Now, she was back, and she was everything Meye had said—beautiful, confident, and pregnant with the child Damian had never wanted with Enlyan.

"You’ve overstayed your welcome," Meye continued, her tone dripping with triumph. "Pack your things and leave before Damian asks you himself. You’re nothing to him now—if you ever were."

Enlyan was still in shock until Damian's mother left.

When Damian arrived home that evening, the faint sound of his footsteps echoed through the quiet house. Enlyan had been waiting in the living room, her hands clenched tightly together as she rehearsed the words she wanted to say. The image of him at the hospital, standing beside the woman, still burned vividly in her mind.

As Damian entered, his sharp gaze fell on her. He shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto the back of a chair. Without sparing her a warm glance, he spoke first, his voice clipped and indifferent.

“Your father called again today,” he said, his tone tinged with irritation. “Remind him not to bother me about his issues. I don’t have time for his problems.”

Enlyan’s breath hitched, the words she had planned to say caught in her throat. The disdain in his voice stung like a physical blow, but it was the look in his eyes that crushed her further—cold, detached, and dismissive.

Her father’s condition had always been a sensitive topic in their marriage. After his business collapsed and the accident left him in a wheelchair, her father had become a burden in Damian’s eyes. No matter how hard she worked to avoid leaning on him financially, her father’s struggles were a constant source of tension.

Enlyan lowered her gaze, swallowing the lump in her throat. She had wanted to ask him about the woman at the hospital, to find some clarity or reassurance, but she knew better. Mentioning it now would only escalate his irritation, and she couldn’t bear another cold dismissal.

“Alright, I'll tell him,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Damian didn’t seem to notice her subdued demeanor. He walked past her toward the dining room, leaving her standing there, frozen in silence.

After dinner, Enlyan quietly prepared the bath for Damian, as she always did. It had become her routine, a small act of service she performed despite the emotional distance between them. As the steam rose from the warm water, she placed the towel on the rack and turned to leave the bathroom.

But Damian intercepted her in the hallway. His tall frame loomed over hers, and the glint in his eyes made her uneasy.

“Stay,” he said, his tone low but commanding.

Enlyan froze, her heart beating faster. “Damian, I—” she started, her voice trembling, but he silenced her with a touch, his fingers brushing her cheek.

“Don’t overthink it,” he muttered, leaning closer.

Her instincts told her to resist, to push him away. She had seen too much that day—the woman at the hospital, the tenderness in his gaze that was never meant for her. But as she raised her hands to stop him, Damian’s grip tightened, his eyes darkening with something that wasn’t love but possession.

“Why are you hesitating?” he asked, his voice edged with irritation, as though her resistance was a challenge he couldn’t ignore.

“Damian, please…” she whispered, trying to step back, but her hesitation only seemed to fuel him further.

“You’re my wife,” he said firmly, his lips brushing against hers. “Don’t forget that.”

Enlyan’s resolve crumbled. She thought of her father, her family’s precarious situation, and the baby she carried. She had clung to a fragile hope that this moment might bring them closer, that he might finally see her as more than a duty.

Surrendering to his touch, she let him guide her to the bed.

In a fleeting moment, their bodies pressed closely together. Enlyan looked at him briefly before closing her eyes. Damian’s hand gently slid along her face, cupping her cheek and tilting her head toward him.

Moments later, she felt his lips on hers, firm and demanding. His fingers rested against her cheek, keeping her still as his kiss deepened. A nervous tension stirred in her stomach as his voice whispered, “Open your mouth.”

Her lips parted hesitantly, allowing his tongue to delve in as he kissed her again, the sensation unfamiliar yet intense. The sound of their breaths and lips moving together sent heat rushing to her face.

She flinched slightly as his hand, once tenderly cupping her face, slid down her body until it rested firmly on her chest. His fingers squeezed her breasts, eliciting a soft moan she tried—and failed—to suppress.

But even as her body gave in, her heart ached with the knowledge that this was not love—it was an illusion she had created to survive.

Without warning, Damian positioned himself against her core and thrust into her with an unrelenting rhythm. Enlyan's body arched sharply in response, her nails digging into his back as he moved with unbridled intensity. The sensation was overwhelming and endless, leaving her gasping.

Time seemed to blur as their body moved together.

When he finally reached his peak, he released inside her with a force that left her trembling.

However, that singular release wasn't enough to satiate his insatiable desire. His erection remained hard and eager, refusing to be sated.

He continued, his movements rough and demanding, driving deeper into her until both their bodies teetered on the edge of exhaustion. Only after what felt like an eternity did Damian relent, easing away from her at last.

They lay side by side, their chests rising and falling with labored breaths. Enlyan felt utterly drained, her body too spent to even lift a finger.

she turned her head to him, gathering the courage to speak. She wanted to tell him about the baby, to ask him about the woman she had seen, to finally bridge the chasm between them.

But before she could say a word, Damian’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen, and a faint smile crossed his lips.

“I have to go,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his clothes.

“Now? Damian, can’t it wait?” she asked, her voice laced with desperation.

“No,” he replied curtly, buttoning his shirt. “It’s important.”

She watched as he grabbed his coat and phone, his demeanor shifting into something lighter, almost eager.

“Don’t wait up,” he added as he walked out the door, leaving her alone in the silence.

Enlyan lay there, staring at the ceiling. The emptiness in her chest expanded, swallowing the fragile hope she had nurtured. She realized then that Damian would never truly be hers, no matter how hard she tried or how much she gave.

She had tried so hard to make their marriage work, but it felt like grasping at sand that slipped through her fingers no matter how tightly she held on.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her out of her thoughts. She reached for it hesitantly, half-expecting another dismissive message from Damian. Instead, it was an anonymous text, accompanied by a picture.

The image was like a knife to her heart. Damian, clad in a bathrobe, stood casually in what appeared to be another woman’s home. Beside him, Katrina smiled, her hand resting on his arm. On her finger was a ring Enlyan recognized instantly—the heirloom ring of the Blackwood family, a symbol of their lineage and loyalty.

Below the image, the message read: " your husband has already moved on. Why are you still holding on?"