A BRIDE IN BETWEEN

Chapter3

Chaos

Allison jolted awake, her breath ragged, her eyelids swollen. Had she succumbed to another night of tearful slumber? It seemed so.

She often tried to avoid sleep altogether; the less she slept, the fewer nightmares plagued her. But they always returned, a relentless cycle. The same scene replayed, walls closing in, a window revealing Parker's smiling face. She would desperately try to breach the barrier between them, but time always slipped away, the walls crushing her, and she would awaken with a scream for release.

She wondered if Mathew heard her nocturnal cries, if they had any impact on him. Since the day the physician had visited, their paths had remained separate. She found a strange solace in the vastness of the house, where two people could coexist without ever crossing paths. He resided on the ground floor, while her room was nestled in the upper reaches. It was a convenient arrangement, allowing Mathew to come and go as he pleased, while she retreated into her self-imposed solitude.

The only individuals she encountered were the staff, women who tended to the house and the butler who delivered her meals. She despised the act of being waited upon, yet something within her prevented her from venturing beyond the confines of her room. This was not her home; she did not belong here. She had no right to roam the halls as if she owned them.

She wrapped her robe tightly around herself, shivering in her silk nightgown. Her belongings had been delivered from her former residence, triggering a wave of emotional turmoil. Her clothes, shoes, books, old photographs, all arrived meticulously packed in boxes.

A bitter laugh escaped her as she recalled the absence of anything related to Parker. The gifts he had given her, a framed photograph, a teddy bear, some jewelry, were all missing.

Her mother must have deemed it best to erase any reminders of the past from her new life. If only she knew that her new life resembled a form of purgatory, perhaps she would have shown mercy and sent her the objects that held the only good memories of her previous existence.

Allison walked onto the balcony adjoining her room, inhaling the crisp morning air. It was approximately six o'clock, her usual waking hour.

A thick mist enveloped the landscape, rendering everything cold and desolate, almost lifeless. Each morning, she awoke with a flicker of hope that something would shift, that a miracle would occur, and she would finally accept this place as her new home. But nothing changed.

The Jacob's mansion stood as imposing and somber as ever, a place she could never embrace, and one that would never embrace her. It remained loyal to its master.

The screech of tires pierced the silence, startling her. She glanced down to see Mathew's Ferrari speeding through the gates. Had he been out all night? She watched the red vehicle, anticipating his arrival, but was surprised when a woman wearing high heels emerged first.

Her heart skipped a beat. Her initial thought was, perhaps Hayley had returned, perhaps he'd found her. Perhaps, just perhaps, her life could be salvaged. However, the woman who stepped out was blonde, dressed in attire that even her sister would consider too provocative. Mathew exited the car and approached her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. His gait was slightly unsteady, a telltale sign of intoxication.

Allison swallowed hard as they engaged in an intense display of affection in the foyer. She waited for the pang of pain to strike, but it never came. She felt nothing. He could do as he pleased; she was indifferent. She turned away from the scene and retreated to the bathroom for a shower.

Two hours later, while idly flipping through television channels, she heard the sound of shattering glass emanating from downstairs. The staff wouldn't arrive until nine, leaving only one possibility, or rather two, and she felt a surge of panic, realizing she didn't want to encounter either of them.

The sounds continued, loud crashes of objects being thrown and broken, and also she understood that she could not ignore it any longer.

With a determined expression, she left the sanctuary of her room, only to discover the living room in a state of maximum disarray.

Everything had been capsized, and anything able of being destroyed had been reduced to fractions. lights were shattered, vases broken, oils scattered across the bottom, and cocoons ripped open. In the midst of the chaos stood Mathew, his face contorted with rage, and when his aspect met hers, his fury sounded too consolidate.

To be honest, she was alarmed. He looked so enraged, so furious, that a bite ran down her chine. She began to back down, retreating precisely to avoid attracting his attention, but she was not conservative enough.

Mathew caught up to her before she could reach her room, grabbing her arm and pushing her against the wall. She felt a surge of nausea as she smelled the alcohol on his breath, his argentine eyes boring into hers. She cringed under his touch, his grip on her arm unyielding.

" Mathew," she rumored, hoping he'd hear the plea in her voice.

" Shut up! Shut the hell up," he yelled, and she artificially closed her eyes, dreading what was to come. Would he strike her? Did he harbor similar violent abomination for her?

"You ruined everything," he growled, running his free hand through his hair.

She looked at him questioningly, gashes surcharging her eyes as she plodded to maintain her countenance. She had anticipated this moment, staying for him to break and condemn her for the destruction of his life. She wanted to tell him that this was as delicate for her as it was for him, but she misdoubted he'd watch. The alcohol had clouded his judgment, and there was nothing she could do to reason with him.

"I could not be with that girl I brought home! I could not touch her without the guilt eating at me. You did this to me," he wrangled, leaving her speechless.

He pushed himself down from her and plodded to maintain his balance, nearly falling. Allison snappily rushed forward and caught him, his weight pressing down on her. He grunted a many further incoherent words, effects she knew were intended to induce pain. She did her stylish to support his weight and plodded to guide him to her room, the closest one. She managed to get him onto the bed, laying him down more roughly than she intended. She removed his shoes and placed a mask over him.

She peered at the sleeping form of her hubby, and despite her sweats, she could not muster any wrathfulness toward him. He was not to condemn; he'd been subordinated to a fate he did not earn. He despised her, she knew, and she was far from loving him, but there was commodity she demanded to do, commodity that might mend his broken heart.