Pretend Surrogate

“Okay, that’s enough, Madam… please, stop drinking,” the butler, Arthur, warned softly. He reached out to steady the glass as it wobbled in Larissa's grip.

Larissa didn't even look up at him, she stared at the liquid instead, watching the ice cubes swirl. "He isn't coming back tonight, is he?"

Arthur hesitated, his silence more cutting than any confirmation.

"It’s been six months, Arthur," she whispered, her voice filled with exhaustion. "Six months since the wedding, and..."

She downed the rest of the drink. The burn in her throat was the only thing that made her feel alive. Finn, her husband, treated her like a piece of furniture, he hadn't even touched her. Not on their wedding night, and not a single night since. He was always 'at the office' or 'traveling,' leaving her to rot.

"I’m sure Mr. Finn is just—"

"Busy? Tired? Bored of me?" Larissa laughed, a jagged, bitter sound. She stood up, the world tilting dangerously. "I’m going to my room, don’t bother waking me up for breakfast. There’s no point."

She stumbled toward the grand staircase, grabbing the railings. The family house was quiet, Finn parents might had gone to bed.

She hated him for the indifference and most especially she hated the parents for accepting the business deal that had put her here and mostly, she hated the desperate, pulsing need in her chest for someone, like anyone to actually see her.

She didn't go to her bedroom. Instead, she took another bottle from the cabinet in the hallway and kept walking, her mind blurring as the alcohol took hold. She just wanted to forget the rejection.

Larissa pushed open the door at the end of the hall. “Finn room?” She smiled to herself as she walked in. Finn was going to be mad, but she didn't care.

She collapsed onto the massive bed, clutching the bottle to her chest. She took a long gulp, the liquor spilling down her chin and onto her lingerie. A hysterical chuckle bubbled up from her throat.

"Look at you," she slurred, staring at the ceiling. "So desperate, so pathetic."

She was a wife who had to beg for a glance, a woman married to a shadow. The rejection felt like a weight, suffocating her. With shaking hands, she began to tug at her clothes. The dress was too tight, that it felt like a cage.

She kicked off her heels and fumbled with the straps of her dress, letting it slide down her body until she felt the cool air hit her skin.

The click of the door closing echoed through the room.

Larissa froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. A tall, broad silhouette stood by the entrance, draped in the shadows of the dimly lit room. Her breath hitched.

"Finn?" she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and heartbreak. "Is that you?"

The figure didn't move nor answer. She scrambled off the bed, her vision swimming as she rushed toward him. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest.

"It’s really you... you came home. You miss me, right? You finally realized I’m here?"

She started trailing her hands over his firm chest, her touch frantic and starved. "Do you have any idea how much I hate this? How much I hate you for leaving me alone in that bed? I’m your wife, Finn. I’m right here..."

A low, vibrating chuckle rumbled through the man's chest, a sound far deeper and more dangerous than Finn’s cold voice, a large, calloused hand suddenly gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. He stepped forward, forcing her back until her calves hit the edge of the bed. He loomed over her, his eyes glinting with a light that made her blood run cold.

"You've got the wrong room, sweetheart," Ronan smirked, his voice a gravelly purr.

He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear as he towered over her. "Are you really that desperate for your husband’s touch that you’d crawl into my bed and strip for me?"

"Finn, I don’t understand why we sleep in separate rooms when we are married.”

Larissa leaned her head back, her vision blurring as she looked up at the sharp, dangerous line of his jaw.

"Finn..." she breathed, ignoring his chuckles. She reached up, her fingers trembling as she traced the shell of his ear, sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck. "Stop playing and stop being so... mean."

She let out a broken, defiant giggle, pressing her body closer to his heat. "You’re always so cold. Why are you acting like this now? Just because I finally came to find you?"

She stumbled slightly, her weight falling into him, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she fisted her hands in his shirt, pulling him down toward her. "I don’t care about your excuses anymore. I don’t care about the 'business.' I’m tired of being a ghost, Finn. Look at me! Touch me."

She leaned in, her lips brushing against his neck, desperate for the connection she’d been denied for months. "You miss me... I know you do. You're just too proud to say it."

Ronan’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin with a possessive force that was nothing like Finn’s calculated indifference. He loomed over her, his shadow swallowing her whole as he watched her with a dark, predatory curiosity.

"You really can't tell the difference, can you?" Ronan murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous, silky octave. He tilted her head back, forcing her to look into eyes that were far too wild to belong to her husband. "You're so starved for him that you'd come find him."

Ronan’s thumb brushed roughly along the edge of her jaw, tilting her face up higher as though he were inspecting something fragile he’d just decided to break. His other hand stayed locked at her waist, keeping her pinned exactly where he wanted her.

Larissa’s lips parted on a shaky exhale. The room still spun in lazy, drunken circles, but his voice was low and rough, nothing like Finn’s. She didn’t want to know if it wasn’t Finn, she just wanted the fantasy to hold just a little longer.

“Please…”