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Erica's eyes fluttered open, the soft ray of the sun casting a long glow through the small openings in the luxurious bedroom's heavy curtains. Her head throbbed, a dull ache pounding against her skull as she shifted slightly, the silky sheets cool against her skin.
Blinking away the haze of sleep, she let out a slow breath, only for a sharp pang of discomfort to ripple through her body. A strange unease settled in her chest. Something felt… off.
She was about to push herself up when her eyes caught something lying on the bed beside her—a condom.
Her breath hitched.
"What is a condom doing here?"
"Argh."
She rubbed her temples, and her eyes shot open as something hazy popped into her head.
"Last night… what happened last night?" she muttered to herself. Her gaze shifted to the window, giving a perfect view of the rising sun.
"What's with the condom and—"
Her hands flew to her mouth, concealing the gasp that threatened to escape her lips.
"He…" Her hands ran between her legs.
"He did it," her mind echoed.
"I mean, he missed the wedding and still had the guts to consummate the marriage?" She was still in disbelief when something else caught her gaze.
Blood.
Her chest tightened as she remembered how she had always wanted it to be. Now, not even being able to remember how it was made her feel stupid—but she waved it off immediately.
"At least he wants me." She smiled. "He's attracted to me."
Last night, it was him. With the tattoo and the firm grip on her waist.
Her cheeks flushed red as she cleaned off the bead of sweat that formed on her face, taking off the mattress cover.
"This needs to be washed," she thought, and just as she went around, trying to take it off without ruining the material, her foot stumbled on something.
"His shorts?" she thought, picking them up.
"No… I've seen this somewhere before."
She clamped her head as the memory failed to load fully. With that, she just tossed it aside and continued with the removal. It was just a dot of blood, but there was still a need to take it off.
"I didn't even get to scold him for leaving me at the altar," she whispered to herself, a tingling feeling settling in her stomach.
Without thinking too much, she took the condom and threw it out the window.
"I—" she slumped on the sheetless bed. "I can't imagine how much I drank for my mind to be this blank. And it was all his fault." Rolling over to one side, she sighed. "I just hope I didn't do anything stupid."
Slowly, her thoughts drifted to her family. None of them were at the wedding that day—not even Mia, whom she had already lost contact with. The thought of going back home crossed her mind, but she ruled it out.
"They will never let me out if I go back," she thought, rolling to the other side.
Still in thought, and in her nightie, a knock on the door brought her back to the present.
She approached the door and opened it a little before pulling it open fully.
"Didn't you see the time?" Selena snapped, seeing her still in her nightie. The drowsiness in her eyes explained further.
"Do you think you came here to sleep?" she spat.
"No wonder you come from a very poor background. Your parents must be good at it too. Freshen up and report yourself downstairs in 30 minutes. There is a lot to talk about." After rolling her eyes, she stormed off, her heel clicking loudly against the marble floor.
Erica was left rooted to the spot. She couldn't imagine getting all of that in less than five minutes. Her mind doubted. There was no way this was the same Mrs. Selena that welcomed her.
The thought of her family summoned her tears, but she blinked them away.
"Not today. And never again," she whispered to herself. Her chest tightened as she carried her feet against her will. She opened a door and was relieved to see it was the bathroom.
Knowing she didn't have much time, she didn't bother admiring the bathroom. She only took off her nightie, leaving it there, and buried herself in the bathtub. She was surprised to find it filled with warm water and wondered if someone had prepared it.
Without thinking much about it, she started scrubbing her body, enjoying the feel of the water. Just as she stood to rinse her body, unfamiliar with the shower system, the door flung open.
Her breath hitched.
Jamal walked in like a Greek god, dripping with sweat, a short white towel draped around his waist—barely holding on. Erica's cheeks flushed red in an instant as his eyes swept over her. She wanted to cover up but thought otherwise. They were married anyway, and he must have seen and accessed her the night before.
A sly smile curved on her lips as she held back, wanting him to be the first to speak about it.
The surprise on Jamal's face was quickly masked by a frown.
"Why are you here?" he asked coldly.
Erica's gaze flickered in disbelief. That wasn't supposed to be the question. Her focus drifted from his exposed broad chest to his lips—dusk red, firm, and inviting with a teasing curve.
"They would taste like coffee," she rasped, her breath hitching as if she'd been holding it for too long. She bit her lip, the sharp sting barely cutting through the lingering taste of alcohol.
"Damn it," she muttered. "If I weren't drunk, he wouldn't be acting so indifferent."
The line between scolding him for not being at the wedding and avoiding him was blurry now. She couldn't wait to be buried in those large, thick arms and teased until she writhed in his grasp—just as she supposed the other night must have been.
This time, conscious.
"I said, what are you doing here?" The coldness in his voice caused her to shiver. The scrub fell from her hands, and a cry escaped her lips as it landed on her foot. She looked at him—a flicker of worry crossed his eyes but disappeared almost immediately.
"I was—"
"Leave." His voice was edged with finality, slicing through the space between them. Erica's lips parted, but no words came. There was no room for argument—no warmth, no hesitation. Just ice.
She swallowed hard, nodding subtly, even as confusion coiled in her chest. Why was he the cold one? He had no right. He was the one who missed the wedding, leaving her to stand alone at the altar. And then, as if that wasn't enough, he had—God. Her fingers curled into fists.
"I don't want to see you in here again unless it's for something urgent. The maids will show you to your room." Erica's chest tightened as the words echoed in her ears. She turned to him, stunned.
"My room?" There was no response. He only pointed to the door, discarding her.
Erica didn't bother to nod.
Shivering, she stepped out, her bare skin prickling in the cold air. Her nightdress lay crumpled by the door—a silent mockery of what had just happened. She scooped it up with trembling fingers and yanked it over her head, barely seeing through the blur of tears.
She glanced at the ring on her finger. It felt heavier than before, like a weight dragging her down. The rumors at the wedding were right. She had the ring—but not his heart.
A sharp breath hitched in her throat. She clenched her jaw, forcing the tears back as she struggled into her shorts.
She wouldn't cry. Not for him.
With one last glance at the closed door, she turned and walked away.
Outside the room, she wiped the stubborn tears that threatened to fall. Unsure of where to go, she remained in the hallway, her bare feet rooted to the cold floor.
Then, warmth.