Bound by Vows, Torn by Secrets

Chapter 6: Back to Boundaries

The morning light cast long shadows across the grand dining hall, illuminating the untouched silverware and the fresh bouquet of white roses at the center of the table.

The setting was perfect, almost too perfect, as if it had been designed for a photoshoot rather than an actual meal.

Nathaniel sat at the head of the table, a newspaper in one hand, a coffee cup resting near his fingertips.

The sharp contrast of his dark suit against the crisp white tablecloth made him look even more untouchable than usual. Every inch of him was composed, precise.

The man I had seen last night, the one with his tie undone, lost in his thoughts, was gone.

I slid into my seat at the opposite end of the table, my fingers curling around the porcelain handle of my cup.

The coffee was black, just as I liked it, and I hesitated for a second before taking a sip.

"Good morning," I said, watching him carefully.

"Morning." His voice was even, neutral.

I waited for him to say something more.

Maybe a mention of last night, a small acknowledgment that, for a brief moment, we had been something other than two strangers bound by a contract.

But there was nothing.

I set my cup down, the soft clink filling the silence between us. "About last night—"

His eyes flicked up from the newspaper, pinning me in place with a glance.

"It was late," he said smoothly, his voice like glass, cool and unbreakable. "We were both tired. Let's not read too much into it."

A clean cut. No hesitation. No room for discussion.

I pressed my lips together, the faintest sting of something, disappointment? — burning at the back of my throat.

I wasn't sure what I had expected. A different answer? A c***k in his façade?

"Right," I said, forcing my voice to match his indifference.

Nathaniel folded his newspaper neatly and set it aside before standing. "I won't be home until late. There's a benefit gala next week. You'll be attending with me."

I blinked. "A gala?"

He adjusted the cuff of his suit, checking his watch. "The stylist will prepare your fittings. You're expected to smile and look in love."

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "And you? Will you pretend too?"

For the first time, he hesitated.

It was brief, just a flicker of something in his gaze before it was gone.

"I never pretend," he said, his tone unreadable.

Then, without waiting for a response, he walked out of the room.

I watched him go, my fingers tightening around the edge of my napkin.

Everything was back to the way it had been.

And yet, as I stared at the empty space he left behind, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just been shut out of something I hadn't even realized I wanted to be let into.