The Stranger Husband

The Morning After

I woke to the biting chill of the morning air and the scent of damp earth. I must have forgotten to close the window last night. I was sprawled on the floor, which felt like jagged stone beneath my stiff muscles. My clothes were heavy and damp, soaked through by the dew of dawn and the salt of last night's tears.

I couldn’t remember the exact moment I’d finally collapsed into sleep. A glance at the clock told me it was 7:30 AM. Time to face reality. I pushed myself up and headed straight for the bathroom. Standing before the mirror, I let out a soft groan. My hair was a literal bird’s nest—matted, messy, and wild.

I sighed, reaching for the shampoo, and drew a hot bath. As I sank into the steaming water and closed my eyes, the previous night came rushing back like a physical blow. I never imagined him cheating on me so openly. The devastation was a hollow weight in my chest, but one thought kept surfacing: Does he even care?

The questions circled me like vultures. Why did it hurt this much? We weren't in love. We weren't a real couple. Technically, he had every right to do as he pleased—we were practically strangers who had never been intimate. I scoffed at my own reflection. The man hadn't even shown his face since our wedding night.

My mind drifted back to the very beginning. To the day he first asked me to marry him...

Flashback

I was returning to the office after a grueling meeting, my mind a blur of numbers, when my secretary intercepted me. She told me the CEO of Orlando Enterprises was waiting in my office to discuss the NGO land. That deal meant everything to me. I told my driver to floor it; I didn't want a man like that waiting.

I walked into my cabin expecting a graying, middle-aged businessman. Instead, I found a man who looked like he’d been carved from granite.

He was mesmerizing. His thick, mahogany hair caught the light, and his hazel-green eyes were hypnotic, flecked with silver that seemed to dance as he watched me. He didn't look away as I crossed the room; he tracked my every movement with a heavy, predatory patience.

"So...?" he prompted. His voice was a smooth American accent that seemed to vibrate in the air. He poured himself a cup of coffee, bringing it to his pale, thin lips.

I realized I’d been staring at his jawline rather than listening. I forced myself to focus. “I’m here because I want that land for the NGO,” I said, finally finding my professional voice.

“And why do you have such a specific interest in this land?” he asked, his gaze curious. “You could have any plot you wish. Why this one?”

“I’m not sure... perhaps because it’s the most central to our other branches. It’s vital to my work, and I won’t have any distractions. It’s always been my dream to help children in need—I’d give anything to see them taken care of,” I replied, my passion for Mike’s legacy bleeding through.

He smirked. “Oh? I see.”

He stood up abruptly. I followed suit, my heart hammering against my ribs. He began to pace toward me, closing the distance until the air felt thin. “Just how far would you go for that land?” he asked, his tone shifting.

I backed away, my mind racing. “I don’t understand what you mean...”

“Here is the deal,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “If you want that land, you have to give me something in return.”

“Of course. I’m prepared to pay the full market value,” I said, trying to regain my footing.

“Then I’m not interested in making this deal,” he said, turning his back to me. I panicked, reaching out to catch his hand. He stopped, looking down at my grip before glaring into my eyes.

“Please, don’t walk away. Just tell me what your requirements are,” I pleaded.

He studied me in a silence that felt like an eternity. Then he started taking slow, deliberate steps toward me. I retreated until my legs hit the sofa and I fell back against the cushions. He leaned over me, his face inches from mine. I could smell the fresh scent of mint on his breath. Just as he leaned in to close the gap, I jerked my head to the side.

I heard him chuckle darkly against my skin. Then he whispered: “Marry me.”

I was paralyzed. Who did he think he was? “Excuse me? What did you just ask me?”

He smirked, looking down at me with infuriating confidence. “I didn’t ask. I’m telling you: I want you to marry me.”

“What? Are you out of your mind?” I snapped, my voice breathless with rage. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying, Mr. Orlando? I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I won’t tolerate this kind of disrespect.”

His expression hardened instantly. He reached out, stroking my cheek with a calloused thumb. “A lady shouldn't use such foul language,” he murmured, his jaw tight. “Especially not when it's coming from such a beautiful, inviting mouth.” He eyed me up and down, his gaze lingering on my lips.

I was shaken and annoyed by his boldness. “Please, spare me the fantasy, Mr. Orlando. There will be no ‘us’—not now, not ever,” I said, pushing past him to stand. “I don’t even want the land anymore. Thank you for the offer, but it’s total bullshit. You can leave now.”

He smiled—a slow, dangerous tilt of the lips—and gathered his things. I thought I’d won. I opened the door for him, but he didn't walk through it. Instead, he lunged forward, pinning me against the wall. He caged me between his arms, his finger pressing firmly against my lips to silence me. He twirled a strand of my hair around his finger, watching my cheeks flush crimson.

I got caught in the heat of the moment. My eyes fluttered shut, expecting a kiss, but he had a different kind of torment in mind. He began to trail wet, heavy kisses down my neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin. I arched my head back, my breath hitching at the sheer magic of his touch. Then, he stopped abruptly, pulling back just enough to growl into my ear.

“You are mine. Get that through your thick skull—whether you like it or not.”

Flashback Ends

I smiled into the bathwater, the ghost of those kisses still haunting my skin. God, how I longed for that version of him now.

I dressed in a wild floral vintage lace French dress and checked my reflection. Satisfied, I unlocked the door and stepped out. As I reached the stairs, a feminine voice drifted from the guest room.

“Don’t leave me hanging, babe.” Gloria.

A heavy silence followed, then the sharp crash of a vase and a round of giggles. I ignored the spike of pain in my chest and kept walking.

Downstairs, I greeted the maids and sat down to my pancakes. He appeared a few minutes later, his eyes glued to his phone. He was dressed casually—white T-shirt, black trousers, white sneakers. His hair was still damp from the shower he'd taken after his "session."

The maids greeted him, and he offered nothing but a dismissive “hmmm.”

I focused on my breakfast as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. From the corner of my eye, I could feel him staring, his gaze like daggers. He cleared his throat loudly. I didn't look up.

“Avantika?”

I ignored him.

“Avanti?” he said, his voice rising with demand.

I finally turned my head. My heart betrayed me, skipping a beat the moment our eyes met. I remained silent. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

He frowned. “I wasn't planning on explaining myself to you. I do what I want, however I want to do it.”

I caught sight of Gloria eavesdropping from the landing.

“Oh, really? And what if I have a problem with that?” I challenged.

Gloria sashayed down the stairs, offering Johnny a bright greeting. He looked back at me, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “Remind me... who are you, exactly?”

He started laughing. Gloria joined in, her voice high and mocking.

It stung, but I kept my face a mask of indifference. After a few minutes, the laughter died and he snapped open a newspaper. “Livia will be here soon. Be ready, and take care of the dress.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?” he shot back without looking up.

“What dress are you talking about? And why is Livia coming here?”

He sighed, finally looking at me with a bored expression. “Did you forget, or is your memory failing you? Or let me guess—you found someone else to keep you busy day and night.” He gave me a mocking wink.

“I’d put my money on the latter,” Gloria giggled, flashing a triumphant smile.

I looked at her, my lip curling. Do you have even an ounce of grace? I thought. The plastic face certainly doesn't help.

Then, the realization hit me. Livia. The dress. Our anniversary. A whole year of this "hopeless" marriage, and he was the one accusing me of an affair.

“Oh. Right. Our anniversary.”

“Now you’re catching on,” he mocked.

“Yeah, sir, she’s a little slow on the uptake,” Gloria added.

I snapped, my patience finally breaking. “Would you please stop sticking your nose into our business?”

“How dare you? Sir, I’m just stating the obvious. It’s not like I’m lying,” she said, her voice dropping into a fake, innocent whine.

Johnny ignored her and simply glared at me. He began barking out the details for the party—decorations, guests, everything being handled by the "Barbie doll" smirking at me from across the table. My only job was to be his ornament.

I stood up and retreated to the garden just as Samuel and Livia arrived.

“A rose is a rose, but a peony is a friend forever.”

Sam was Johnny's peony. Gabriela was mine. I missed her so much it ached. I pulled out my phone to call her, but a text from an unknown number stopped me cold.

“I’m back, Avani.”