Married to the Cold Billionaire

Chapter 2

"Why are you still awake?"

The coldness in Travis’s voice hit Catherine like a physical blow. She shifted on the sofa, her posture stiffening as she slowly looked up. His eyes were like flint, hard and unyielding, and his dark brows were drawn together in a mask of pure irritation.

Catherine bit her lip, her pulse fluttering. "I—I was waiting for you," she stammered, cursing the tremor in her voice.

Sleep had been impossible. She had sat in the silence of the massive house, her mind spiraling with worry. She knew his habits; she knew he often returned home drowned in whiskey to numb the reality of their situation. She had waited out of a misplaced sense of duty… or perhaps, a desperate hope for a kind word.

Travis arched an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over her with a mixture of mockery and simmering rage. Every time she looked into those emotionless eyes, a fresh pang of grief pierced her heart.

"Acting the part of the devoted wife?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Catherine opened her mouth to defend herself, but he cut her off with a jagged laugh. "Stop it. You’re my wife on a piece of paper, Catherine. Nothing more. I don't consider you mine, and I never will. Stop wasting your time on a fantasy."

He didn't wait for a response. He simply walked past her, his expensive shoes clicking against the marble floor, leaving a trail of cold air in his wake.

Catherine bit her lip so hard she tasted copper, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. Husband. The word felt heavy and hollow.

Their marriage was a cage built of guilt and obligation. When her father had discovered the pregnancy, and the identity of the father, the fallout had been nuclear. There had been closed-door meetings, shouting matches, and the shattering of a family. Catherine had been excluded from the discussions, but she had seen the aftermath: Travis emerging from the library with a face like thunder, and Lianne, her sweet, innocent cousin, sobbing as she fled the house.

Lianne had vanished shortly after, a ghost chased away by Catherine’s mistake. Her disappearance only fueled Travis’s hatred. To him, Catherine wasn't just the woman who had trapped him; she was the woman who had destroyed the only thing he loved.

Two weeks. They had been married for two weeks, yet they were strangers living under the same roof. He left before dawn and returned long after the sun set, treating their home like a hotel he hated staying in. Every interaction was a reminder of her insignificance.

Taking a shuddering breath, Catherine rested a hand over her flat stomach. She closed her eyes, trying to draw strength from the tiny life inside her.

"We can do this," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Your father... he’ll accept us eventually."

But the lie tasted bitter.

Desperate to fulfill some semblance of her vows, she followed him upstairs. She knew he didn't want her there, but the need to be useful... to be something to him... pushed her forward. She knocked softly on the master bedroom door. Silence. She turned the knob and slipped inside.

Travis’s coat was discarded on the bed, thrown down with the same carelessness he showed her. From the bathroom, the sound of rushing water echoed.

Moving quickly to avoid a confrontation, she picked up his coat and placed it in the laundry basket. She stepped into the walk-in closet, her heart racing as she selected a fresh white t-shirt and silk pajamas. She laid them neatly on the edge of the bed, a silent offering of care.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Catherine froze. Travis stepped out, a cloud of steam trailing behind him. He was wearing nothing but a low-slung towel, his sculpted physique glistening with droplets of water. Her breath hitched. He was devastatingly handsome, even in his anger.

"What are you doing in here?" His baritone voice was low, vibrating with a new level of hostility.

"I... I just laid out your clothes," she managed to say, her eyes darting away from his bare chest.

His brow furrowed into a deep scowl. "I told you, Catherine: don't waste your time. This—" he gestured vaguely between them "—changes nothing. You are not my wife. And don't touch my things. I don't want you meddling in my life."

The rejection was so blunt it made her dizzy. To him, her touch was a contamination.

"And from now on, stay out of this room," he added, his eyes narrowing. "I don't want you in my space. Do I make myself clear?"

Catherine lowered her head, the shadows of the room feeling like they were closing in.

"Yes," she whispered. "Perfectly clear."