THE VOWS WE NEVER SPOKE

chapter 2: The Marriage Contract

The first thing Lydia noticed about Damian’s home wasn’t the size; it was the quiet. Not an empty quiet but a heavy one, the kind that seemed to watch her. The penthouse was all glass and steel, but his presence made it feel warmer than it should have.

Not welcoming, never that. But not entirely hostile either. The gold pen sat in front of her like a quest. Damian stood by the fireplace, jacket off, his shirt unbuttoned down three buttons, exposing some part of his hairy chest. His posture relaxed, as though nothing in the world could force him off balance.

Lydia knitted her brows as she ran her fingers down the cup of coffee before her. She picked up the marriage contract for the third time, her forehead creased with worry as she was unsure of what signing the marriage contract could do to her.

He turned back to Lydia, who was still holding the contract in her hands. He pursed his lips as a deep frown furrowed his brow. “One year. Public appearances when I call on you. If you move in immediately, you get everything back. Your grandfather’s name, your properties, your inheritance.”

Her eyes skimmed the lines on the paper until they caught on one: No intimacy unless mutually agreed.

She glanced up, as both eyebrows shot up. “You need a wife this badly?”

His brows arched elegantly, his gaze flicked to her, sharp and unblinking. “I need you. Not a wife. You.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, reading between his poised stance. She held his stare, fiery and unflinching, before breaking the silence. “Why?”

“You will find out soon. Sign it.”

She could still hear the laughter from the Prowse estate, see Clarissa’s manicured fingers wrapped around Daniel’s arm. She could still feel the heat of her father’s slap, the bite of gravel under her knees when the guards threw her out.

With nostrils flaring, she glided the pen as she signed. “What could be worse?” she thought.

The wide doors opened into a space that could have fit her old bedroom five times over. Black leather and glass furniture. Marble floors that clicked under her heels. No clutter. No warmth.

“Your bedroom. We won’t be sharing the same bed or room.” he calmly picked up an antique from the bedside table.

With slow breaths, Lydia moved around the room, while gliding her fingers on the objects in the room. It smelled like fresh lavender, and just around the corner of the room stood a tall vase with fresh lavender and lilies.

“You can ring for the servants any time of the day when you need someone.” Lydia turned slowly to Damian, her muscles loosening.

Despite his cold aura, something about him brought her so much calm. He walked out of the room, right hand in his pocket.

Dinner was a quiet war. Lydia sat across the long dining table, alone. Damian had left right after seeing that her settled in. She barely touched her food. Her life over the past 19 years began flashing before her eyes.

Her fingers held still at the doorknob, her breath quivering. She inhaled sharply and pushed the door open. The lavender scent hit her nose as it brought tears to her eyes. She walked in slowly and moved towards the bed.

“Mom, I need you here.” She remembered crying out to her mom, who lay unconscious on the hospital bed.

She went home that day to see a young girl sitting with her dad. Her skin went cold as the girl smiled almost too much. Her dad beckoned for her to sit next to him. Just then, a woman came down the stairs. She had a red dress on with long red nails. She walked down with one hand resting lightly, yet commandingly, on her hip.

Lydia’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of her skirt as she watched. “ That is your stepmother, and Clarissa here is your stepsister.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Lydia blinked rapidly, swallowing emotion. She had overheard several conversations between her dad and a woman ever since her mother came down with cancer.

She remembered her grandfather had gone ballistic when he found out, his daughter wasn’t dead yet, but she had been replaced.

The gentle knock on the door brought her out of her thoughts. She wiped her tears with the back of her hands.

“Come in,” she said, sitting up gently.

“I wanted to check personally if you needed anything. The servants told me you barely ate anything.” he didn’t come close to her, nor did he take a seat on the couch. He stood a few steps from the door, but his crisp cologne soon filled her nostrils.

“I’m alright.” She said. But her voice cracked. She rubbed her forehead, brow tightening. She wrapped her hands around her legs, shoulders curved inward. Teary, stained eyes shimmered.

Damian’s legs twitched, but he remained standing. His eyes darted back and forth in the room, which was dimly lit by the moonlight; his eyes fell back on Lydia. “There will be a gala in two days. You will officially be making an appearance…As Mrs. Crest,” he paused to see her reaction.

Lydia’s hands twisted in her lap. Her eyes were vacant, staring at nothing. “O…Okay.”

He took a gentle step toward her, his face finally being revealed as the moonlight hit his face. His Grey eyes shone brightly, he brought out a card from his pocket and placed it on the bedside table.

“I will be there with you, you don’t have to worry,” He took a step back.

“That is my card, call me whenever you want to. Dresses will be delivered to you tomorrow, so you can pick from them.”

As soon as he shut the door, Lydia let out a sigh. Just as sleep was about to envelop her, her phone vibrated, and with sleepy eyes, she sluggishly picked it up. She had gotten an email from “Anonymous”

“Damian Crest isn’t the man you should be feeling safe with. Take a look at the video attached.”

In the video was Damian, Clarissa, and Vivian were standing next to her grandfather on the hospital bed. It was a 5-second video, but it raised a lot of questions and doubts.