The Stranger I Married
1457 Words
It was getting dawn in Blackwood estate, the house felt more like a display than a Home, with the furniture
She wasn't feeling sleepy.
Lots of thought stormed through her mind all through the night.
Her mother is Alive, smiling, pregnant—still floated behind my eyes every time I blinked
The stranger's warning echoed louder than in her mind.
The message that had threatened my father’s life. And through it all, Damian’s voice kept echoing in my head: You need me, Elora. I don’t need you.
Out of the harshness of the words.
She heard a knock at the door, her heat beats faster. She wasn't expecting anyone.
Evelyn came inside, she was so composed as always, holding a tray in her hands.
“MrsBlackwood”, your Breakfast is ready. She said.
Placing it down.
It was warm and slightly bitter.
“Mr. Blackwood asked me to remind you about the charity gala tonight,” she added. “You’ll need to be ready by six.”
“Of course he did”, Elora responded quietly.
Evelyn's face remained neutral, but it briefly showed
So many hours later, when the music had finally faded and almost everyone had gone back to their various home, the mansion became silent as usual.
It was getting darker, and Damian loosened his tie. “ You did well tonight “, he said.
“Have been doing so fine on my own for years”, Elora answered.
He was quiet for a while, then smiled a bit--not amusement, not disbelief.
“Do you think you know what will make you survive in my world?”.
“ I know it”, I said, moving closer to him.
I have already figured out what it takes to survive “ you”.
He paused and looked at me.
I'm not trying to be your enemy, he said.
“Then stop acting like one”!. Elora Said.
The room looked small around us. He moved closer, close enough that I almost skipped a breath.
For a moment, I thought he might touch me. And I wasn’t sure I would stop him.
But he didn’t. He turned and walked toward his study. “Get some rest. We have an early meeting tomorrow.”
“Damian—”
He stayed at the entrance, turning his back towards me.
“What happened to my mother?”
The words slipped out before I could stop.
He didn’t move. He stood still and silent.
Like the question had knocked the air out of him.
After a heavy silence, he said, “Not everything you hear is true.”
“Then tell me what is.”
He didn’t give any response.
He stepped into his study, and the door closed behind him.
I stood there, for minutes waiting. The quiet weighed on me like a stone. I couldn’t breathe.
At last, I followed him.
The light was still on. The room was full of whiskey and old paper scent. Damian sat on his desk, staring at an item in front of him.
“What are you hiding from me?” I asked quietly.
He looked up and said, “You don’t want the truth.”
“I do,” I said, moving closer. “Tell me.”
A shadow crossed his face, maybe like regret.
He rose from his chair slowly, “Your mother wasn’t who you think she was.”
My heart skipped. “You knew her.”
He paused and nodded slightly, “A long time ago.”
I waited, but he stayed silent.
“You’ve been lying to me”, I said quietly. “ Right from the very beginning.”
He stepped closer slowly, “If I lied, it was to keep you safe.”
“Safe from what?” she said.
His hand lifted slightly, near my face but never touching
. “From the people who destroyed her. From my family.”
"Your mother was dragged into something she never wanted ", he said softly, and the choices cost her everything she had worked for. Includes life”.
"Then don’t make me lose you”.
And then, just as suddenly, he pulled away.
The space he left behind felt sharp, like something torn too fast.
"You should go," he said, his voice cold again—controlled, distant. "Some truths don’t belong to tonight."
I was about to leave when I saw it—just under the desk, heart thudding, and I picked it up.
I became scared, "She’s not dead. I saw the picture..”
"I know," he interrupted. "Which is exactly why you need to stop searching."
I stepped in, "You think half-truths and money are enough to control me? You can’t keep me locked in this prison, Damian."
"Then don’t make me lose you."
He looked down, The air sparked between us, as if everything could shift with a single breath.
Then, before I could fully know what was happening, he stepped back. The sudden space between us felt like a wound.
“You should leave,” he said, his voice steady again—cold and distant. “Some truths aren’t for tonight.”
I was about to leave when my hand brushed the handle, and something on the floor caught my attention. It was half-hidden under the desk.
I pick it up.
It was Damian, he was so young, smi
ling beside a woman with auburn hair and lovely eyes.
My mother.
And in the background, standing quietly, was my father.
I froze.
Damian didn’t just know my mother; he had been part of her life right from the start.
The man I married wasn’t just a stranger, but a secret that tore it apart.
- Writer
