SETTLING IN

SCARLETT 

“What were you trying to say?” I asked Zayden, my voice barely steady as I searched his eyes. I needed to know—I needed to hear it from him. My heart pounded so hard I could barely breathe, anticipation and fear coiling in my chest.

But just like that, the flicker of vulnerability I thought I saw in him vanished. His expression shifted, his features hardening like stone, as if he had just remembered something—something that forced him to shut down. His jaw tightened, and when he finally spoke, his words sliced through me like a blade.

“That kiss… it was a mistake,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of any emotion.

A mistake.

The words echoed in my head, each syllable a sharp sting, cutting through my fragile hope. My breath hitched, my throat tightening as my mind raced to process what he had just said.

A mistake?

Anger bubbled inside me, raw and uncontrollable. How dare he? How dare he act like what happened between us meant nothing? I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as I struggled to keep my emotions from spilling over.

“A mistake?” I repeated, my voice trembling, but not with sadness—with fury. “Is that all it was to you?”

Zayden didn’t answer. He just stood there, his cold, detached gaze locked on mine, showing no sign of the man who had kissed me like he needed me, like he couldn’t breathe without me.

That kiss hadn’t been a mistake. I knew it. And so did he.

But if this was the game he wanted to play, then fine. I wouldn’t let him see how much he had hurt me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Without another word, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me. The sound echoed in the empty hallway, but it wasn’t nearly loud enough to drown out the storm raging inside me.

As I walked down the long, dimly lit corridor, my breaths came in short, ragged gasps. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out every rational thought.

By the time I reached the living room, Vincent was there, waiting for me. His face lit up with excitement the moment he saw me, his carefree smile a sharp contrast to the turmoil inside me.

“There you are,” he said, stepping closer. “I was looking for you.”

I forced a smile, though it felt brittle, like it might crack at any moment. “I just needed a moment to freshen up,” I lied smoothly. My voice was steady, even though I felt anything but.

Vincent didn’t seem to notice the tension in my tone. He simply nodded, his smile never wavering. “Well, let’s head home, Mrs. Blackwood,” he said, holding out his hand.

Mrs. Blackwood.

The words made my stomach twist, but I placed my hand in his anyway. This was the life I had chosen—or rather, the life that had been forced upon me. And if Zayden wanted to pretend that what we had meant nothing, then I would play along.

“I’m not feeling well,” I told Vincent as we walked toward the exit. “Let’s skip the hotel. I just want to go home.”

His brow furrowed in concern, but he nodded. “Of course.”

I barely heard him. My mind was elsewhere, already anticipating Zayden’s reaction when he saw me at the mansion.

Would he ignore me? Pretend I didn’t exist? Or would he finally break, finally let his guard down?

I wanted to see him struggle. I wanted to see him fight the same battle I was fighting.

As we drove to the mansion, Vincent talked animatedly about our future—our plans, our honeymoon, our perfect life together. But his words barely registered.

Because all I could think about was Zayden.

The way he had looked at me.

The way he had kissed me.

The way he had pushed me away.

When we pulled up to the grand estate, I stepped out of the car and stared up at the massive structure that was now my home. It was breathtaking—an architectural masterpiece with its towering columns, pristine white walls, and sprawling gardens. But it felt cold, lifeless.

Like a gilded cage.

Vincent grabbed our bags, still talking, still smiling, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside me.

And then I saw him.

Zayden stood by the staircase, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable as he watched us.

The moment our eyes met, something in my chest tightened. That invisible thread that always pulled us together, no matter how hard we tried to fight it, snapped taut.

For a second, just a second, I saw something flicker in his eyes—something raw. But then he blinked, and it was gone, replaced by that same emotionless mask he always wore.

I looked away first.

“Let’s get settled in,” Vincent said, leading me upstairs.

I followed him, but I could still feel Zayden’s gaze burning into my back.

When we reached the bedroom, Vincent set our bags down and turned to me with a soft smile. “I’ll let you freshen up,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before stepping out.

The moment he was gone, I sank onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands.

I felt like I was suffocating.

What the hell was I doing?

I had married Vincent for one reason—to protect my family, to uphold my father’s legacy. But deep down, I knew that wasn’t the only reason.

I wanted to hurt Zayden.

I wanted to make him pay for what he had done to me. For rejecting me.

But instead, I was the one hurting.

I lay back, staring at the ceiling, my chest tight with emotions I didn’t want to feel.

I had loved Zayden for as long as I could remember. But he didn’t love me. He never had. And now, I was married to his son.

A soft knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.

“Come in,” I called out, forcing my voice to stay steady.

The door opened, and my breath caught in my throat.

Zayden.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low, firm.

I sat up slowly, my heart hammering. “About what?”

His jaw clenched. “Not here.”

I scoffed. “Why? Afraid someone will hear?”

His eyes darkened. “Come with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said, crossing my arms. “If you have something to say, say it here.”

His patience snapped. In one swift movement, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me up, too fast for me to resist.

I stumbled, crashing into his chest.

The door to the bathroom creaked open.

I turned my head instinctively, but before I could see who—or what—was there, Zayden’s grip on me tightened, forcing my attention back to him.

Our faces were inches apart, our breaths mingling, our bodies pressed together.