Flashback #3
The Vaughn mansion was everything you’d expect from a billionaire—gleaming marble floors, towering glass walls, and a silence that screamed emptiness. The kind of place that looked more like a museum than a home.
And it wasn’t my home. It never would be.
"Your room is upstairs," Rowan said the moment we stepped inside. His voice was detached, as if he were speaking to a stranger, not his newlywed wife. "Last door on the right."
I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Without another word, he walked off, his broad shoulders disappearing down the hallway.
The staff avoided my gaze as they scurried past, and I couldn’t blame them. I didn’t belong here, and they knew it.
I dragged my suitcase upstairs, the weight of it heavier than it should’ve been. When I reached the room—my room—I pushed the door open and froze.
It was beautiful, sure. A massive bed with crisp white sheets, a chandelier that probably cost more than my entire college tuition, and a view of the city skyline that should’ve taken my breath away. But it felt cold. Sterile. Like a prison disguised as luxury.
This was my life now.
\---
Days turned into weeks, and the silence between Rowan and me grew thicker. He wasn’t just cold; he was frozen solid. He spoke to me only when necessary, his words clipped and devoid of warmth.
"Don’t touch my things."
"Stay out of my office."
"Be ready for the charity gala by seven."
I told myself I didn’t care. That I could survive his indifference. But then there were the women.
\---
It started two weeks after I moved in. I was coming downstairs late at night, unable to sleep, when I heard the sound of laughter echoing through the hall.
A tall, stunning blonde was draped over Rowan on the living room couch, her hand resting on his chest as she whispered something in his ear.
I froze, my fingers gripping the banister so tightly they ached.
He didn’t even notice me. Or if he did, he didn’t care.
I turned and went back upstairs, my stomach churning.
\---
The next morning, I confronted him.
"Do you think this is appropriate?" I asked, my voice shaking.
Rowan looked up from his tablet, his expression bored. "Do I think what is appropriate?"
"You know what I’m talking about," I snapped. "Bringing women here. Parading them around like—"
"Like what?" he interrupted, his tone cutting. "Like I’m single? Because, in every way that matters, I am."
His words hit like a slap, and I stumbled back a step.
"You don’t get to do this," I said, my voice breaking. "You don’t get to treat me like some—some nobody while you flaunt your affairs in my face."
Rowan stood, towering over me, his eyes ice-cold. "Let’s get one thing straight, Remi. This is a marriage of convenience. You’re here because I need you to play a role. Nothing more. Don’t mistake this arrangement for something it’s not."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, refusing to let him see me cry. "I deserve respect," I said, though my voice barely rose above a whisper.
"You deserve exactly what you signed up for," he said before walking away.
\---
The next time it happened, it was worse.
I came home from visiting Jules at the hospital, emotionally drained and desperate for some peace. But as soon as I stepped into the house, I heard it—laughter and the clinking of glasses.
Rowan was in the dining room with two women this time, both of them gorgeous, both of them clinging to him like he was the only man in the world.
I stood there, frozen in the doorway, until one of the women noticed me. She leaned closer to Rowan, whispering something that made him smirk.
My stomach twisted, and I turned on my heel, heading upstairs before the tears could fall.
\---
That night, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor. I felt like a ghost, haunting a life that wasn’t mine. The tears came fast and hard, and for the first time, I let them.
I cried for Jules, who deserved better than the life we were giving him. I cried for myself, trapped in a marriage that felt more like a punishment than a partnership. And I cried for the girl I used to be, the one who still believed in love and happy endings.
When the tears finally stopped, I wiped my face and stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror. My eyes were red, my cheeks blotchy, but there was something else there, too.
Anger.
\---
The next morning, I confronted Rowan again.
"This has to stop," I said, standing in the doorway of his office.
He didn’t even look up from his laptop. "I’m busy."
"I don’t care," I said, stepping inside. "You can’t keep doing this. Bringing women here, treating me like I don’t exist—"
"Because you don’t exist," he said, finally looking up. His eyes were cold, unfeeling. "Not in this house, not in my life. You’re a placeholder, Remi. Nothing more."
The words were a dagger to my chest, but I refused to back down.
"I don’t care what you think of me," I said, my voice shaking with anger. "But you will respect me. Or I swear, I’ll—"
"You’ll what?" he interrupted, standing and walking around the desk until he was inches away from me. His presence was overwhelming, but I refused to step back.
"You’ll leave?" he said, his voice mocking. "Go ahead. Walk out that door and watch your cousin die because you couldn’t handle a little discomfort."
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "You’re a monster," I whispered.
Rowan smirked, leaning down until his face was level with mine. "And you’re a fool," he said. "But at least you’re a useful one."
\---
That night, I made a promise to myself.
I couldn’t leave—not yet. Not while Jules still needed me. But I wouldn’t let Rowan destroy me, either.
If he wanted a cold, loveless marriage, fine. But I wouldn’t be his victim.
As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I made another vow.
One day,
I would make him pay for every tear he’d made me shed.
And when that day came, Rowan Vaughn wouldn’t know what hit him.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
