Married to the Cold CEO: From Hate to Love

003. The Drunken Rage

Caelan staggered down the hallway, his footsteps unsteady as he approached the door to their bedroom.

The room was quiet, eerily so. The bold red decorations from the night before had been replaced with a softer, pale blue. Caelan blinked, his vision blurred by the alcohol, and squinted toward the bed. Someone was lying there, sleeping soundly. He didn’t need to look closely to know who it was—it could only be his new wife, Aveline.

The bitterness in his chest tightened as he walked toward the bed, his body tense with anger. He stared down at her peaceful face, and suddenly, a wave of hate surged through him, so strong it nearly overwhelmed him.

If it weren’t for her, if it weren’t for this woman, his father would still be alive.

Caelan let out a low, self-mocking laugh. The sound was bitter, tinged with a pain he refused to acknowledge. His lips curled into a smile that held no warmth, only the cold, sharp edge of resentment.

Aveline stirred, her eyes fluttering open, still drowsy from sleep. The moment she saw Caelan standing over her, she bolted upright, her heart racing.

“You’re back,” she said quietly, her voice tentative as if unsure of how to approach him.

Caelan’s voice was ice. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” he said, but a little sadly. “You schemed your way into this marriage, hungry for the money, the status, and maybe you even thought you could have me too. Your ambition knows no bounds.”

Aveline winced at the harshness in his tone. She remembered his earlier warnings, the ones telling her to stay away, and instinctively took a step back, putting space between them.

But Caelan wasn’t in his right mind. The alcohol had clouded his thoughts, leaving only his anger and bitterness in control. Seeing Aveline retreat, something dark and dangerous sparked inside him. He took a step forward, grabbing her chin with brutal force, his fingers digging into her skin.

“You’re quite the actress, aren’t you? Playing the helpless victim, fooling everyone around you,” he sneered, his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath, heavy with the scent of whiskey.

Aveline’s heart pounded in her chest, fear crawling through her veins. She had loved him for nearly a decade, but the man standing before her now was a stranger. His eyes, so cold and unforgiving, made her feel like she was standing in front of a predator.

“You’re afraid now, aren’t you?” Caelan said, his voice a mocking whisper. He could see it in her eyes—the fear. And somehow, that thrilled him.

Aveline couldn’t look away. His grip on her chin was painful, and the sheer force of his presence was overwhelming. She could hardly breathe with him standing so close, the weight of his anger pressing down on her.

Caelan’s thumb brushed over her lips, his touch chilling. The coldness of his skin seeped into her, sending a shiver down her spine. Aveline trembled under his touch, her mind racing, unsure of what to do. “Please,” she whispered, her voice small. “Don’t do this.”

But Caelan only laughed, the sound low and menacing. “What’s the matter? Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for? You may disgust me, but you’re still legally my wife. And there are some things you don’t get to decide.”

Tonight, he was going to break her.

His eyes gleamed with a cruel satisfaction as he tightened his grip on her, pulling her closer. Aveline’s pulse quickened, panic rising as she tried to push him away.

“Let go of me!” she pleaded, her voice shaking as she struggled against him. “Caelan, stop! Let go!”

But her words meant nothing to him. In his drunken fury, her resistance only fueled his rage. He shoved her against the wall, his hands tearing at her nightgown with reckless force.

Aveline’s body shook violently, her mind a blur of fear and desperation. This was wrong. She couldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t allow herself to be violated like this, not by the man she had once loved.

“Stop!” she screamed, fighting with every ounce of strength she had. “Let go of me!”

Caelan was relentless, his hands rough and unforgiving as he pressed her harder against the wall. He didn’t hear her cries. He didn’t care. His fingers dug into her skin, bruising her as he held her down. His lips found her neck, his kisses rough, violent, driven by nothing but anger and contempt.

Aveline’s breath caught in her throat, pain coursing through her body. She could feel his hatred in every touch, every movement. It wasn’t passion—it was punishment. And the pain of it seared through her, leaving her broken and terrified.

Her mind screamed for help, for anyone to come and save her, but there was no one. She was alone with him, trapped in the darkness of his rage.

Caelan’s hand slid down to her waist, tugging at her nightgown. His eyes were cold, devoid of any desire. He wasn’t doing this because he wanted her. He was doing this to destroy her.

But then, in a moment of sheer desperation, something snapped inside Aveline. She stopped thinking. She stopped feeling the pain. Without warning, she lashed out, her hand swinging up and striking Caelan across the face.

The sound of the slap echoed through the room, sharp and startling.

Caelan froze, his face turning toward her, a dark red mark spreading across his cheek where her hand had connected. His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as fury surged through him.

For a long moment, he said nothing. His body was still, his eyes fixed on her with a look that sent a chill down her spine.

Then, slowly, he smiled—a dangerous, venomous smile. “Don’t ever expect me to touch you again,” he said, his voice low and menacing. Each word was laced with venom. “You’re nothing to me.”

He spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a deafening crash.

Aveline flinched at the sound, her body trembling. The room felt emptier than ever, as if his presence had drained it of all warmth. Her hair was disheveled, her nightgown torn, her skin bruised from where he had grabbed her. She sat down slowly, curling up in the corner, her knees pulled to her chest.

She didn’t cry. Her eyes were dry, her expression blank. But the hollow ache in her chest was unbearable, filling her with a bitter, overwhelming despair.