Chapter Five
1291 Words
ANASTASIA
I almost choked on the piece of toast halfway to my throat. The fork clattered onto the porcelain plate with a sharp clink. Across the long, polished dining table, Mr. O’Brien’s words still hung in the air, heavier than the chandelier above us.
“You both should start having kids.”
Kids?
Christian didn’t even look up from his coffee. Calmly, he reached for the water jug and poured me a glass, sliding it toward me like he was passing the salt. Not even a glance.
“We just got married,” he said flatly. “Give us time.”
Mr. O’Brien scoffed and pushed his chair back with a scrape. “There’s no time, young man. I’m not getting any younger, and I want to meet my grandchildren before anything happens to me.” His cane tapped once on the marble floor. “Don’t disappoint me.”
With that, he left the dining room, the click of his cane fading like a ticking clock running out of time.
The rest of breakfast passed in uncomfortable silence. Christian remained expressionless, his attention fixed on his meal, while I felt like I was seated on a time bomb disguised as a velvet-cushioned chair. The pressure in my chest wouldn’t ease, not even as Alexa returned and offered to show me around the mansion.
The house was breathtaking, yes. Tall ceilings, arched hallways, oil paintings of long-dead O’Briens lining the walls. Everything smelled faintly of cedarwood and lemon polish. But none of it could distract me from the man I was supposed to call my husband—who’d barely looked at me, barely spoken to me, and yet somehow knew enough to stop me from having strawberries I was allergic to.
What game was he playing?
“What’s Christian really like?” I asked Alexa as we strolled past the drawing room.
She paused, tilting her head thoughtfully. “He’s cold. Icy, even. But he has a good heart… buried somewhere deep.”
I laughed dryly. “That’s not what I’ve seen.”
She glanced around before speaking again. “He saved me once, from men who tried to… hurt me. Took me in, gave me a home. A job. He doesn’t like showing it, but he has compassion. I think he’s just…” She shrugged. “Still healing.”
I wanted to scoff. I wanted to roll my eyes. But instead, I just nodded. Because she was probably right. And for some twisted reason, that made everything harder.
When I found the library, it was like stepping into a world far away from this one. The scent of old books and polished mahogany filled the air. It was quiet, peaceful—until I found a book on the top shelf that I couldn’t reach.
I eyed it hungrily, some classic novel with a leather spine and golden lettering. There was a stool tucked into the corner. I dragged it over, climbed on top carefully, stretching as far as I could.
“Yes!” I whispered triumphantly, my fingers finally curling around the book’s spine.
But the moment I relaxed, the stool wobbled beneath me.
And then I was falling.
Except… I didn’t hit the floor.
Strong arms caught me mid-air, my breath caught in my throat. When I opened my eyes, I found myself staring into a pair of piercing blue eyes—Christian’s.
For a second, neither of us moved. My arms had instinctively wrapped around his neck, his hands gripped my waist tightly. His scent—clean soap and cedar—wrapped around me like a fog. His gaze locked with mine, intense, unreadable.
The world shrank down to that moment. My pulse thundered in my ears. I couldn’t tell if I was scared, confused, or something worse—enchanted.
Then he blinked, and whatever spell had passed between us shattered.
He dropped me.
Hard.
“Ow!” I winced, landing awkwardly on my side. Pain shot through my tailbone and I rubbed my back as I glared up at him.
“This is my personal space,” he snapped. “I don’t want to see you in here again.”
Anger bubbled up in my throat like acid. “Do you hate me that much?” I shot back, pushing myself to my feet. “You should’ve called off the wedding then. Or maybe you just didn’t have the balls.”
His eyes darkened instantly.
“What did you say?” His voice was ice and thunder.
He lunged forward before I could move, pressing me against the bookshelf, his hands braced on either side of my shoulders. My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Say one more word,” he growled, “and I’ll make you regret it.”
My mouth opened, then closed. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“You want to know why I didn’t call it off?” he said through clenched teeth. “Because I decided it might be useful to have a pet. Someone to control. Someone disposable. You’re nothing but a placeholder. A tool. And I’ll get rid of you when I’m done.”
I flinched like he’d slapped me.
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my cheek. “Speak only when spoken to. Understand?”
When he stepped away, I sank against the bookshelf, trembling. He left without another word.
I didn’t cry until I was alone.
I stumbled out of the library, the tears streaming down my cheeks before I could stop them. I wiped them away furiously with the back of my hand as I made my way toward the garden—the only place in the mansion that didn’t feel suffocating.
The moment I reached the far corner, hidden behind the hedges, I pulled out my phone and dialed.
“Hello?” My mother’s voice on the other end was tired, distracted.
“Mom,” I whispered. “How’s Aubrey?”
There was a pause. “Still the same. The doctors want to transfer her to a better hospital. Maybe get her specialist care. But… it’s expensive.”
“I’ll figure something out,” I said quickly, even though I didn’t know how. “She’s strong. She’s going to get better.”
My mom didn’t respond right away. “Are you okay, Ana?”
I hesitated. I wanted to tell her everything. That I was breaking. That Christian was cruel and hateful and I didn’t know how much longer I could pretend. That every day felt like I was drowning in someone else’s life.
But instead, I said, “I’m fine. Just tired.”
I ended the call before she could hear the crack in my voice.
As I pocketed my phone, I heard a voice behind me—sharp, accusing.
“Who’s Aubrey?”
I froze.
That voice. High-pitched. Sweet and poisonous.
I turned slowly, my heart thudding in my ears.
Standing a few feet away, dressed to perfection in designer heels and a flawless blowout, was Selena.
She folded her arms, eyes narrowed. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Selena,” I breathed, panic rising in my chest.
“What did you just say?” she asked, stepping closer. “Who’s Aubrey? Because that sure as hell didn’t sound like your name.”
I stumbled over words that wouldn’t come. My brain screamed for a lie, an excuse, a miracle.
But none came.
She tilted her head, smirking now, eyes gleaming with dangerous curiosity. “You’re not who you say you are… are you?”
I swallowed hard.
No way out.
And everything—the fragile threads of this charade, of my sister’s life I was pretending to live—was starting to unravel, one thread at a time.
- Writer
