5. I don’t want to be your wife

Under the fading moonlight and starry sky, the garden looks breathtaking, especially in spring. The lush, dark green lawn and the gentle, soothing scent of the flowers bring back a nostalgia I had forgotten.

The first time I was here, the spring sun shone brightly and warmly, illuminating Christopher’s brown hair and giving it a reddish glow that took my breath away.

But now, after years of pain and misery, he’s bathed in the cool moonlight, which gives him an elegant yet distant aura.

Christopher’s presence here is a bit unexpected but not really shocking. I knew he hated putting on a show for me.

In my earlier life, I would have been stressed, following him around the hall, begging for a couple’s dance or any typical wedding tradition...

Now, I couldn’t thank him enough for staying away.

I turn on my heels, ready to walk away, but Christopher’s voice stops me, sending a chill up my spine, “What are you doing here?”

I could ask the same thing if I cared... but I don’t.

So I slowly turn back in silence, lifting the ends of my long dress that drags along the stone path.

“Escaping the party, just like you. Isn’t that obvious?”

Christopher’s expression remains cold as he slips his cell phone into his pants pocket. I assume he was making a call, probably to Evelyn, reassuring her that, even though he now wears a gold ring, his heart still belongs to her.

“Anyway, I don’t plan to bother you, so I’m leaving,” I say, turning away again, but his voice stops me for the second time, making me glance over my shoulder.

“Escaping the party you wanted so badly?” Christopher’s tone is serious, almost sarcastic. His broad, firm shoulders, straight in a commanding posture, are obvious even through his elegant black suit. “Who would have thought Charlotte Sinclair would lose interest so quickly in things she’s obtained?”

Calling me Sinclair, on the day I took his last name as his wife, is meant to sting, but it doesn’t.

It’s true... I won’t deny that this marriage is my fault — both of them. I’m being selfish again, tying Christopher’s fate to mine, even if it’s just for a while, but he owes me that. He owes that to our son, who passed before birth, and he never shed a tear.

That memory fills me with disgust, and I feel sick.

I don’t know how I will look into his face, but I need to endure for six more months until Grandpa’s wake... I just need to wait until Christopher slides the divorce papers in front of me again.

Just like before, this is bound to happen.

Our marriage is meant to end.

“What can I say? I tend to get bored easily.”

Christopher looks at me, now dark and wary, with sharp eyes, measuring my silence with contempt, not liking my demeanor that much.

“Mmm, Is that so?” He takes a slow step forward, his gaze never leaving mine, and the soft crunch of gravel under his shoes echoes too loudly in the stillness of the night. “You seem… different. Is this one more of your games?”

I arch an eyebrow, my eyes sharpening, “Different how?”

He shrugs a little, the gesture too smooth to seem casual, “Detached. Colder. I don’t know... You used to cry and beg when I hurt you.”

The words hit something in me, not pain exactly, more like a flicker of grim satisfaction, and I give him a dry smile.

“Maybe I’ve finally grown out of bleeding for someone who gets pleasure from seeing it.”

His jaw clenches, a twitch so subtle I almost miss it, but it’s definitely there.

It seems I’ve hit a nerve.

“Stop playing games,” his voice drops a few tones, growing huskier. “If this is one of your attempts to get my attention, just grow out of that as well.”

“Don’t worry, I did,” I say softly, turning fully toward him. “I don’t want to be your wife, Christopher.”

My words truly surprise him, judging by his stiff posture and narrowed eyes... then, he scoffs with a mocking grin, “Right.”

“This marriage benefits both of us, especially you... Isn’t that why you agreed to it?” I tilt my head slightly, a faint smile on my lips that doesn’t reach my cold eyes. “As the son of Marshall Houghton’s eldest child, Louis, you’re the rightful heir. But even with your birthright, things aren’t easy, are they?”

Christopher’s eyes harden even more — if I didn’t know we were in April, I’d think we’re in the dead of winter.

“William is the oldest grandchild, the son of Marshall’s second child, and he’s also very close to your grandfather. Additionally, your uncle Benedict might also be a suitable heir. Oh, and your brother—”

“I don’t need you to explain my family’s politics to me.” He cuts me off sharply, though he doesn’t raise his voice. “I’m fully aware of my position.”

“Then surely you realize that winning your grandfather’s favor again is the best way to secure the succession as planned and strengthen your claim. Besides, Grandpa Marshall is part of the House of Lords, but there’s no guarantee you’ll be chosen too.”

And Christopher won’t be.

Another family took the seat left by Marshall Houghton, and no vacancies have arisen for the next ten years.

Christopher never achieved his true desire.

Serves him right.

“This marriage may have been forced on you, Christopher, but don’t pretend it won’t benefit you. We can both reach our goals if we use this marriage.”

“And what do you want?” Christopher steps toward me, each stride closing the gap and heightening the tension, thick and palpable. “My attention, my love?”

I could never want his love anymore, not after everything — that’s what I want to say, but when he stops just inches away, I just... hold back those words.

Christopher’s scent is just as I remember… a woody, masculine fragrance that once gave me butterflies, even though we were rarely close enough for me to smell it.

The clearest memory I have of this scent is from the only night we shared, but it was blended with whiskey, sweat, and pleasure.

My throat tightens at the memory of his shaped, strong body pressed against mine, and my face flushes. The ghost of his touch still threatens to give me goosebumps, but now it would probably fill me with nothing but disgust.

Christopher’s breathing grows heavier, and his eyes lock onto mine.

I can’t remember the last time our gazes truly met or lingered for more than a brief second, but now he’s looking at me like he’s trying to unravel me… like my soul might still be exposed there.

But it’s not anymore.

Time has gone by. I’ve built my walls… and killed every last one of those butterflies.

“If you don’t want to be my wife, then what do you want from this marriage?” Christopher’s words are so close they seem to shake against my lips, even though they aren’t touching… even though they never have.

But our breaths blend, and that’s a strange and irritating sensation.

“Don’t worry, I want nothing from you,” I give him a dry smile, noticing his body tense and his brow furrow. “I will be your wife to the world, Christopher, as my duty, but let’s be clear — I don’t want your love or your attention, and I couldn’t care less about your personal life. In fact, I hope we both follow separate paths as much as possible during this arranged marriage.”

My words are steady, with no hesitation, and the confidence in my tone is so clear that I can almost sense the confusion flicker across Christopher’s face.

“So go ahead and live as if I don’t exist. Use this marriage for your benefit, and don’t worry about trivial, pointless things like love.”

“Are you serious?”

I turn my back to him again, but just as I start to walk away, Christopher’s fingers close around my arm, gripping me and sliding across the thin, transparent fabric of my glove — a sensation I haven’t felt in years, and it really sends hateful goosebumps across my skin.

“After everything, Charlotte... After years of obsessing over it and asking the Earl, you say you don’t want this marriage?” He tightens his grip slightly, his eyes locked on mine. “Is this some kind of joke to you? Just another stupid whim? Are you trying to get my attention that badly?"

I part my lips to retort, already feeling anger bubbling inside my veins, but a familiar voice calls my name softly from behind... One that, like the others, I hadn’t heard in a long time, but still adds thick layers of guilt around my already heavy heart.

“Lotte?”

I slowly free my arm from Christopher’s grip and cross my arms, establishing a subtle, safe, and sufficient distance between us.

Sebastian, my brother-in-law and the man I once leaned on during my misguided first life as a weapon of revenge, approaches me like a knight.

In my first foolish life, we shared the same bed for months.

I hoped that being betrayed by his own brother might hurt Christopher, but he didn’t care, of course.

But now, strangely…

Christopher’s face hardens as he glances past my shoulder.

I look at him, and now that I think about it, Sebastian is dressed in an extremely elegant white suit tonight. I hadn’t noticed the meaning before, not in this life nor the previous one, but at first glance, anyone would mistake the younger brother for the groom, not the one who actually said “I do” at the altar.

“Seb...” I offer a gentle smile, watching as he stops protectively between Christopher and me.

“Grandfather is looking for you... He was worried when you dashed off,” Sebastian says, focusing entirely on me, his back to Christopher, whose expression is very stiff again. “Are you okay?”

“He should be worried about himself…” I whisper, sadness in my voice as I timidly lift my eyes to meet my brother-in-law’s gentle brown ones, so much like his brother’s…

And I can’t help but remember the time I found comfort in him — after all, no one has ever given me the kind of look that Sebastian does, especially not Christopher. I used to crave affection, and he loved me beyond reason.

Sebastian let himself be used, knowing it was only an affair from the beginning, and I became as corrupted as Christopher.

That poisoned me, destroyed our friendship, and damaged my soul.

And I hated myself for it...

I hated myself more than anything else.

I even asked God if I had married the wrong man, but that would mean none of it had happened… the pain or the good things. I would never have carried Henry for eight months, waited anxiously for him, or mourned his loss.

The truth is, feeling his tiny heart beating rapidly inside me, shopping for tiny clothes, and preparing the perfect nursery for his arrival — those few months together were worth a decade of pain from losing him.

If I stayed with Sebastian, or chose him this time, or ran off to be with someone else, I might have another child or family, but it would never be my Henry.

I don’t just want another baby… I want that little one I never had the chance to hold in my arms. And for him, I would endure anything.

That’s why I walked down that aisle again.

That’s why I’ll endure six months until Christopher shows up with Evelyn at Grandpa’s funeral and asks me for a divorce again.

“Let’s head back to the party,” Sebastian suggests, putting an arm around my lower back without glancing at his brother, and I sigh, nodding, ready to follow him back to that hellish gathering and finally end this terrible day.

But before we could move away, Christopher’s calm yet surprisingly firm voice stopped us— “Don’t you think you’re being rude, little brother?”

Sebastian slightly turns toward his brother with a sarcastic smile on his lips, “Excuse me?”