Bound To The Man I Hated

When He Chose Me

I didn’t expect him to show up.

The gallery was crowded, loud with voices and soft music, and I felt painfully out of place. My friend had insisted I come, saying I needed a life outside my marriage.

I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that simple.

I was studying a painting when a man stepped too close.

“You look lonely,” he said, smiling in a way that made my skin crawl.

“I’m not,” I replied, shifting away.

He followed. “Come on. Just a drink.”

“I said no.”

Before I could step back, a familiar hand wrapped around my wrist.

“She’s not interested.”

Ethan.

He stood beside me, calm but dangerous, his grip firm without hurting me. The man glanced at him, then at the ring on my finger.

“Didn’t know she was taken,” he muttered, backing away.

Ethan didn’t respond until the man disappeared into the crowd.

Then he turned to me.

“You should be more careful.”

My heart was racing. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“I was busy,” I said. “And you don’t get to—”

“You’re my wife,” he said quietly. “Whether you like it or not.”

The words shouldn’t have meant anything.

They did.

We stood there, the noise fading into the background.

“I didn’t need saving,” I said, even though part of me was grateful.

“I know,” he replied. “But I wanted to.”

I looked up at him, searching his face. “Why?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer.

Then, softly, “Because it bothered me.”

Something in his voice made my chest tighten.

We left the gallery together, neither of us speaking on the drive home. When we reached the house, the silence felt heavier than before.

At the door, he paused.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he said.

I nodded. “Of course not.”

But when his hand brushed mine as he walked past…

it felt like everything had changed.