Not so good morning

Carlee

My heart was pounding as we both stared at each other with completely different expressions. Mine was pure shock. His was something between disgust and disbelief. My mind kept racing because I didn't know how much he had heard or if I had accidentally moaned their names out loud.

The bedroom slowly came into focus around me. The familiar ceiling. The pale morning light filtering through the curtains. The sound of August's breathing, ragged, angry, real. Not the dream. Just reality crashing down with all the grace of a freight train. Sweat clung to my skin and my clothes were damp against my body. There was no denying he knew what had just happened, at least in my dream. I didn't know what to say, so I stayed quiet and waited for him to speak. The longer the silence stretched, the more I started to panic about what I would say if he actually connected the dots.

"You were having a fucking sex dream?" he said as he got off the bed, putting distance between us. He looked at me with pure disbelief.

"I… I…" I couldn't find the right words. The way he was staring at me made me feel small and dirty.

"You think someone would actually want to have sex with you?" he continued, his voice full of repulsion.

My head shot up the moment those words left his mouth. He actually shuddered at the thought of anyone wanting me. Part of me was surprised, but another part of me felt a strange relief. At least he didn't know who the main characters in my dream had been.

"August," I said quietly, the sound coming out tired. It was always the same with him. He never missed a chance to remind me how disgusted he was by my body. It had become a daily thing. I had learned to bury the hurt even when it cut deep.

"You look like a fucking pig. I can barely stand to look at you, and now you just lay there like a bag of nothing, moaning and groaning like a fat slut."

The words hit like they always did, sharp and precise, aimed at the parts of me he knew were already bruised. My hands started shaking. A memory surfaced without warning, the first time he had called me that, three months into the marriage, after I had asked him why he never touched me. His face had twisted with the same disgust he was wearing now. That was the moment I stopped asking. That was the moment I learned to keep my mouth shut and take it.

I watched him storm off toward the bathroom, and only then did the tears come, rolling hot down my face before I could stop them. For seven months, all he had done was body shame me, make me feel small and worthless. All I could do was take it. Every insult. Every cruel word. This was what I had signed up for, and there was no turning back now.

A buzz on the nightstand pulled me out of my thoughts. My phone lit up with a name I didn't want to see. I wiped my tears quickly and picked it up.

I hope you have the money for this month?

No hello. No how are you. No asking if his daughter was okay. Just the same demand he sent like clockwork every single month. He had been doing this since I married August, calling, texting, reminding me that my only value to him was the money I could send. I stared at the screen for a long moment, remembering how he used to tell me I was his greatest disappointment. How he said I'd never amount to anything. And now here I was, keeping him afloat while he still couldn't be bothered to ask if I was breathing.

The phone was tossed aside like it had offended me. Resisted the urge to scream. That was all I was to him, a money machine. Father of the year.

Climbed out of bed and changed into something that at least didn't make me look like a complete mess, even though that was exactly how I felt. My eyes were still red and my chest still felt tight, but forcing myself to keep moving was the only way to survive days like this.

"Good morning, Mrs. Carlee," Agatha, the head maid, greeted the moment I entered the kitchen.

"It's not feeling like a good morning, Agatha," I said, my voice low and rough. Made a small gesture that I needed coffee. Agatha laughed softly at my theatrics but went ahead and started a fresh pot. Climbed onto the stool and immediately pressed my face into my hands. A headache was already building, and it was going to be a bad one.

A mug slid toward me when I looked up. Gave her a small, grateful smile. She waved it off like it was nothing. The first sip almost made me moan in relief. God, I really needed it.

Hated crying. That was why I rarely let myself do it. But the one thing that always broke me was my body. It had always been my biggest weakness, and August knew exactly how to use it against me. I knew our marriage was only contractual, but I had still hoped he would at least respect me. He wouldn't even look at me most days, let alone touch me. It was frustrating and painful in a way I didn't know how to put into words.

The coffee was warm in my hands. The kitchen was quiet. For just a moment, I let myself pretend things were normal. Let myself breathe. Let the tension in my shoulders ease just slightly.

"Hey babe, here you are."

August's voice made my mood drop instantly. He walked straight into the kitchen, came up behind me, and kissed my cheek like nothing had happened earlier. The switch was so fast it almost gave me whiplash, vicious an hour ago, doting now. Taken aback for a second, but then I caught myself when I remembered Agatha was still in the room. She looked uncomfortable, which only made everything worse.

Right. We still had an image to protect.

"Hey," I said, my voice low and worn. He pinched my side lightly, making me jump. When I looked at him, he was smiling, but his eyes were telling me to act right.

Forgotten. We were supposed to be the perfect couple. Leaned into him immediately and forced a wide smile onto my face, the kind that looked real from a distance. Anyone watching would have thought we were performing for the president instead of just our maid.

"You look spent," he said, rubbing my shoulders in a way that looked loving while my whole body stayed tense. "Didn't you get enough sleep, sweetheart?" he asked, his tone soft and innocent.

Looked away from him and focused on my mug instead. Didn't answer because I knew he was mocking me. Just wanted him to leave already. Wanted the quiet back. Wanted to be alone with my coffee and my thoughts and the tiny scrap of peace I had managed to find.

"Good morning, brother."

The voice cut through the kitchen like a blade. My entire body went rigid.

"Good morning, sister-in-law."

The second voice followed immediately, and I felt the warmth drain out of the room. Slowly, I turned toward the doorway.

Both twins stood there, grinning at me like they had already won something. Dillon's eyes swept over me with a lazy kind of hunger. Dexter's gaze was slower, more deliberate, like he was cataloging every detail of my current state, the red eyes, the tense shoulders, the way I was gripping my mug like a lifeline.

They knew. I didn't know how, but they knew. The smirks on their faces told me everything I needed to hear.

August, completely oblivious, smiled back at them. "Morning, brothers. Sleep well?"

"Like a baby," Dillon said, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Best night's sleep I've had in a while," Dexter added, his voice smooth as poison.

My stomach dropped straight through the floor.