One Year,Then A Divorce

Chapter 2

MILES’S POV

Her shocked expression caught me off guard, her eyes wide as though my words had physically struck her. The moment I finished speaking, her entire demeanor shifted, her face pale and her lips trembling.

"What did you just say?" she asked, her voice barely steady, each word trembling like a fragile thread threatening to break.

I exhaled sharply, irritation bubbling to the surface. "Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about," I snapped, my tone dripping with annoyance. "What were you hoping for? Some fairytale romance?"

I took a step closer, the weight of my frustration bearing down on her as I continued. "I wouldn’t have married you—or anyone else, for that matter—if it wasn’t for my grandfather’s relentless insistence. That’s why you’re his wife, not mine."

Her face blanched, and for a brief moment, I saw her flinch as though my words had pierced something deep within her. She looked like she wanted to respond, but instead, she stood frozen, her hands clenching the soft fabric of her wedding gown, her knuckles white from the force of her grip.

I turned away, dismissing the sight of her. "This wasn’t my choice," I muttered, more to myself than her. The memory of my grandfather’s stubbornness churned in my mind. His hatred for Bianca still baffled me, especially since she was the one who had saved me during that accident—the one that claimed both my parents.

It didn’t make sense. Bianca should have been the one he respected, even admired. But no. He always said there was something off about her. And now, because of his obstinance, I was shackled to this woman, a stranger I wanted nothing to do with.

Against my better judgment, I glanced back at her. She hadn’t moved. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her tears brimming and threatening to spill. The vulnerability in her gaze made something twist inside me, but I buried it quickly. She wasn’t Bianca. She wasn’t bold, wild, or exciting. She was the very image of innocence and docility—exactly the type my grandfather approved of.

"Why did you marry me then?" she asked suddenly, her voice breaking as tears began streaming down her cheeks. Her question carried a rawness that stopped me momentarily, though I quickly masked my confusion with indifference.

"I’ve already told you," I said, exasperation lacing my tone. "Why are you crying? You knew this from the start, so why the pretense?"

She shook her head violently, her tears falling faster, and I noticed how her body trembled as she gripped her gown even tighter. "My aunt didn’t tell me anything," she choked out, her voice cracking. Then, as if her strength gave out, she sank to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. "No one told me anything about this."

I arched a brow, her reaction baffling me. "She didn’t tell you?" I asked, the irritation in my voice giving way to curiosity.

She looked up at me, her face streaked with tears, her expression raw and vulnerable. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "No one said a word."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Well, I don’t know why she left that part out, but it doesn’t matter now. I’ll be blunt," I said coldly, my tone leaving no room for hope. "Our marriage is nothing more than a formality to fulfill my grandfather’s wish. It’ll last for a year, and after that, we’ll divorce. I have no intention of treating you as a wife, nor will I pretend otherwise. I’m already in love with someone else."

She wiped at her face with trembling hands, standing on unsteady legs as she tried to compose herself. But I didn’t waver. My expression remained impassive, my posture rigid as I watched her struggle to gather the pieces of herself.

It didn’t matter how broken she looked. This was the truth, and there was no use sugarcoating it.

“I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this!” she snapped, her voice sharp and steady, catching me completely off guard. Her sudden boldness made me pause. “I won’t be used as a tool. I won’t be tossed aside like garbage after a year and forgotten!”

Her words hung in the air, challenging me in a way I hadn’t expected. She stepped closer, her eyes blazing with frustration. “You made this deal with my aunt, not me. So why do I have to listen to you?”

I narrowed my eyes, letting her words sink in before replying. “You don’t have a choice. You’ve already signed the contract.”

Her face twisted in confusion. “Contract? I haven’t signed anything!”

I let out a heavy sigh, pulling out my phone and scrolling to the picture of the signed document. Turning the screen toward her, I shoved it in her direction. “Then explain this,” I said flatly.

Her eyes locked on the screen, widening as she snatched the phone from my hand without hesitation. Her hands trembled as she stared at the image of her signature. Before she could say anything else, I yanked the phone back. “Now you see it’s done,” I said firmly.

Tears pooled in her eyes, her voice cracking as she stammered, “I was tricked into signing this. I never would have agreed if I had known!”

I shrugged, keeping my tone cold. “I don’t care how you feel about it. What’s done is done. Unless you have a billion dollars to pay me, there’s no backing out.”

Her face fell, her shoulders slumping as the weight of my words sank in. She took a shaky breath before forcing a faint, teary smile. “Fine. One year... then a divorce.”

Her sudden acceptance took me by surprise, but I masked it quickly. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page,” I said, my voice firm. “For both our sakes, I need my space, and there will be rules. We’ll act like the perfect couple in public, but at home, we’ll keep strict boundaries.”

She nodded, her response quick and without protest. “Fine by me.”

Her easy agreement was almost suspicious, but I let it go. “And another thing,” I added, crossing my arms. “You won’t leave the house unless it’s absolutely necessary, and when you do, I’ll go with you.”

She nodded again, obediently, not even questioning it. Her quiet acceptance pulled a scoff out of me.

“I’ll show you to your room,” I muttered, turning on my heel without another word. She followed behind me silently, her footsteps light as we made our way down the hall.

When we reached her room, I pushed the door open and stepped aside. I didn’t wait for her to say anything—I just turned and walked away.

Once inside my own room, I sank onto the bed, exhaling slowly. Maybe this wouldn’t be as complicated as I thought. She seemed easy enough to handle—obedient, willing to follow rules. If she kept this up, we could get through the year without any problems.

I let my head fall back, but the sound of my phone buzzing snapped me out of my thoughts. My chest tightened when I saw the name flashing on the screen. Bianca.

The corners of my lips twitched up, and I answered without hesitation.

“Hey, baby, I just got back,” I said, my voice lifting with excitement, but Bianca’s tone on the other end was anything but cheerful. There was a tightness in her voice, the kind that made my stomach twist. She was worried—about the marriage, about me, about everything.

I leaned against the wall, gripping the phone a little tighter. “You have nothing to worry about,” I assured her. “This marriage means absolutely nothing to me. It’s just a formality. After the year is up, we’ll get married for real. I promise.”

Her silence stretched, and I could almost picture her biting her lip, doubting every word I said. I softened my tone. “We’re in separate rooms, Bianca. I won’t even go near her. You know you’re the only one I love.”

Her voice finally steadied, the hesitation in her tone fading bit by bit. I could almost feel the tension leaving her body through the phone.

“Just bear with me,” I added gently. “Once this is over, we’ll live the life we’ve always dreamed of. I’ll make it up to you.”

“I love you,” I said, and her voice softened as she echoed it back.

When the call ended, I sat on the edge of my bed, running a hand through my hair. Relief flickered in my chest, but it didn’t last. Guilt crept in almost immediately. I hated knowing she had to go through this—doubting me, worrying about our future—all because of my grandfather’s stubbornness.

I let out a breath and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t let this drag on. My grandfather needed proof of the marriage, and the sooner I gave it to him, the sooner he’d get off my back. That meant I had to take Daphne with me.

The thought of it made my jaw tighten, but there was no way around it. I pushed off the bed and headed to the bathroom, stripping quickly. The cold spray of water against my skin did little to ease the tension building inside me. I scrubbed myself clean, dried off, and dressed in a black T-shirt, matching pants, and a blazer.

Ready to leave, I reached for my phone and froze. I didn’t have Daphne’s number.

I rubbed my temple, frustration simmering beneath the surface. The last thing I wanted was to go to her room but there wasn’t much of a choice. With a deep breath, I left my room and made my way down the hall.

When I reached her door, I didn’t bother knocking. I pushed it open and stepped inside—only to stop dead in my tracks.

She stepped out of the bathroom, steam trailing behind her as if it were reluctant to let her go. The bathrobe clung to her damp body, outlining every soft curve, while droplets of water glistened on her skin, catching the light. Her wet hair hung in loose strands, framing her face and dripping onto her shoulders.

She didn’t look anything like the innocent, timid girl who had stood in front of me earlier, trembling under my words. No, this version of her was different—almost unrecognizable.

My eyes lingered longer than they should have, moving over her before I could stop myself. She was undeniably beautiful. Stunning, even. And it hit me harder than I expected.

I swallowed, forcing myself to look away, but my body didn’t respond. My gaze betrayed me, sliding back to her as though it was drawn by something magnetic.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with her.

The realization sank into my chest, heavy and unwelcome. For the first time, I felt something I hadn’t expected to feel for anyone other than Bianca—something dangerous and wrong.

Temptation.