Her Return, His Regret

The room smelled faintly of roses and fresh linen. Candles flickered along the marble walls, their golden light trembling against the white of her wedding gown. Outside, rain whispered against the window, soft but relentless, as if the sky itself mourned for her.

Lilian Brook sat motionless on the edge of the bed, her veil pooling around her feet like fallen snow. Her fingers trembled on her lap, the diamond ring glinting with cruel irony. The reflection in the mirror across the room showed a woman who looked nothing like a bride — just a stranger wearing someone else’s dream.

She’d once imagined her wedding night would be filled with laughter, warmth, maybe even love.

Instead, the silence was heavy, suffocating, and cold.

Her heart gave a painful jolt when the door opened.

Ethan knight stepped inside. His black suit was sharp as the edge of a blade; every line of his face carved with quiet authority. He was the man every woman in the city adored — powerful, poised, impossibly handsome. But standing there, beneath the dim light, he looked like everything Lilian feared: distant, untouchable, merciless.

“Take your clothes off,” he said.

The words cut through the silence like shards of glass. His tone was calm, almost bored, yet the chill behind it made her breath hitch.

Lilian blinked, unsure if she’d heard him right. “Ethan…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Can’t we just—”

He didn’t let her finish. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.” His gaze slid over her like judgment. “You got what you wanted, Mrs. Brook. Now play your part.”

Her stomach twisted. Play your part. As if that was all she was — a role in his carefully constructed life.

She wanted to ask why. Why he hated her so much. Why he agreed to marry her if he couldn’t stand the sight of her. But the questions stuck in her throat.

Ethan took a step closer, the air thickening between them. She could feel the warmth of his body, though it carried no comfort. His scent — dark cedar and smoke — filled her lungs, making it even harder to breathe.

Her trembling hands reached for the buttons of her gown. Each click echoed in the silence, a cruel countdown to the moment she wished would never come.

Her heart screamed for her to stop, to run, to fight — but pride was the only armor she had left.

When his fingers brushed her skin, she shivered. It wasn’t desire that burned through her veins, but despair. His touch wasn’t tender; it was a reminder of everything she had lost the moment she said I do.

The night stretched endlessly — a blur of coldness, tears, and silence.

When it was over, she lay still beneath the sheets, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her body was there, but her soul felt miles away.

Ethan stood near the window, buttoning his shirt with careful precision. Every movement was deliberate, detached — as though nothing had just happened between them.

He didn’t look at her when he said, “Know your lane.”

Three words. Cold. Final.

No goodnight. No warmth. Just a command — one that sliced through her already bleeding heart.

Lilian turned her face away, but tears still escaped, slipping silently down her cheeks. “Yes, Mr. Brook,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He paused for a heartbeat — long enough for her to think, Maybe… maybe he’ll say something more.

But he didn’t. The door clicked shut behind him, and the echo filled the emptiness he left behind.

Lilian sat up slowly, clutching the pillow to her chest. Her tears soaked into the fabric as she pressed her face against it, muffling her sobs.

It shouldn’t have been like this. She had loved him once — perhaps she still did, though that love now burned like a dying flame, struggling for air.

Outside, lightning split the sky, casting brief flashes of light through the curtains. The rain grew heavier, hammering against the glass, as if echoing her pain.

She rose from the bed and walked toward the mirror again. The woman who looked back at her wasn’t the hopeful girl who had walked down the aisle hours ago. Her eyes were red, her hair a tangled mess of silk and sorrow.

“You did this to yourself,” she whispered bitterly. “You fell in love with a man made of ice.”

But even as she said it, something flickered deep inside her — small, fragile, but alive.

He thinks he can break me, she thought, clutching the edge of the dresser until her knuckles turned white. He thinks I’ll take whatever coldness he gives.

A tear slid down her cheek, but her lips curved in quiet defiance.

“One day, Ethan knight,” she murmured, voice trembling yet fierce. “I’ll melt your ice. And when that day comes, you’ll remember the night you turned your back on me.”

The storm outside answered with a low rumble, as if sealing her promise.

She turned off the flickering candles one by one, leaving only the faint light of the rain-soaked window.

In that lonely room — surrounded by silk, roses, and the fading scent of her broken vows — Lilian Brook’s heart hardened and awakened. The night that should have marked her beginning had instead written her first scar.

But it also sparked something else.

A vow.

A quiet fire waiting beneath the ice.