CAGED BY vows

chapter two

CHAPTER TWO

Naomi's heart pounded as she heard the approaching footsteps outside the door. The clock on the wall had long since struck midnight, yet she had stayed awake, waiting for him. As she rushed toward the entrance, her bare feet barely made a sound against the marble floor.

Her hands trembled with anticipation as she unlocked the door, a warm smile already forming on her lips.

"He's home."

Relief flooded her chest.

She had spent the entire evening preparing, curling her hair to perfection, choosing a red dress that flattered her figure—one she knew he had complimented before, even if only in passing. Tonight was supposed to be different. Tonight, she was going to make him see her.

But the moment the door swung open, her world came to a standstill.

Drake stood before her, but he was not alone.

A woman clung to his arm, her delicate fingers tracing over his sleeve as if she had every right to be there. Her honey-blonde hair cascaded in soft waves over her bare shoulders, her dress an expensive shade of navy silk that clung to her curves in all the right places. She looked at Naomi as if she were a stranger—someone unworthy, insignificant.

Naomi’s breath caught in her throat.

For a second, she thought—perhaps she forced herself on him?—a desperate excuse forming in her mind, because the alternative was unbearable.

“Drake,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Who is she?”

Drake barely spared her a glance.

“Did she try to force herself on you?” Naomi asked again, stepping forward, trying to place herself between them.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "You can cheat, but I can't?"

She blinked. His words slammed into her like a punch to the gut.

“What are you saying? What does this look like, Drake?” she pleaded, grabbing onto his sleeve. “Please don’t do this to me.”

He shook her off as if her touch repulsed him.

"Naomi, you’re overreacting. Don’t make a scene."

She swallowed down the sob threatening to rise.

"I was so worried about you," she whispered. "I sat here for hours waiting—praying that nothing happened to you. And you come home with another woman?"

Drake exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as though she was the problem.

“Drake, baby,” the blonde—Clara—cooed, running her hand up his chest. “Tell this other woman to get out, please.”

Naomi’s heart nearly stopped. Other woman?

She turned to Drake, searching his face for something—anything. Would he defend her?

His gaze was cold.

“Can’t you see you're the one in the wrong?” he asked, his tone laced with irritation.

She staggered back.

For two years, she had endured his coldness, his distance, his indifference. But she had clung to hope, foolishly believing that one day he might warm up to her. Now, that hope cracked and splintered like shattered glass beneath her feet.

“Did you ever love me?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Drake ignored her. Instead, he stepped into the house, leading Clara by the hand, as though Naomi were nothing more than a piece of furniture in the background. He tossed his suitcase onto the floor, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked toward the bedroom.

Naomi’s eyes widened.

Was he really going to bring her into their room?

“No,” she breathed, rushing forward. “This is our matrimonial bedroom! You cannot go in there with her!”

Drake sighed in frustration.

“What is your issue?” he asked, as though she was an inconvenience.

Tears burned behind Naomi’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

“Drake, it's so unfair. I cooked for you. I dressed up nicely. Why can’t you even look in my direction?” Her voice wavered. “Is there something wrong with me? Am I too thin? Too boring? Tell me, and I’ll change.”

Drake simply stared at her, unmoved.

Desperation clawed at her chest.

“What does she have that I don’t?” Naomi whispered. “Is it her hair? Her eyes? I can dye my hair, wear contact lenses. I can be what you want. Just don’t do this to me.”

She didn't even care about pride anymore.

She had spent the past two years trying to be the perfect wife—learning his preferences, anticipating his moods, cooking his favorite meals, yet she had never once been able to reach him.

And now, the truth stared her in the face.

He had never been interested in trying.

"You could have done this outside," she choked out. "You could have at least hidden it from me. But to do this in front of me, in our home—"

Drake’s jaw tightened.

"Did I ever wrong you?" she demanded. "Why couldn’t you love me?"

Silence.

Then—

"LEAVE."

Naomi gasped, looking up at him in disbelief.

"You… want me to leave?" she whispered.

He turned his gaze toward Clara.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he said. "Clara. Get out."

The other woman froze.

“Drake, but you promised—”

“Clara, leave. I’m not in the mood.”

Clara scowled, but she knew better than to argue. With a huff, she grabbed her purse and stormed out.

Naomi barely had a moment to process the shift in atmosphere before Drake turned back to her, his expression unreadable.

For a brief second, she thought—maybe he feels guilty?

But all hope shattered when his palm connected with her face.

Once.

Twice.

The impact sent her staggering back, her cheek burning with pain.

She gasped, eyes wide in shock.

"D-Drake?"

A strange ringing filled her ears. The room tilted.

He had hit her.

He had actually hit her.

Tears welled up, but she didn't let them fall.