Chapter 3: Acting Like Husband and Wife
844 Words
Morning came too quickly.
The sunlight slipped through the thin curtains, painting soft lines across the bed. She woke up with a dull ache in her chest, her body heavy from a night without sleep.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then she remembered.
The wedding.
The vows.
The man on the couch.
She sat up slowly and glanced toward the other side of the room.
He was already awake.
No—he looked like he had never slept at all.
Dressed neatly in a dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, he stood by the window, checking his phone like this was just another ordinary morning. The couch was perfectly arranged, not a single crease left behind.
“You’re up,” he said without turning around.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice hoarse.
He finally looked at her. His eyes paused on her face for a second too long, as if noticing the faint shadows beneath her eyes.
“You didn’t sleep,” he stated.
Neither did you, she wanted to say.
But she only nodded.
“There will be people downstairs,” he continued. “Family. Staff. From the moment we step out of this room, you are my wife.”
She lowered her gaze. “I know.”
“That means,” he added calmly, “you stay close to me. You smile when necessary. And you don’t say anything unnecessary.”
She clenched her fingers into the sheets.
“And you?”
“I’ll do the same.”
That wasn’t reassuring at all.
He walked toward her and stopped in front of the bed, close enough that she could smell his cologne—clean, sharp, distant.
He extended his hand.
She froze.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Helping you up,” he replied, tone neutral. “If someone walks in, it wouldn’t look good.”
Her heart skipped.
After a brief hesitation, she placed her hand in his.
His grip was firm but careful. He didn’t pull her too close, didn’t linger. Still, the contact sent a strange warmth through her chest.
He let go immediately.
“Get ready,” he said. “We leave in fifteen minutes.”
She nodded and went into the bathroom.
The mirror reflected a woman she barely recognized.
A bride without joy.
A wife without love.
She washed her face and took a deep breath.
This is my life now.
When she came out, he was adjusting his watch. He looked up, eyes scanning her briefly.
“You look fine,” he said.
Not beautiful.
Not pretty.
Just fine.
She forced a smile. “Thank you.”
Downstairs, the dining room was already full.
Laughter. Conversations. The clinking of cups.
The moment they entered together, every sound softened.
“There they are!” someone exclaimed.
He placed a hand lightly on her waist.
The touch was sudden, unexpected.
She stiffened.
“Relax,” he murmured under his breath. “It’s just for show.”
His hand stayed there as they walked forward. To everyone else, they looked like a perfect newlywed couple.
Only she knew how cold his fingers felt.
“Did you sleep well?” his mother asked with a knowing smile.
She hesitated.
Before she could answer, he spoke.
“She was tired,” he said smoothly. “Yesterday was a long day.”
His tone was gentle. Convincing.
She glanced at him in surprise.
This was the first time he had spoken for her.
“That’s understandable,” his mother said kindly. “Marriage takes adjustment.”
He squeezed her waist slightly—a warning.
She nodded and smiled. “Yes.”
Breakfast passed in a blur.
He poured her tea without being asked. He pulled out her chair. He corrected someone when they used the wrong title for her.
Every action was precise. Perfect.
And empty.
When they finally left the dining room, she exhaled shakily.
“You did well,” he said as they walked down the hallway.
“Was that praise?” she asked quietly.
He paused, then replied, “Acknowledgment.”
She laughed softly, unable to stop herself.
He glanced at her, surprised by the sound.
“Why are you laughing?” he asked.
“Because,” she said, meeting his eyes, “for someone who says this marriage is just a contract… you play the role too well.”
His expression darkened.
“Don’t misunderstand,” he said coldly. “What you saw just now was not care. It was responsibility.”
Her smile faded.
“I won’t make that mistake again,” she said.
They stopped in front of separate doors.
He looked at her for a moment, as if wanting to say something more.
But in the end, he only said, “Remember. From now on, we move together.”
She nodded.
“Yes, husband.”
The word tasted strange on her tongue.
He turned away.
And she stood there, watching his back, wondering how long she could survive a marriage where everything looked real—
Except the feelings.
- Writer
