In the grand sitting room, Ethan stood frozen before my husband and his six aides, his hands clasped before him, as if in prayer. A tremor of fear seemed to run through him, visible even from where I stood.
His red eyes and visible head veins added to my curiosity of his reason to be here. "Ethan?" I called, my voice a soft, curious whisper. "What are you doing here?" He only looked at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, but no words came. His silence was a lead weight in the air. "What happened to him?" I asked again, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. I'd never imagined seeing Ethan like this. The sight was a shock, a sudden, cold jolt. The memory of his words—the ones he'd spoken when I told him of my father's plan for me to marry Collins—returned with a flash. Now, I felt an impulsive need to prove him wrong, to show him that I had chosen the best husband in the world. With a smirk I didn't truly feel, I strode forward, pressing myself against Collins's arm in a way I'd normally be too timid to do. "Wife, let's go," Collins's voice was a calm counterpoint to the chaos within me, a simple command that pulled me from the moment. I knew I had to go, but I decided I would get answers later once we were alone. Inside the car, the scent of leather and Collins's subtle cologne filled the space, a stark contrast to the lingering tension from outside. "What happened to him?" I repeated, my voice now urgent. “Why did you wear this cloth?” Collins simply asked as he glanced at me before turning his gaze to the window, the same frustrating silence from last night settling between us. “But I thought…” The words died on my tongue, a silent gasp trapped in the back of my throat. He looked at me again, a look of pure disdain on his face as his eyes took in the subtle fabric of my dress, the way the silk clung to my curves, the way it moved when I took a breath. This was what he had asked for, a dress that would reveal just enough to hint at the treasures beneath. I wanted to remind him of that, of his specific request, but the look on his face stopped me. The air in the car thickened, a sweet, heady perfume of anticipation and unspoken desires. I closed my mouth, a small, knowing smile replacing the frustrated words. The moment was too perfect to ruin. "Hmmmm," I cleared my throat, the sound thin and awkward. "I… I forgot my phone with… my friend, Sarah, last night," I stammered, my eyes fixed on the front seat. "Oh, that," he finally said, his voice a low hum. "Bryan, we should stop at the nearest phone store." "Yes, sir," Bryan replied from the front seat. A surge of panic rose in me. "No, no… I don't want a new phone," I pleaded, my hands twisting in my lap. "I need my old one. Everything on it is really important to me." "Okay, Bryan, you heard her." "Yes, sir." I couldn't help but wonder if Bryan had any other words in his vocabulary as the car glided forward, leaving the mystery of Ethan behind us for now. The car doors opened, and we stepped into a new world. The air, heavy with the sweet scent of blooming jasmine and freshly cut grass, was a stark contrast to the city's exhaust fumes we had left behind. Before me stood a house that was a poem in itself, a vision of classic elegance. Two massive, gold-hued pillars stood like silent sentinels, guarding a wide veranda, their gleaming surface, a bold statement against the house's pristine white facade. Collins's hand slipped into mine, his touch a warm anchor as we walked along the vast cobblestone path. With each step, the aroma of ripe strawberries seemed to grow stronger, a fragrant curtain that parted to reveal an inviting scene. Arranged with effortless grace were pieces of furniture that looked as if they had been carved from moonlight and dreams. We settled into a plush chair, its cushions yielding with a soft sigh as I took it all in. A lady with a warm smile and the light steps of a dancer appeared, serving two glasses of wine that sparkled like liquid amber in the morning sun. Then, a man emerged from the shadows of the veranda. His presence was a quiet force. He was tall, with a lean build that spoke of an easy athleticism, and his dark hair was swept back, revealing a handsome, chiselled face. But it was his eyes that held me captive—a piercing, intelligent grey that seemed to see right through you. As he smiled, deep dimples appeared, a touch of boyish charm that softened the intensity of his gaze. This must be Robert, and a silent thought crossed my mind that his home was a reflection of him—elegant, refined, and utterly captivating. “Well, well… well…” My stomach somersaulted when I heard it, “look who we have here.” his voice, a deep baritone that was pure velvet, a balm to the soul. I was instantly, shamefully captivated, my heart doing a little flutter-kick in my chest. No, I told myself, a jolt of ice-cold reality cutting through the warmth. I couldn't be lusting after another man, not when my husband was sitting right beside me, his arm brushing against mine. He smiled, and his eyes, instead of finding my husband's, locked onto mine. A hand extended, an offering I dared not accept. A handshake from my husband's friend, felt like a breach of some unspoken, sacred code. To avoid the disrespect, I rose to meet him, my body already leaning into a soft hug. The moment our bodies touched, a cold shiver traced a line down my spine, but it was quickly followed by a riot of butterflies in my stomach. A wave of heat rushed through me, threatening to ignite an explosion I barely contained. His scent was a heady mix of sharp lemon and earthy kola nut, a sweet and manly aroma that consumed my senses. The world around me blurred, the room fading into a hazy backdrop for the sudden, vivid fantasy playing out in my mind. But the internal ceremony, my captivating dream, was cut short. The hug lasted no longer than a heartbeat. He pulled away, the warmth gone, and turned to face my husband. The connection, a spark so quick and intense, was extinguished as abruptly as it began. "Yeah… now, you see us here… with Aliya," my husband, who patiently sat there, said. My heart seized up. Aliya. The name felt alien on his tongue. It wasn't the sweet, silly pet name he usually used. It felt sharp and cold, my real name. The lust I had earlier had just evaporated, replaced by a sudden, prickly anger. Why would he call me that so formally, so dismissively? My throat tightened, but I held my tongue, refusing to let the moment unravel into a public scene. "My wife," he corrected himself, and a wave of relief washed over me. "I am happily married now… and you should also go get a wife for yourself and stop being lean like a weak squirrel," he added, a playful jab in his voice. The men's conversation was a low, rumbling tide, a sea of masculine voices that crashed and receded, leaving me stranded on a silent shore. My presence was as substantial as the dust motes dancing in the late morning light—seen, perhaps, but not truly noticed. I was a prop, a piece of forgotten furniture in the corner of the room, a ghost at the feast. A deep, hollow growl echoed from my stomach, a betrayal of my quiet stillness. It was a guttural plea, a hungry beast stirring from its slumber. The sound, stark and real, was the only way to puncture the thick, invisible wall that separated me from them. It was a cry for more than just food; it was a desperate signal, a flare shot into the sky, demanding to be seen, to be heard, to be acknowledged as a living, breathing person in the room. I cleared my throat. The sound was a small, defiant burst in the air. "Hey guys," I said, and they both turned, their eyes on me. I had their attention now. "I think I should make some dishes… like… what we should eat."Mary described him with a simple clarity that felt both genuine and unsettling. "He's of medium height, with an athletic build and black hair," she said, her voice a calm river in the storm of my thoughts. A chill crept up my spine, a cold premonition that I desperately wanted to dismiss."Wait," I interjected, my head tilting forward, my neck stretching with a frantic hope that I was wrong. "Does he... does he have wide lips?""Yes, ma'am," she replied, her words a quiet confirmation that sent a shiver down my spine.My mind raced, images flashing behind my eyes. "Sunken silver eyes?" I whispered, my voice barely a breath."Yes.""And he was wearing a pair of grey jeans?""Yes."The world seemed to tilt on its axis. A gasp escaped my lips, "Oh my God, tell me it isn't Ethan!"Mary's face, a mirror of my own turmoil, was etched with a worry so profound it was palpable. She stood silent, her gaze a question mark, a silent plea for me to say it wasn't true."Ethan," I breathed, the name
I didn't expect this to be more painful than yesterday's torment. He kept sliding it in and out at a slow pace and each slide, a testament to the dangerous game he was playing with me. I let out a loud cry on top of my voice, and he moaned several times before increasing his pace on and on and on again. He was doing it and kissing me sometimes. Sometimes, he kissed my breast, making all my joints ache so bad.I saw my late mother's spirit appear before me. She was neither sad nor happy. She just looked at her daughter, suffering so much. I wished I wasn't cuffed to this pole, I'd have grabbed a vase and hit him so hard, then ran off.I couldn't think of anything anymore, but I just kept on enduring the pain. I'd shout for a while and give some stifled moaning again.He kept on sliding in and out of me for what seemed like an eternity, I noticed he became really fast at a time, and suddenly, he stopped. His manhood was still inside of me, as he opened his mou and laid on me. All his w
I didn't expect this to be more painful than yesterday's torment. He kept sliding it in and out at a slow pace and each slide, a testament to the dangerous game he was playing with me. I let out a loud cry on top of my voice, and he moaned several times before increasing his pace on and on and on again. He was doing it and kissing me sometimes. Sometimes, he kissed my breast, making all my joints ache so bad.I saw my late mother's spirit appear before me. She was neither sad nor happy. She just looked at her daughter, suffering so much. I wished I wasn't cuffed to this pole, I'd have grabbed a vase and hit him so hard, then ran off.I couldn't think of anything anymore, but I just kept on enduring the pain. I'd shout for a while and give some stifled moaning again.He kept on sliding in and out of me for what seemed like an eternity, I noticed he became really fast at a time, and suddenly, he stopped. His manhood was still inside of me, as he opened his mou and laid on me. All his w
Crimson bled into my vision as my eyes fluttered open. The familiar, dreadful shade of red enveloped me—the crimson round bed. My heart leapt into my throat, a frantic bird desperate to escape its cage. Not again. A silent scream clawed at my chest. I tried to scramble off the bed to run, but a cruel tug stopped me. A cold, metallic cuff dug into my right wrist, shackling me to the bedpost.Panic set in. "No, no, no!" I screamed, my voice raw and desperate, but the only reply was the suffocating silence of the room. My mind raced, a whirlwind of fragmented memories and agonizing questions. How did I get here? Was I drugged? The phantom pain from yesterday's torment still ached deep in my core, a heavy anchor dragging me down. I had to get free.I pulled and twisted, but the cuff held firm, only offering more pain in return. My gaze darted around the room until it landed on a small plastic container on the bedside table—a bottle of lubricant - almost empty. It was so close, yet just o
I tried to force a smile, a shaky, unconvincing thing. The word, so unconvincing, tasted like ash in my mouth. I felt eased, though, but I couldn't just fathom how I was feeling about it."Oh, don't stress it, my dear," Robert said, his voice as smooth and polite as I remembered. "There are maids around. They would do all that stress."He waved a hand, and a maid appeared as if from nowhere, she was as beautiful as a blooming flower and silently accepting his instructions to prepare a meal. I stole a glance at my husband, and my blood ran cold. The look on his face was a mixture of disappointment and fury. My cheeks burned with shame. Would they see me as some kind of starving woman, a desperate housewife looking for a free meal? The air in the room thickened with my unease, and the weight of his gaze felt heavier than any meal I could have made.The air grew heavy with the promise of food, a fragrant blend of rich, boiled chicken, and the savoury sizzle of fried eggs. My stomach, a
In the grand sitting room, Ethan stood frozen before my husband and his six aides, his hands clasped before him, as if in prayer. A tremor of fear seemed to run through him, visible even from where I stood.His red eyes and visible head veins added to my curiosity of his reason to be here."Ethan?" I called, my voice a soft, curious whisper. "What are you doing here?"He only looked at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, but no words came. His silence was a lead weight in the air."What happened to him?" I asked again, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. I'd never imagined seeing Ethan like this. The sight was a shock, a sudden, cold jolt.The memory of his words—the ones he'd spoken when I told him of my father's plan for me to marry Collins—returned with a flash. Now, I felt an impulsive need to prove him wrong, to show him that I had chosen the best husband in the world. With a smirk I didn't truly feel, I strode forward, pressing myself against Collins's arm i