THE WIFE HE MARRIED FOR REVENGE

THE FIRST NIGHT

Sleep just wouldn’t come. I sprawled out on the oversized bed, staring at some faint smudge on the ceiling, trying to convince myself I belonged here, even just for a second. I knew I didn’t. The silence felt thick and sad, weighed down by a grief I was borrowing, not living.

By one AM, I dropped the act. Things weren’t fine.

The kitchen felt colder than before. Black marble, steel, everything looking sharp and distant under that weak light. I barely made it to the fridge before I realized I wasn’t alone. Luca sat at the far end of the island, glass in hand, still in that perfect shirt, like he hadn’t even tried to sleep. He looked exhausted, so much so that I almost felt sorry for him.

“Can’t sleep,” he said, just stating the obvious.

“No.” I fumbled with my robe belt, way too tired to care about sounding awkward. “Mind if I sit?”

He nodded, short and silent, so I sat.

Neither of us said anything. I poured myself a glass of water, just for something to do. Luca kept staring out the window, watching the city lights like he was waiting for some secret code to blink through.

Out of nowhere, I blurted, “I shouldn’t have gone into your study.” Just to fill the quiet.

“No. You shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry.”

He spun his glass around. His eyes were somewhere else. Finally, and so softly I almost didn’t catch it, he said, “The woman in the picture was my mother. She died eight years ago.”

I barely moved, holding my breath. The air felt like glass. “I’m sorry,” I said again, this time I meant it.

He shrugged. “Everyone says that. It stops meaning anything after a while.”

“Do you want to talk about her?”

“No.” No hesitation at all. “I don’t talk about her.”

“So why tell me?”

He looked at me, no polite mask, just tired and honest for once.

“I don’t know.”

So I let it drop. I’d learned that lesson; when people don’t want to talk, pushing just makes it worse. Sometimes you just sit with them and let the quiet fill up.

“My dad worked all the time,” I said, breaking the silence, peeling back a little. “When I was little, I’d try anything to get him to notice me. I left good report cards on his desk, never handed them over. He didn’t bother checking.”

Luca surprised me, “Did it help?”

“Not really.” My smile went crooked and tight. “He’d just scribble his signature and hand them back. No clue what they said. Turns out, it was my mom who checked. He signed whatever she put in front of him.”

He almost smiled, almost. “That’s a sad story for you to laugh at.”

“I’m good at turning sad into funny. It’s easier than being honest.”

“I don’t have that skill.”

“I know.” I agreed.

That finally got a real smile from him, quick and gone. Still, the ice felt like it was starting to melt a little.

“For what it’s worth,” I leaned in, “anger isn’t a skill. It’s just armor. I get why you use it. But it doesn’t last.”

He watched me. “You’re not what I expected.” He’d said it before, but this time, I think he meant it.

“You keep saying that.”

“It keeps being true.”

The silence stretched out, but it wasn’t choking anymore.

He looked at my hands. “Your dad never noticed you, and here you are, camped out in my house, cleaning up after him, trying to fix everyone but yourself.”

“I’m not doing this for him,” I said, tracing my glass. “I guess…I just wanted to set something right.”

He watched me, jaw tight. “That’s a lot for someone used to living in the dark.”

“Isn’t that you, too?” My voice dropped.

He didn’t reply. His hand hovered, almost reaching for mine. The air felt charged, almost electric, like we were teetering right on the edge.

“Eight years is a long time in the dark, Ava,” Luca said, rough. “Don’t go looking for light in a house made of shadows.”

I met his eyes. “Maybe I’m not chasing light. Maybe I just don’t want us to burn the place down.”

He stared, fist clenched on the counter. Then he stood, and the shadows wrapped around the kitchen, swallowing up any warmth we might’ve found.

“Try to sleep, Ava,” he said, nodding toward the hall. “Tomorrow, we’ll go back to pretending.”

He left, and the silence settled in again, heavy with everything unsaid. I sat there for a while, listening to nothing, feeling something tangled up under my skin, impossible to name.

Eventually, I exhaled. “Okay.”

Not sure if I meant it for him or myself. I rinsed my glass, put it down, and slipped out of the kitchen.

The silence came back, but it didn’t feel as suffocating.

Upstairs, I crept down the hall, footsteps almost silent. Back in my room, I leaned against the door, replaying all of it. No contracts, no business, no talk of marriage. Just him and his mother. I expected him to shut me out, but he’d given me something real. Her name. Elena. I climbed back into bed, feeling like I’d been handed something rare, fragile.

Sleep stayed away. I rolled onto my side, those words echoing: “You’re not what I expected.”

What did he think I was before this? Some spoiled girl who’d blow through his money and ignore him? Maybe that’s what he wanted.

Truth is, I hardly knew Luca. And honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. He was a husband on paper, nothing more. Whatever quiet confession we’d shared downstairs didn’t change that.

My phone buzzed, three missed calls from Sofia. I winced and called her back.

She picked up fast. “Finally!”

I sat up, rubbing my forehead. “Hi, yourself.”

“Don’t start. I’ve been calling for an hour.”

“I was busy.” I said pinching the bridge of my nose.

“With what?”

I paused. “Talking.”

Silence. “Talking?” she finally asked.

“Yeah.”

“With Luca?”

“Who else?” I replied.

She gasped. “Wait. You actually talked?”

I rolled my eyes, a smile creeping in anyway. “I guess.”

“Ava.”

“What?”

“Are you smiling?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I can’t believe you can tell through the phone.”

“I know you.”

Her silence made me glance at the door. “He’s not what I expected.”

Sofia sounded suddenly wary. “That’s dangerous.”

“Why?”

“That’s how it starts.”

I laughed, just a hint. “Nothing’s starting.”

“Keep it that way. One year, Ava. Just get through it.”

I stared at the ring on my hand. One year. I’d told myself that so many times it sounded less like a deadline and more like a warning.

“I know.”

“Don’t lose focus.”

“I won’t.” I said it easy, but I didn’t even believe myself.

When we hung up, I set the phone aside and closed my eyes. Somehow, my head felt quieter. Maybe talking helped. Maybe the house felt a little less alien.

Or maybe I was finally admitting that Luca, the stranger I married for all the wrong reasons, was starting to feel real. Neither of us knew what to do with that.

I rolled over, letting sleep find me. Somewhere in the house, a door clicked closed. Maybe Luca, maybe not. I didn’t check. I curled up under the covers, listening to the hush.

The house was still silent, but for once it didn’t feel lonely.