Forced marriage: Mr Flynn darling wife

Chapter Four

LUCA’S POV

A soft chime of an incoming email disrupted the silence of my office, tugging my focus away from the mountain of reports on my desk. My gaze flicked to the screen, and I frowned, reading the subject line: “Legal Confirmation of Name Change from the Register.” An uneasy feeling tightened in my chest as I clicked to open it, hoping it wasn’t what I was thinking.

But there it was, spelled out in crisp, formal language: Celeste had officially changed her last name to *Flynn*.

I leaned back, my eyes narrowing on the words, processing this unexpected move. *What’s going through that woman’s mind? * She knew our marriage was nothing more than a cold business arrangement. So, why this step? What was she trying to prove—or perhaps, gain? The Celeste I’d met didn’t seem the type to act on impulse, yet this felt personal, calculated.

A knock sounded at my office door, jolting me from my thoughts.

“Come in,” I called, more sharply than I intended.

My female secretary entered, carrying a lunch box. I recognized the lunch box, but just to stay on the safer side, I asked, “I didn’t order anything,” I said, my brows furrowing.

“Yes, Mrs. Flynn sent this over, sir.” The secretary replied curtly, with a mischievous smile because they all know I’m a newlywed, before slipping out quietly, leaving me alone with the lunch.

I stared at the box, an unexpected warmth flickering through me, though I’d never admit it. The last time someone had packed a meal for me was… I didn’t want to think back that far. Cautiously, I opened the lid, and the aroma hit me instantly—familiar and comforting. Inside were four neatly stacked flasks. I lifted the first, revealing perfectly cooked Basmati rice. The second held freshly baked cookies, still warm, the kind with just a hint of cinnamon. The third flask contained juice, and the last, a small bar of chocolate.

I hesitated, a strange ache stirring in my chest. *How did she know my favourite lunch?*

As I moved the flasks aside, a small piece of paper slipped out, neatly folded and wrapped around the chocolate bar. “Hi, Hubby. Hope you enjoy your lunch. —Curtest, wife.”

A reluctant smile tugged at my lips before I could catch myself. “What’s her game?” Celeste had known exactly what to send, down to the smallest detail, as if she’d peeked into my mind and picked out the pieces, I’d long kept hidden.

I had half a mind to call her, to demand what she thought she was doing, intruding on my routine this way. But instead, I found myself reaching for a fork. I took a bite, savouring the familiar taste, the way each flavour reminded me of the comfort I’d once thought I could live without. As I ate, I pushed away the nagging questions, telling myself it was just a meal. *Nothing more. *

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Two Days Later

I arrived home earlier than usual, hoping for some quiet time, only to hear an eager voice calling from the hallway.

“Hey, welcome!” Celeste’s warm greeting reached me as I entered.

I nodded in acknowledgment, feeling an odd mix of frustration and something I couldn’t quite name. “Hi.” I replied, moving towards my room, intending to go through with the quick “thank you” I’d rehearsed in my mind for days. But as soon as I saw her standing there, words vanished.

I took a shower, letting the hot water wash away the tension from the day. Even as I settled down with my laptop afterward, I found my mind drifting. The faint aroma of something delicious wafted through the air, reminding me of the lunch she’s been sending, unasked for but undeniably thoughtful.

A soft knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I looked up as it opened just a crack, revealing Celeste’s silhouette.

“Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry,” she said, her voice soft, her eyes bright with a quiet hope. Her toes curled slightly as she waited for my response.

Usually, an invitation to dinner would hardly sway me. But something about her cooking, and the memory of that lunch, sparked a curiosity I couldn’t ignore. I gave a curt nod, standing up and following her to the dining room.

The table was set simply but with an attention to detail that didn’t go unnoticed. The meal was warm, its aroma filling the room, and there was a small vase with a single white lily placed in the center—a thoughtful touch, softening the space in a way I hadn’t experienced in years.

We ate in comfortable silence, only the soft clinking of cutlery breaking the quiet. Every now and then, I felt her gaze flick toward me, cautious yet open. I kept my expression controlled; my movements measured. Yet beneath that, I couldn’t ignore the strange warmth spreading through me.

After a while, Celeste broke the silence. “Do you remember the first time we met? At the garden party?” Her eyes glimmered with nostalgia as she watched my reaction.

I glanced up, a hint of a smile breaking my usual reserve. “The one where you spilled champagne on Mr. Jones?” I replied, letting a chuckle slip before I could stop it.

She laughed, the sound rich and genuine, filling the space between us. “Yeah, you remember. He was furious.” Her eyes sparkled, lost in the memory. “He kept calling me ‘The Champagne Bandit’ for months.”

I found myself chuckling along, the tension between us cracking just enough to let some light through. For a moment, it felt as though we weren’t defined by the contract we’d signed or the careful distance I’d kept. We were just… two people, sharing a meal.

The conversation drifted into small stories and easy laughter, and I felt something loosen within me, a tightening in my chest that I hadn’t realized was there. She spoke animatedly, her hands making small gestures as she recounted tales of family, of friends, of places she loved. Her smile was captivating, drawing me in despite myself.

But just as quickly as the warmth settled, I felt it retreat, replaced by the familiar walls I’d built over the years. I set my fork down, straightening, and looked at her with that practiced, unreadable gaze.

“Celeste,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “This… this has been nice. Really.” I forced myself to keep steady, even as I saw the shift in her expression, the fleeting disappointment she tried to hide. “But it doesn’t change anything. I can’t be the man you want, or give you what you’re looking for.”

For a heartbeat, the silence between us felt heavy, weighted with unspoken words. Her smile faded, her gaze dropping to her hands. But then, slowly, she looked up, and there was something else in her eyes—something resilient.

“I know that, Luca,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper, but steady. “But I’m not the type to give up just because it’s hard.”

The silence that followed didn’t feel strained. It felt… accepting. Almost as if we’d come to a quiet understanding. And as I looked at her, I felt a part of me—a small, hidden part buried deep—wonder what it would be like to lower my guard, to see what might exist if I allowed her in, just a little.

But for now, I kept that part locked away. The walls were still up. Yet for the first time, I couldn’t help but wonder how long they’d stay that way.