Flashback #6
I couldn’t sleep.
All I could hear were the moans.
They weren’t loud, muffled by the thick walls and closed door of the guest room, but they were unmistakable. My grip on the blanket tightened, nails digging into the soft fabric as I stared at the ceiling.
This wasn’t the first time.
I tried to shut it out, to focus on the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, but the sounds persisted. Each one was a sharp reminder of where I stood in this marriage, or rather, where I didn’t.
By the time the house fell silent, I was too restless to stay in bed. Throwing the blanket aside, I slipped out into the hallway. The faint smell of perfume lingered in the air, making my stomach churn.
I found him in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. His shirt was half-buttoned, his hair disheveled. He didn’t look up when I walked in.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his tone casual, as if we were just two strangers sharing a house.
“No,” I said flatly, my arms crossed over my chest.
He glanced at me then, his blue eyes unreadable. “Maybe you should try.”
“Maybe you should stop bringing women into our home,” I shot back.
The glass in his hand paused mid-air, but his expression didn’t change. “You’re overreacting.”
“Overreacting?” My voice rose, echoing in the quiet kitchen. “Do you even hear yourself, Rowan? You bring your—” I stopped, the word catching in my throat, “your flings here like I don’t exist.”
He took a slow sip of his drink, his indifference only fueling my frustration. “You agreed to this marriage, Remi. You knew what it was from the start.”
“That doesn’t mean I agreed to be humiliated,” I snapped. “You’re not even discreet about it.”
\---
His gaze hardened, the cool mask slipping for a moment. “Careful, Remi. You’re walking a fine line.”
I laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in my own ears. “A fine line? What’s next, Rowan? Do I wait in the hallway and serve them breakfast in bed?”
He set the glass down with a loud clink, the sound making me flinch. “Don’t push me,” he warned, his voice dangerously low.
“Or what?” I challenged, stepping closer. “You’ll throw me out? Go ahead. At least then I wouldn’t have to deal with this—this circus you’ve turned our marriage into.”
\---
His jaw tightened, the tension between us crackling like a live wire. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about,” I said, my voice trembling with anger. “You don’t respect me, Rowan. You never have.”
He leaned against the counter, his posture deceptively relaxed. “Respect? Is that what you want, Remi? Because I don’t recall respect being part of the deal.”
The words hit me like a slap, leaving me momentarily speechless.
“Why did you even marry me?” I asked finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
\---
He didn’t answer right away, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. “You already know why.”
“For Jules,” I said bitterly. “Because my family needed your money. But what about you, Rowan? What did you get out of this? A punching bag? A convenient scapegoat for whatever mess you’re in?”
His lips curved into a cold smile. “You said it, not me.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “You’re cruel,” I said, my voice shaking. “You act like you’re untouchable, but you’re just hiding. From what, I don’t know, but it must be exhausting to keep this up.”
Rowan’s face darkened, his hand gripping the edge of the counter. “Don’t pretend to know me, Remi.”
“And don’t pretend I don’t exist,” I shot back. “I’m your wife, Rowan. Whether you like it or not.”
He laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “A wife in name only. Don’t forget that.”
The finality in his tone cut deep, but I refused to back down. “You’re right,” I said, forcing the words out despite the lump in my throat. “This is just a name. But names come with responsibilities, Rowan. And if you can’t handle that, maybe you’re the one who doesn’t belong in this marriage.”
His eyes locked onto mine, something flickering behind the cold exterior. For a moment, I thought he might say something, but instead, he pushed past me, his shoulder brushing mine as he left the room.
I stood there, my chest heaving with suppressed sobs. The silence that followed was suffocating, heavier than any argument could’ve been.
\*\*\*\*
Hours later, I found myself back in bed, staring at the ceiling once more. The house was quiet now, but the tension lingered, a phantom presence that refused to let me rest.
I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take.
The argument played on a loop in my head. Rowan’s cold words, the disdain in his tone—it was all too much. My body ached with the effort of holding everything in, of pretending I was fine when I wasn’t.
I turned over, hugging the pillow to my chest, trying to block out the sharp sting of his indifference. It didn’t work.
The door creaked open.
I froze, my heart skipping a beat.
His heavy footsteps echoed in the stillness, each one drawing closer to the bed. I didn’t move, didn’t even breathe as the mattress dipped under his weight.
“Are you asleep?” Rowan’s voice was low, almost hesitant.
I swallowed hard. “What do you want?”
He didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Finally, he said, “I didn’t mean for things to get... out of hand earlier.”
“Out of hand?” I repeated, my voice laced with bitterness. “Is that what you call it?”
“I’m trying here, Remi,” he said, his tone strained. “This... arrangement, it’s not easy for either of us.”
I turned to face him, barely able to make out his features in the dim light. “Don’t you dare pretend this is the same for you,” I whispered. “You have everything—your power, your money, your women. And I have nothing.”
His jaw tightened, the tension in his body palpable. “You’re not nothing,” he said, almost too softly.
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “Then why do you treat me like I am?”
Rowan didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned forward, his hand brushing against mine. It was such a small, fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt through me. I pulled away instinctively, my breath hitching.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice trembling.
He didn’t answer, just moved closer. His scent—whiskey and the faint trace of another woman’s perfume—washed over me, making my stomach twist.
“You’re my wife, Remi,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Whether you want to be or not and…and I am a jerk…’
His words were a cruel reminder of the contract binding us together, and yet, there was something else in his tone—a vulnerability he rarely showed.
I didn’t move as he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine. It wasn’t tender or soft; it was desperate, almost punishing.
“Rowan, stop,” I said, my voice muffled against his mouth.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his blue eyes searching mine. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he challenged.
I opened my mouth to speak, to tell him exactly how I felt, but the words wouldn’t come.
Because deep down, I wasn’t sure what I wanted.
His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. This time, I didn’t resist. Maybe it was the exhaustion, the loneliness, or the small part of me that still hoped for something real between us.
I let him kiss me.
And for a moment, I forgot about the other women, the fights, the pain.
For a moment, it was just us.
\*\*\*
The aftermath was quiet.
Rowan lay beside me, his breathing steady, his body relaxed in a way I rarely saw. I, on the other hand, was wide awake, my mind racing with everything that had just happened.
I glanced at him, his face softened by sleep, and felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name.
Regret? Guilt? Or something worse—hope?
When the sun rose, Rowan was gone.
I stared at the empty space beside me, the sheets still rumpled from where he
had been, and felt the familiar sting of disappointment.
Whatever had happened between us the night before, it didn’t change anything.
I was still alone.
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