A Fractured Marriage
969 Words
The rain had ceased, but Isabelle’s heart remained unsettled. For the first time, she looked at Lucien not as the imposing CEO or the unfeeling stranger she had been compelled to marry, but as a man who, albeit belatedly, was willing to connect.
Lucien stepped closer, his demeanor calm yet serious, an expression of guilt she had never witnessed before. “I didn’t come here out of obligation,” he confessed slowly. “I came because you’ve been on my mind about that night and everything I overlooked.”
Isabelle politely brushed him off. “That night was a mistake,” she murmured.
“A mistake I take full responsibility for,” he replied quickly. “But I want you to know… if I had known it was you, I wouldn’t have…”
“You wouldn’t have touched me?” she interjected, her voice shaking. “You wouldn’t have wanted me? Or perhaps you wouldn’t have viewed me as just another stranger to exploit?”
Lucien froze, unprepared for the weight of her words.
Isabelle moved to a nearby shelf and picked up a book she had placed there earlier, her hands trembling.
“You’ve never even learned my name,” she said. “Not once since we got married.”
“I know.” She continued, “You never looked at me during dinners or spoke more than a handful of words while we were under the same roof. Do you have any idea how that felt for me?”
Lucien bowed his head. “Empty,” he admitted. “Lonely.” She echoed, “Yes. Very lonely.”
A prolonged silence hung between them.
Finally, Lucien exhaled deeply. “I didn’t accept the marriage,” he acknowledged. “I was furious and bitter. It was supposed to be my brother's responsibility, but after he married, I had no choice but to step in. I blamed you, thinking you were part of the arrangement that took away my freedom.”
“I was forced too,” Isabelle replied, her voice wavering. “You weren’t the only one trapped.”
He looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time—recognizing the trauma etched on her face, the strength in her voice, and how she stood resilient despite her pain. It struck him harder than he’d anticipated.
“I never gave you a chance,” he said, to which she responded, “No, you didn’t.”
Lucien moved closer. “But if I ask you now, will you give me a chance?”
Isabelle met his gaze. “I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he clarified. “Just an opportunity to make things right. To start anew, not due to the contract, but because I genuinely want to understand you, the real you.”
She smiled softly, “You want to know me now, after I’ve faded away?”
“I should have known you from the beginning,” he admitted. “But I didn’t. I wasn’t myself, and I’m sorry.”
Isabelle averted her eyes. Her heart yearned to trust him, but her mind replayed the painful memories of that vast mansion where she had often dined alone, cried, and suffered in silence.
“I don’t know if I can believe you,” she whispered.
“I understand,” Lucien replied. “But I’ll work on it. It’s a gradual process, no matter how long it takes.”
That night, he arranged for her to stay at a peaceful hotel outside the city, where neither the press nor his family would find her. He didn’t attempt to touch her or even request to share a room.
Sitting by the window in her suite, she gazed out at the city lights below, contemplating whether this was yet another chapter of trauma or the beginning of something genuinely different.
Meanwhile, Lucien sat in his own room, clutching the wedding photo album his assistant had brought from home. It was their only official picture together. She had looked beautiful in her simple white dress, yet he couldn't remember if he had looked her in the eyes that day.
He felt a mix of guilt and shame, not over the contract, but for the woman he had let slip away without fully knowing her.
The following morning, they had breakfast together. The atmosphere was tense at first. He asked if she preferred tea or coffee, to which she replied tea. He offered her sugar with a smile.
“Are you still working at the bookstore?” he inquired.
“I help out occasionally. It distracts me from my thoughts,” she answered. “From me?” he asked with a slight grin.
She didn’t respond with a smile. “From everything.” Clearing his throat, he said, “I need you to come home.”
She hesitated.
“I know it’s not your home,” he added quickly. “But I want to create a place you can also think of as home.”
“Why now?”
“Because I don’t want to waste any more time. The contract may expire in a few months, but that doesn’t mean we have to wait.”
Isabelle scrutinized him, truly studying his expression.
He showed vulnerability now, lacking the coldness or indifference she was used to. He appeared as a man trying to mend what he had broken. “I’ll think about it,” she said softly.
That was more than he had dared to hope for.
Unbeknownst to them, someone else had seen Lucien enter the bookstore that day, a woman with long dark hair, red lips, and eyes filled with unspoken secrets.
Her name was Clarisse Vonn.
Lucien’s ex-fiancée. And she had no intention of allowing Isabelle to disrupt her plans to re-enter Lucien’s life. Not now. Not ever.
- Writer
