It's Okay Not To Love

Chapter3

His Walls

ELENA

I sighed for the umpteenth time as my mind drifted to different places all at once while I lay on the bed. I adjusted my head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. The idleness was killing me. I didn’t know honeymoons could be this uneventful, and my supposed husband wasn’t helping matters.

I closed my eyes and could almost feel his hands on my waist again. When I remembered the way he looked at me, the thought of it leading to s*x wrapped around my mind, and the idea of pain alone scared me to death. Was this what I was going to be doing now? If I let the fear stop me, then when would I ever be ready?

I bit my lower lip as the image of how he looked at me at the dining table flashed through my mind. I giggled and cupped my face as I kicked my legs in the air, giddy for no reason. Then I froze, realizing what I was doing. My hands dropped from my face, and my legs fell back on the bed. I cleared my throat.

“Get it together, Elena,” I mumbled. But my fingers soon brushed over my lips. My first kiss with him at the altar had been nothing like I’d imagined. I thought it would be a quick peck, but he made sure to have a taste of every part of my lips, and the memory alone sent shivers down my spine. I shrugged to myself.

I closed my eyes again, and this time, his painful screams filled my ears. I sighed heavily. Why the hell did he lock the door last night? Did he not want my help? The image of him crawling on the floor, gasping for air, replayed in my mind, and I didn’t realize tears had filled my eyes.

A knock on the door startled me. I quickly jumped off the bed.

“Master says you should get dressed because you both are leaving for your father’s place,” one of the maids said.

“My father’s place?” I muttered under my breath. Why hadn’t he called me? I was still angry at him for not seeing Damien and me off on our wedding day. I sighed and walked into the bathroom.

---

“Pumpkin!” Father exclaimed with a wide smile as Damien and I walked into the house. I ran into his arms immediately, leaving Damien behind. Even though I was mad at him, I missed him, two days or not.

Father cleared his throat as we broke the hug and looked over at Damien. He was clearly uninterested in our reunion, his eyes scanning the house with a detached calm. His expression remained unreadable. Finally, his gaze landed on our joined hands, which were still linked from the moment we stepped in.

“This should be your second time here, right?” Father asked.

Damien only nodded. He really should learn how to smile.

“That reminds me,” Father said. “Can we meet briefly in my study?”

Damien looked at me, then at him. “Sure.”

Father pulled away from me and led Damien down the hallway until I heard the door close behind them. Without hesitation, I tiptoed to my favorite hobby, eavesdropping.

“I tried reaching your father about the deal we discussed, but I couldn’t get a hold of him,” I heard Father say. “How about you take a look at this file?”

“Mr. Coleman, if I remember correctly, you called your daughter and me here to celebrate our union, since you weren’t there for the wedding…”

“This is more important,” Father interrupted sharply.

Damien sighed. “You’ve already spent more than a minute. If you want to discuss business, contact Mr. Wells directly, or better still, set a proper date. This isn’t the time.”

My brows furrowed. Why does he call his father Mr. Wells?

“Are the rumors about you true?” Father’s sudden question made me freeze.

“What?” Damien’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“They say you have a dungeon beneath your house where you torture people… that some of your victims end up dead.”

There was a long silence before I heard Damien chuckle, low and unsettling.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t do your homework before giving your daughter to me,” he said with a hint of amusement.

Then his tone changed, colder, sharper. “Mind you, “Mr. Coleman,” he said evenly. “You gave me something precious. Don’t make me regret accepting it.”

My heart jumped. I ran from the door before he caught me, clutching my chest to calm my racing pulse. It had to be an empty threat. He wouldn’t hurt me. Not his wife.

I made my way to the dining room and sat down, staring at the elaborate spread before me. Father’s attempt to impress him was almost pitiful.

Moments later, Father walked in, his face tight with anger and worry. I glanced behind him, but Damien was gone.

“Where’s my husband?” I asked, realizing I’d just called him that. It felt strange, and warm on my tongue.

“He got a call and left in a hurry,” Father muttered.

My chest tightened. Without telling me? He couldn’t even pretend for a few minutes in front of my father? I sighed, running my hands through my hair. Damien and I needed to talk or I’d go crazy.

I glanced back at the untouched dishes. I didn’t even have the appetite to eat.

“We need to talk,” Father said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Is this about your conversation with Damien in the study?” I asked. His eyes widened in shock.

“How did you…” He paused, realization dawning. “Of course. You listened in.”

He looked around to ensure the maids were occupied. “Let’s go to my study.”

I sighed and followed him.

As I walked, my mind drifted back to Damien. His haunted eyes, the tremor in his voice when I mentioned his nightmares. There was so much I didn’t understand, but something in me wanted to. Needed to.

When we entered the study, Father was already seated behind his desk, flipping through a file. His expression was grave.

“Elena,” he said curtly. “Sit.”

I obeyed. The tension in the room was suffocating.

“I heard things about your husband,” he began, sliding the file toward me. “And they’re not just rumors this time.”

I frowned. “Father, if this is about gossip again…”

“Read it!” he barked, slamming his palm against the desk. I flinched.

I opened the file slowly. Inside were photos, blurred images, newspaper clippings, official papers stamped in red. Words jumped out at me: assault, missing worker, psychiatric evaluation, trauma response.

“What is this?” I whispered.

“Proof,” he said coldly. “Proof that Damien Wells is dangerous. He’s not just cold, he’s unstable. His mother died under strange circumstances, and his name was linked to an old case buried by his father’s money. You can’t stay with him.”

My hands trembled as I pushed the file back toward him, not from fear, but anger. “So now you care? The same father who sold me off like part of a business deal?”

“Elena…”

“No! Don’t pretend this is about love or concern. You married me off for your greed!” I stood abruptly, my chair scraping the floor. “Now that you realize the Wells family isn’t easy to control, you want out, like one of your failed investments.”

He looked at me, torn between guilt and pride. “I did what was best for this family. You think I wanted this? I thought marrying into the Wells family would secure our future…”

“And mine?!” Tears stung my eyes. “Did you ever think about what I wanted? You traded my freedom for your ambition. And now that you’re scared, you want me to walk away like nothing happened?”

“Elena,” he said softly, “Damien Wells is not who you think he is. If you stay, he could hurt you. This isn’t about business anymore, it’s about your safety.”

I stared at him for a long moment, my chest heaving. Then, quietly, I said, “If I die, Father… it’s on you.”

His face went pale. “Don’t talk like that.”

But I was already walking toward the door. “You made me his wife. Now let me be one.”

And before he could speak, I left.

Outside, Damien’s driver was waiting. I climbed into the car wordlessly, refusing to look back.

---

Dinner that night was quiet. My father’s words replayed in my mind, but my heart refused to believe them. Damien might be cold, distant, broken, but dangerous? I wasn’t sure. There was something else buried beneath that darkness.

After dinner, he left abruptly. I finished soon after and asked one of the maids where he’d gone. She pointed toward the garden.

I found him standing by the fountain, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone to his ear. The fading sunlight framed him perfectly, distant, commanding, and heartbreakingly calm. He sighed deeply as he ended the call.

“I’m guessing your meeting with your father didn’t go well,” he said without turning.

I folded my arms, stepping closer. “He wanted me to leave you.”

That made him turn. His eyes met mine. Dark. Unreadable. “Did he?”

“He said you were dangerous.”

A flicker crossed his gaze, not guilt, not surprise. Just emptiness. He looked away. “He’s not wrong.”

The simplicity of it stung.

“Why do you say that like it doesn’t matter?” I asked softly.

“Because it doesn’t,” he said. “People see what they want. I stopped trying to change their minds.”

“Do you really not care what people think of you?”

He turned to me then, something raw flickered behind his eyes. “No. Caring means feeling. And feelings complicate things.”

“But love isn’t supposed to be complicated,” I said. “It’s supposed to heal.”

He gave a low chuckle, stepping closer until the space between us vanished. “Love is a choice that consumes you. It drives you to act out of character. People choose to love, and people choose not to. And that’s okay.”

He raised his hand, brushing his fingers against my lips. My breath hitched.

“Whereas lust,” he murmured, “lasts for a moment. Once satisfied, your head is clear again. So tell me, wife.. ” he leaned in, his breath fanning my cheek, “...would you rather pick something within your control, or something that controls you?”

The air thickened. My words got lost in my throat.

He straightened and looked away toward the sunset. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I don’t expect love in this marriage. You shouldn’t either.”

My heart sank, but I forced a smile. “Maybe I’m not pretending.”

He didn’t answer. He just walked past me, leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne and the chill of his truth.

As he disappeared into the house, I stood there, fists clenched at my sides.

“I’ll make him believe in love,” I whispered to myself. He has to. Because if he doesn’t… then what have I gotten myself into?