The Love that Kills me

Chapter 5

Stephen made sure his words became my reality. Every night he came home to me, but not as a loving husband—he was there only to remind me that I was nothing more than his pawn.

He took me again and again, his touch harsh and angry. Each time he pressed me to the bed, there was no tenderness, no warmth in his eyes—only that cold, unyielding desire to claim me. I felt dirty and hollow afterward, like I was nothing more than a body for him to use until his frustration passed.

Even when he was drunk, I still cared for him. I helped him stumble to bed, tucking him in like he was something fragile. Yes, he was here, but the house was divided. We shared rooms only when he wanted me. The rest of the time, he treated me like I was invisible.

Every night after he left me, I would lie in bed and cry, asking myself if this was really what I had wanted. I had dreamed of being his wife, of being the woman he would come home to—but this… this wasn’t love.

I tried so hard to be the perfect wife. I cooked for him, prepared his favorite dishes, even made him soup when he was sick or tired. I thought that if I showed him I could be a good wife—loving, attentive, patient—he might see me. He might finally see me and forget about Daia.

But he never did.

He ate what I made without a word, as if it was just something expected of me. There was no thank you, no smile, no sign that he saw me as anything more than a shadow in his home.

For a year, I lived like that—waiting for scraps of his attention, hoping that one day he would look at me and see the woman who loved him more than anything.

Eventually, he stopped being as cruel as he was in the beginning. There were no more sharp words, no more humiliating insults. But the silence between us was worse. It was a wall I couldn’t climb over, no matter how hard I tried.

Then one night, he came home later than usual, his shoulders tense, his jaw tight. I didn’t dare ask what was wrong—I had learned my lesson. Questions only brought back the Stephen who humiliated me.

But he didn’t need my questions. He walked straight to me, grabbing me by the waist and kissing me with a desperation that stole my breath. I tried to push him away—I didn’t want this kind of touch, not tonight. But he was too strong, and his hands were everywhere, pulling me closer even as I tried to twist away.

When he finally let me go, my lips were swollen, and my heart was pounding with a fear I couldn’t hide.

A month later, we received an invitation. It was for Nathaniel’s birthday party—Stephen’s brother. Stephen barely reacted when he read it, but I felt a cold dread in my stomach. I knew that night would be another test of the role I was forced to play.

The party was held at the Kingsley family’s grand estate, filled with laughter and music and the clinking of champagne glasses. I sat beside Stephen, surrounded by his family, and forced myself to smile.

But Stephen was distant. He spoke only when spoken to, his eyes wandering to the crowd as if searching for something—or someone—he couldn’t find.

I realized, as I watched him that night, that his brother was facing the same fate Stephen had. Nathaniel was engaged to a woman he didn’t love, and the look in his eyes was the same one I had seen in Stephen’s so many times.

The realization opened a wound I had tried to bury deep. I felt it, sharp and aching, as if it was happening all over again.

I excused myself from the table, my hands shaking as I made my way to the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror showed a woman with bright red lips and carefully done hair, but the sadness in my eyes was too deep to hide.

I closed the stall door behind me, hoping for a moment to breathe. But it didn’t take long before I heard the whispers.

“Have you seen Hope?” one woman said, her voice dripping with pity.

“Yeah,” her friend replied with a laugh. “Poor thing. It must be a heartache, being married to Stephen when he doesn’t even love her.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“Everyone knows he’s still in love with Daia,” the first woman said. “Hope must be so delusional, thinking she could ever be enough.”

They laughed then—a cruel, cutting sound that sliced through the air.

“You know,” another voice said, “she should be thankful she’s a Kingsley now. Even if it’s just in name. She’s nothing but a placeholder for Daia.”

I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out. My hands were shaking, clutching the fabric of my dress so tightly my knuckles turned white.

They left the bathroom, their laughter echoing behind them. I waited until the door closed, then let out a shaky breath, my tears spilling over.

I wiped my face, telling myself I couldn’t let them see. I had to go back to the party, back to my place beside Stephen, and pretend like nothing was wrong.

So I did.

I walked back to the table, my smile in place even though it didn’t reach my eyes. Stephen wasn’t there—he was off with his friends somewhere, leaving me to sit alone with his parents.

His mother leaned closer to me, her voice soft but laced with disappointment. “Hope, it’s been four years,” she said. “Why haven’t you given us a grandchild yet? A Kingsley heir?”

I swallowed hard, the question twisting like a knife in my stomach. “I… we’re trying,” I whispered.

She clicked her tongue. “You’ve been trying long enough. Do you even know how important it is to continue this family’s name?”

I forced a nod, but inside, my heart was breaking. Because I knew that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I wanted to be enough—Stephen would never see me as the woman he loved.

I was just the woman he came home to. The woman he used when the world disappointed him. The woman he never really saw.