8. Wedding night

“I should ask you the same.” Christopher slips his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

At least, his firm posture and narrowed eyes tell me he’s not here for a quick nighttime chat.

“This is my room,” I retort softly, trying not to reveal that the place suddenly feels colder with his presence, even though my body is burning. “Where else should I be?”

Why did I drink so much?

“In my room?!” It’s not really a question, but I didn’t expect him to be so straightforward.

“That’s not necessary. I said I don’t plan to be your wife.” I snap again, turning away from him, hoping this topic ends. I need it to end.

After a tiring day filled with emotional twists, too much alcohol — and literally ending my life and coming back — I need some time alone.

And definitely, dealing with Christopher Houghton isn’t the best way to end such a night.

Still, he approaches, and through the large mirror, I can see his mysterious expression, with thick eyebrows slightly lowered and lips curved downward.

“You were about to explain why you stayed in this marriage for years, only to lose interest once the ring was on your finger, before my little brother interrupted us.”

Christopher looks at me curiously, and the sparkle in his eyes reveals the confusion I’m causing in his mind, but it also hints at a veiled resentment. Or so I think.

“So that’s why you came here… you want a reason?” I lower my eyes, glance at the slight mess on the vanity; hairbrushes, hair clips, skin creams, makeup… It’s been a while since I put some. “I already told you.”

“You told me a lot of things all those years,” Christopher’s tone is calm but laced with something I can’t quite identify. “Now, it turns out most of them were just half-truths at best.”

My fingers brush against the wooden edge of the vanity, grounding me. The alcohol’s warmth stays in my veins, making everything feel a little delayed, as if the world is moving a half-second ahead of me.

Behind me, through the mirror, he watches me with an expression I can’t quite read. Not anger, not disappointment—just waiting, as if he’s giving me space to lie to him or daring me to tell the truth.

“Seriously, what are you doing here, Christopher?”

“I’m here because I don’t like being interrupted during important business,” he says simply, his eyes fixed on my back, with his arms crossed and a posture worthy of a man born to be noble. “And right now, you have my attention.”

“Attention? Business? You’re unbelievable!” I give a bitter smile, removing the soft, long veil that touches my shoulders, and unclipping my bangs, letting the discreet waves fall back over my shoulders.

With delicate, tender movements, I loosen the waves that unravel under my fingertips, creating a brown sea flowing down my back.

“You walk into my room, uninvited, at the end of the longest day of my life, a day that, believe me, feels like ten damn years — and now you want to talk about business?”

“Wasn’t that what you meant by a marriage beneficial to everyone?” Christopher moves even closer, and I catch a glimpse of his expression in the mirror.

His eyes, still fixed on my back, seem to notice the details of the corset’s lacing. I feel the burning gaze on the skin not covered by the fabric, and it makes my mouth even drier.

“You’re right,” I slowly turn to him, leaning against the vanity, trying not to show how much his presence affects me and warms my skin. “This marriage is a business deal… both for me and for you.”

“So I have something you want.” He moves closer than I expected... just a few more steps, and I can smell his woody cologne again. “What do you want so badly, Charlotte, to have made my life hell these last few years?”

Christopher’s brown eyes analyze mine, which have long been cold, lonely, and empty. I wonder if he can tell that the Charlotte he knew is gone.

“What makes you think you have what I want?” My voice is a sharp provocation that makes him half-smile. “Maybe what I want doesn’t depend on you.”

“Then you could have asked my grandfather to choose a different grandson instead of me.” He took another step, closing the already short and uncomfortable distance and finally allowing me to smell him. “You could have married someone else, maybe even my little brother... he’s always had a special fondness for you, after all.”

Christopher’s implication makes me feel sick.

It seems like the strong drinks I had earlier are catching up with me now.

He steps back and paces around the room thoughtfully, leaving a trail of his cologne behind. I take a deep breath and regret it instantly because I fill my lungs with Christopher’s scent, which intoxicates me.

In the short quietness that passes between us, even muffled and softened, his footsteps on the white carpet sound incredibly loud.

“I’m sure Sebastian would love to be in my place in every possible way.” With his back to me, I can only imagine his usual expressionless face. “If you had chosen him first, I’m sure the Earl would have gone along with your thoughtless wishes… he always did.”

“Oh, should I?” I hum, crossing my arms. “Like you, Sebastian is the son of Marshall’s firstborn. House rules state that if the eldest isn’t considered suitable, the title naturally passes to him.”

“But I am suitable.” Christopher turns slowly, his gaze meeting mine with that same infuriating calm he’s always worn like a second skin. “I’ve been preparing for this my entire life.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that Sebastian is the main threat to your position—”

“No, Charlotte, you’re wrong,” he cuts me, his voice lowering a few tones, “You’re the threat.”

“You know too well that if I had married Sebastian, you would have lost your position,” I say firmly, and he gives a sarcastic laugh.

“Oh, right. If you hadn’t begged the Earl for this marriage, I wouldn’t be at risk in the first place. I wouldn’t be at risk of being seen as unfit for the title just because I refuse to marry a woman I don’t love.”

I taste something bitter in my mouth, the words hitting harder than I want them to, because I know it’s true.

Christopher turns to me, finally revealing those cold eyes I remember as the same ones that have ignored me for years without ever truly looking at me.

“So yes, Charlotte… from the moment my grandfather said he would only make me his heir if I married you, removing my rights, making me succumb to the whims of a spoiled girl who knows little about the world, you became the threat.”

He doesn’t bother to hide the hostility rising in his voice. With each word, he finally sounds like the man I knew so well during those ten miserable years.

“You brought this on us both. But now you’re acting as if we both were forced, like we were in the same situation… When you choose this. I didn’t.”

He walks towards me again, slowly, elegantly, intimidating, and I meet his eyes, my face lifted to appear more intimidating than I really am.

In this intense stare, without blinking, I look at the man who, in just a few months, will place the divorce papers on the table and tell me to sign them…

The man who dedicated himself to making my life miserable.

Christopher’s breath is shallow as he stops in front of me — closer than ever, closer than I can handle.

“Tell me, Charlotte...” His hand doesn’t touch me, but hovers just beside my waist, and I feel it like a flame licking the air between us.

The tension has its own pulse now, beating faster than mine.

“…Do you really think I believe what you say?”

“I don’t care whether you believe it or not,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed on him, my voice velvety despite the coldness of my words and heart. “I’m simply making it clear that I don’t plan to get involved in your personal matters or relationships. This arranged marriage will not be an obstacle in your life or mine.”

Christopher’s expression flickers, looking genuinely troubled. His lips quiver, and his eyes narrow, but all of this vanishes in an instant.

“As I said, I don’t intend to be your real wife.” I shrug with a subtle smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I honestly don’t give a damn about what you do or the women you sleep with.”

“I think you’re confusing me with Sebastian,” he retorts through clenched teeth, stepping forward again and gradually closing the gap between us. “I’m not a manwhore.”

“No, just a cheater.” I smile dryly.

The silence that follows is deafening — not in sound, but in weight. His jaw clenches so tightly I can almost hear his teeth grinding. For a moment, I think he might turn away again, take his bruised pride, and disappear like he always does when things cut too deep.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in slowly, as if daring me to move. But I won’t. I refuse to be the first to step back.

“A cheater?” He echoes it. “And who exactly have I cheated on, Charlotte? Because from what I recall, I made it very clear that engagement was never going to be real.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it was real, and I was your fiancée.”

“Not by choice.”

I laugh, a soft, hollow sound.

“No,” I whisper. “Never by choice. You really made that very clear.”

Christopher exhales sharply through his nose as if trying to hold back something sharp and rising in his chest. His gaze flicks away from mine for a moment — but that’s not guilt, of course. Christopher doesn’t feel guilty. It’s just the weight of his own words catching up to him.

When his eyes find mine again, he’s armored once more.

The curtains of the windows dance lightly with the breeze that enters the room and chills my skin.

“But it doesn’t matter, Christopher. I told you, I don’t care anymore.”

I turn subtly, focusing on the mirror, as I remove the long gloves that gradually expose my blushed skin.

“You’re free to be with your lover. Discreetly, of course. Just keep doing your business, I won’t be the wife who asks questions, or demands fidelity of someone whose heart never belonged to me.”

Christopher swallows hard at my seriousness, and his lips seem to tremble, but that look of apprehension quickly vanishes.

He must know that the rumors about him not ending his relationship with Evelyn are growing louder and have already reached my ears; I had known even before. But instead of backing away, my obsession only intensified, and I made him walk up the aisle with me.

Even as a married man who must fulfill his duties, Christopher loved her so much that he didn’t care about risking his reputation — and for a man who believed appearances matter most, this shows a big act of love.

He watches me closely, trying to find, in the depths of my lifeless eyes, any sign of deception.

But I’m being honest. I no longer seek Christopher’s attention.

Once again, an intense silence falls between us, heightening the growing tension.

He messes up his hair, turns his back on me, and I think he’s finally going to leave, like he did before, leaving his bride on the wedding night to sleep with his mistress.

I ignore him, gently shifting my body to try to loosen the dress. In a difficult and nearly impossible awkward position, I try to reach the zipper, but it’s no use.

It’s so heavy, no wonder I spent the entire night in this tight dress... It’s impossible to take it off alone, especially after whiskey, vodka, and lots of champagne.

Hah, I should look for Elodie—

“Turn around, Charlotte,” Christopher says abruptly, his voice authoritative. “I’ll take your dress off.”