Chapter Nine-The Morning Tension
659 Words
Amara hadn’t slept a minute.
She’d waited on the bed for hours, hoping Ethan would finally come upstairs… come to their room… come to her.
But he never did.
He slept in the guest room again.
By morning, anger and embarrassment sat heavy on her chest. She pushed the blanket off aggressively and sat up. Her hair was wild, her eyes tired, and she felt foolish for even caring.
She stormed downstairs.
The moment she stepped into the dining area, the sound of clattering dishes filled the air, carried with the warm aroma of pastries and fresh coffee.
Mrs. Penelope moved around the table, setting plates neatly. Ethan sat there—calm, collected—eating his breakfast like a man who’d had the best sleep of his life.
He wore a perfectly ironed black suit with a white shirt, no tie. Somehow, that made him look even more handsome. And it made Amara even more furious.
Mrs. Penelope smiled politely.
“Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood.”
Ethan didn’t look up.
Amara snapped before she could stop herself.
“Amara, please.”
Mrs. Penelope blinked.
Realizing she was misplacing her anger, Amara sighed and softened her tone.
“Umm… do you mind? I’d like to speak to my husband alone.”
Before Mrs. Penelope could answer, Ethan finally spoke—with zero emotion.
“I believe anything you want to say… Mrs. Penelope is not a stranger.”
He didn’t even glance her way.
Mrs. Penelope looked uncomfortable, ready to excuse herself, but Ethan gave a small signal for her to stay.
Amara folded her arms.
“Oh, I see. Then I’ll begin.”
She walked straight to Ethan, fire in her eyes.
“Someone please explain why our matrimonial bed scares my husband so much.”
Ethan choked on his coffee, coughing hard.
Mrs. Penelope froze, unsure whether to disappear or stay rooted to the floor.
“Amara—” Ethan started.
“Oh, I’m not done,” she cut in sharply.
She turned to Mrs. Penelope dramatically.
“I believe you’re a woman. How would you feel if your husband doesn’t touch you or even sl—”
Before she could finish, Ethan shot up from his chair, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her upstairs—ignoring her protests, ignoring Mrs. Penelope’s shocked expression.
He dragged her into their room and slammed the door shut.
Amara jerked her hand away.
“Oh, I wasn’t done telling on you,” she said coldly.
Ethan just stared at her. Too long. Too intensely.
Her heartbeat changed pace. Her anger wavered.
She laughed shakily.
“Look, we’re in our matrimonial room. What a joke.”
Before she could say more, he stepped forward—fast—and grabbed her, his lips crashing against hers.
The kiss was hard. Punishing.
His grip on her hair tightened, not enough to hurt her badly, but enough to force a gasp out of her.
She pushed at his chest, breath shaking.
“Ethan… please,” she whispered, pained.
That one word pulled him back to reality.
He let her go immediately, chest rising and falling, stunned by himself.
He wasn’t angry about her performance downstairs.
He was angry at how badly he wanted her… and how impossible it was becoming to hide it.
Amara stepped back, tears filling her eyes. Shame washed over her. She felt used… small… stupid.
Ethan’s voice came out cold, harsher than he intended.
“I thought my wife wanted me to touch her.”
The words cut deep.
Her hand moved before she even thought.
The slap echoed through the room.
“Get out,” she whispered, shaking. “Get out now.”
Ethan swallowed hard, jaw tight, and walked out silently.
But as soon as he reached the hallway, he heard it— her muffled sobs, breaking through the door.
His heart cracked.
But he didn’t go back.
Not yet.
Because he didn’t trust himself… or his feelings… anymore.
- Writer
