Chapter 4

Feeling completely drained, I decided to sleep off the pain after taking a cold bath. My plan was to wait until the others were finished before heading down to eat. I was eventually jolted from my sleep by a soft, hesitant knock on the door.

Still barefoot, I climbed out of bed and quickly fixed my hair before cracking the door open. I was surprised to find the blonde guy standing there. He gave me a small, shy smile as the door opened, and I couldn't help but feel a wave of awkwardness.

"U-uh, do you need something?" I asked, unsure why he’d come to my room.

"The guys are all passed out; they're pretty drunk," he explained. I stepped back slightly, glancing him over.

"You look sober, though," I noted, eyeing him suspiciously. He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I didn't drink much. My stomach can’t really handle it anyway." I nodded, though the silence that followed felt heavy.

"Anyway, I just came up to say goodbye. I have to head out first." I gave him a small, polite smile.

"I'm Jacob, by the way. It’s nice to meet you, Adeline."

"N-nice to meet you too, Jacob."

"Oh, and by the way—" he was about to turn around to leave when he suddenly stopped and glanced at me.

"That steak tasted amazing. It makes me wish for a wife who could cook like that," he added with a soft chuckle. I felt heat creep into my cheeks and offered a shy smile in return.

"T-thank you."

"Alright then, I’ll be going now." I watched him walk down the stairs until he disappeared from my sight.

And now, I found myself wishing Rogue would say those things to me, too.

But I knew that would remain nothing more than wishful thinking. He never truly saw me as his wife; he never appreciated a single thing I did for him.

Feeling my stomach churn with hunger, I decided to head downstairs to find something to eat. I passed by the three men in the living room, all of them completely wasted. Rick was sprawled out on the long sofa, Lucas was passed out on the floor, and Rogue was slumped against a single armchair, fast asleep.

I moved quietly toward the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge, but nothing caught my eye. Instead, I grabbed a pack of instant noodles from the cabinet. I boiled some water and waited for a few minutes until they were ready. I poured myself a glass of fresh milk and sat at the table, finally eating. I was just starting to enjoy my meal when I heard Rogue’s voice behind me.

 

"You cook for me, yet you can't even make a real dinner for yourself? You’re really pathetic," he muttered. I jolted, spinning around to look at him.

 

His eyes were bloodshot and heavy as he swayed toward the fridge. He grabbed a pitcher of water and poured himself a full glass, drinking it down.

 

"You're still drunk. Do you want some coffee?" I asked, standing up to head for the cupboard, deliberately ignoring his mockery.

 

"Don't bother," he snorted. My hand froze on the cabinet handle.

"You need it," I turned to look at him, only to gasp—he was suddenly inches away from me.

I could feel his heavy, alcohol-scented breath against my skin.

 

The tension in the kitchen snapped the moment his hand gripped the edge of the counter, trapping me between the cold marble and his heat.

"I told you," Rogue rasped, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that sent a shiver straight down my spine.

"Don't bother."

But his eyes weren't cold anymore—they were burning. The scent of whiskey and peppermint clouded my senses as he leaned in, his gaze dropping to my lips with an intensity that made my breath hitch. Before I could even think of a retort, he closed the distance.

The kiss was a sudden, breathless collision that felt like years of unspoken tension finally breaking. His mouth met mine with a desperation that caught me off guard, drawing a soft sound of surprise from the back of my throat.

My hands, initially frozen, found purchase on his chest, clutching his shirt as the world outside the kitchen seemed to fall away. He leaned into me, his touch firm and certain, as if finally admitting to a truth he had spent far too long denying.

A low sound of realization escaped him, vibrating through the small space between us. One of his hands moved from the counter to the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair to steady me as the intensity of the moment deepened. He kissed me with a fervent energy, as if trying to bridge the distance that had sat between us for so long.

 Before I could breathe, his hands were on my waist.

He carried me up the stairs, his movements fueled by a raw, impatient energy. When he kicked open the door to the master bedroom—the room I usually slept in alone—a flicker of hope flared in my chest. Is this it? Is he finally seeing me?

My head spun. Logic suggested this was a mistake—that the morning might bring back the usual walls, roughness and silence—but in the quiet of the kitchen, with his heart hammering against my palms, those thoughts were impossible to hold onto.

I gasped as Rogue’s hands gripped my thighs, pulling me flush against him. As he carried me toward the stairs, my heart hammered against my ribs—a frantic mix of terror and a desperate, aching hope. This was the room where I spent my lonely nights, the bed where I cried myself to sleep wondering if he’d ever love me.

He lowered me onto the bed, the air between us thick with unspoken tension. For a moment, the distance that had defined our relationship seemed to vanish. As he stayed close, his presence felt overwhelming, and the hope I had carried for so long flared into a bright, painful flame. I reached out, my hands trembling as I held onto the moment, believing that finally, the walls between us were crumbling.

In the quiet of the room, he leaned in, his breath ragged against my skin. I don't even remember how our clothes left our body. I gasped and closed my eyes, letting myself believe that I was finally the one he saw, the one he wanted. His hand hooked at my legs to part it as he pushed himself closer. 

His kisses went rough as it managed to travel down my neck. My nails scratches on his back as I felt his tongue traces and licked my earlobe and down until it reached my tits. He swirled his tongue and played wiht my nipple as his one hand went down on my pussy. the room was dim that added too much tension. 

"R-Rogue!" I moaned his name, my back arching as he slipped two fingers inside me. He started slow, his movements steady and deliberate, while his other hand remained busy, teasing my breasts.

"F-fuck," he groaned, his pace quickening until I felt an unfamiliar, tightening coil in the pit of my stomach.

The world around me seemed to blur, leaving only the heat of the moment and the intensity of his presence. Every sensation was magnified, a rush of emotions and physical responses that I couldn't quite name. My breath hitched as the tension between us reached a peak, and I clung to him, seeking some kind of anchor in the storm.

"Ahh! It hurts... it hurts... rogue!" I cried and I felt his body stiffened. My body shivered in the strange pain when he came all in

"Shhh." when he recovered he kissed me gently on the lips. My hand wrapped around his neck pulling him closer as I feel him move..

As the initial sharp shock of the moment began to fade, it was replaced by a heavy, pulsing rhythm that felt both foreign and deeply personal. I closed my eyes, focusing on the closeness and the overwhelming feeling of being completely overtaken by the situation I've never been before.

The previous complications of our arrangement seemed miles away, drowned out by the immediate, burning reality of the present.

Eventually, the frantic energy began to settle into something more steady and profound. We moved together in a shared, wordless language, lost in a sensation that was entirely new to me. 

"Uh fuck, Olivia!" he moaned. But not my name. My eyes went open as I felt him shivered above me after one hard thrust. 

The warmth drained from my body instantly, as if a bucket of ice water had been lashed against my skin. That name—her name—hung in the air like a suffocating fog. It was a brutal, jagged reminder that while he was inside me, while our bodies were tangled in what I thought was intimacy, his mind was miles away, trapped in a memory I could never compete with.

I lay there paralyzed, the realization sinking in that the "connection" I felt was nothing but a hollow shadow.

He collapsed beside me, his weight leaving a cold void as he immediately passed out, claimed by the alcohol and his own exhaustion. The chill of the room seemed to seep into my trembling skin and my aching, sore femininity. I felt hollow. Used. I had given him my first—a gift I had protected for years—only to realize it held no value to him at all. To him, I was just a convenient body to quiet his demons.

A choked, bitter laugh escaped my lips, quickly dissolving into a sob. The tears came in a relentless flood, each one carrying a piece of my shattered dignity. My chest tightened, a physical agony clawing at my heart as my low, broken sobs filled the empty space of the room. I cried until my throat burned, haunted by the crushing weight of my own insignificance.

I had never felt more a loser in my entire life.

"One month, Adeline. I’m giving you exactly one month to unlearn him," I whispered to myself, the words trembling in the dark.

I closed my eyes tight, praying that for once, my heart would actually listen to my head.