Give Me Back My Husband

Fantasizing About Him

POV: Olivia

He snapped his head my way, eyes blazing in anger. He spotted his shirt on me and that infuriates him even more. I noticed the way he grinds his tooth in anger whist looking at me wearing his shirt.

“Are you testing my limits, Sophia?

Are you courting death?” he asked me.

“I didn’t ask for this marriage,” I whispered nonchalantly.

“No,” he said, voice a blade sliding back into its sheath. “But you benefited from it.” He scoffed, giving me that condescending look that drives me insane. Silence settled. A heavy, suffocating cloak.

Then, abruptly, he shifted the wheels of his chair. The motor murmured, and he rolled closer, close enough that I felt the displaced air brush my damp skin. I stiffened, my heart beating faster in fear or is it anticipation, I really don’t know. He didn’t touch me, But the distance between us thinned until I felt the force of him like gravity.

“When you live in this house,” he said firmly, more like a warning .

“You stay in the west wing. Staff will show you the room. You’re not allowed here. Ever.” He warned, and I shivered at the sound of his voice. He paused, listening, as if the room fed him my heartbeat.

“And if you wander into my space again...” His voice dipped lower, colder.

“I won’t be as patient.” He said fiercely. Patient?

He calls this threats and warnings patience?

If this is what his patience looks like, then I would hate to feel his anger. I swallowed the bitter laugh rising up my throat.

“I understand,” I said in a calm tone that somehow hides the fear within me. The wheels rolled back, A quiet retreat. At the doorway, he stopped again, his back turned to me.

“Oh, and Olivia,” he added, voice almost smooth.

“Next time you decide to parade yourself naked, make sure you remember who you’re pretending to be. I won’t tolerate your sister’s tricks, I am not easily seduced.” He told me, calling me a w***e like Sophia. The words detonated inside me. He thinks I’m Sophia. Of course he did. She was the bride who ran. I was the replacement. The substitute part.

My breath caught, a sharp, painful thing. Before I could speak, to defend myself, to correct him, to scream that I’m nothing like my sister. The door slammed shut behind him. He was gone, And I was alone again. Dripping in desire. Shaking in fear. I’m In a stranger’s room, In a stranger’s marriage, In a life that didn’t belong to me. I pressed a hand to my chest, steadying the lightning storm inside.

“Welcome home, Olivia, or should I say welcome to hell!” I whispered to no one.

I heard a soft knock on the door. Dressed in his shirt, I stepped into the hallway. My skin still prickled from humiliation, and somewhere in my subconscious, I imagined he is back to apologize for the hurtful things he said to me, and probably beg me to share his bed.

What a joke!

A maid appeared almost instantly, as though someone had rung a silent bell. She was small, sharp-eyed, carrying the scent of lavender detergent and quiet judgment.

“Mrs. Fernandez,” she said with a small bow of the head.

“The Master instructed me to take you to your quarters and help you settle in nicely,” she smiled. Not our room, I thought. My quarters. Like a servant or an afterthought. Is this why Sophia ran away, is he some kind of a weirdo?

While she waited for my reaction, another maid walked into his room, carrying disinfectant and other cleaning supplies. He actually sent the maids to clean up after me and probably wipe off every traces of me. I have never been more humiliated in my life. I followed her down a corridor so long it felt like exile. Each chandelier flicked on as we passed, lighting our route with a reluctant glow.

“You’ll be staying in the west wing,” the maid continued. “It’s… private.” She explained with a smile, trying to cheer me. Private, I almost laughed at her soft way of saying kept away from the masters wing. She circled to the west wing, and it almost felt like she was circling back to his room again. When we arrived at a door that looks just like his, she stopped and pointed to it, smiling her usually reassuring way.

I looked at her and wondered why she brought me back to his room. But she simply smiled and turned to the door as if she had read my mind. She opened the door and I was shocked to see a room just like his, but different furniture’s and decor. The room inside was spacious, yes, but cold, untouched, furnished in a way that suggested it had been prepared for a guest who would never stay long.

There was A bed, q wardrobe, a window overlooking the garden which seems nice for an artist like me. But this room is lacking so much warmth and love. It felt hollow and empty not even a single painting on the wall. I guess I have just found a perfect job to keep me occupied for the rest of the month. This would sure keep me busy enough to stay the hell out of his way.

“All your belongings have been neatly arranged in the closet. I know how tired you must be, so I sneaked you some dinner upstairs. That can never happen again, master Dominic prefers the dining room for everyone.” She told me, smiling as if everything she just said is normal. He’s such a control freak and everyone indulges him. If I had a choice, I won’t let anyone dictate how I eat, or when and where I eat. If this was my marriage, I would never tolerate this treatment from him.

“I understand... Ermm,”

“Carol, ma’am. My name is Carol.” She responded.

“Thank you Carol,” I smiled weakly, still feeling embarrassed from the way Dominic spoke to me earlier.

“Is there anything you need?” she asked me. I scoffed at the thought of it. Of course there are many things I need. A new life. A way out. A truth that didn’t break me like my current situation. But these are things no one can give me now, no one, but Dominic Jefferson Fernandez, my husband.

“No,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

When the door shut behind her, the silence settled like snowfall, quiet, heavy, and impossible to ignore. I curled onto the bed, hugging my knees, telling myself I had made worse choices. This is no different from when I ran away from home. If I can survive alone in a strange land, then I can definitely survive this.

But that lie didn’t land the way I wanted it to. Then I realized that I was still wearing his shirt that swallowed my body, his shirt that had brushed his skin only hours ago. I pulled the collar closer to my face, burying myself in it. His scent wrapped around me, warm and masculine, that blend of cedar and something darker I had memorized without meaning to.

And just like that, the world didn’t feel so cold anymore. I inhaled deeper, slow and greedy, letting the warmth seep into places inside me I didn’t want to examine too closely. His scent filled my lungs, my chest, my entire body. For a moment, it felt like he was here, lying behind me, his arm around my waist, holding me as if I were something precious.

It wasn’t true.

But God, the lie felt so f*****g good.

I hugged myself tighter, pretending it was his embrace. Pretending he hadn’t just rejected me on our wedding night. Pretending I meant something to him, even if only in my fantasies.

The smile came before I realized it, small and hopeless, stretching across my lips as the warmth of him, of what could be spread through me. I felt ridiculous, pathetic even, but the fantasy was gentler than the truth, and I clung to it like a salve.

Slowly, sleep crept toward me, not because grief had exhausted me, but because he felt close. I felt scent on my skin, imagined the weight of his arm around me. After a while, the foolish little dream curled around my heart like a hopeless romantic. And God help me…It felt so f*****g amazing.