BILLIONAIRE'S LIES CHAPTER 6.2

Morning sun spilled into the expansive dining room as Sabrina set the table for breakfast that took her hours to prepare. She had cooked all his favorites: scrambled eggs with chives, perfectly crispy bacon, and freshly squeezed orange juice. It was her silent way of showing Benedict she cared, despite the poison he threw her way every chance he got. She longed to bridge the distance separating them, compel him to look past his revulsion at her. Stepping back from the stove and the last plate, Benedict had entered the room; and certainly, his face showed no softer countenance for traversing it. He darted his look across the table; and then faced about and settled back in the chair with an irreverent huff of discontent. "This is all you had ready? " he snapped, pushing the plate aside as if it were insulting. "A good breakfast, and this is the best you could do?" Sabrina pulled up a small, tight smile. She clung to the side of the chair she leaned on to balance herself. "I — I prepared everything fresh," she murmured. "I thought perhaps you would like it," she explained quietly. Benedict's upper lip curled with disgust. "It is pathetic, Sabrina.". You can't even cook breakfast properly," he sneered, pushing his chair back and crossing his arms. "Do you expect me to eat this? " She swallowed hard, the cutting sting of his words burning deep. But she refused to give up her ground, her voice quivering as she tried to get out a word. "I wanted to make you happy… I thought maybe— "Happy? " He laughed with a bitter, cruel mocking tone. "I don't need you to try and make me happy. And I don't need you trying to play house like some devoted little wife. Just stay out of my way." Sabrina's chest ached, but she forced herself to keep her head up, to maintain her composure. "I'm your wife, Benedict," she said, her voice small but resolute. "This is my responsibility, whether you accept it or not." He leaned forward, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Don't delude yourself, Sabrina. You're nothing more than a nuisance, a daily reminder of a mistake I was forced into." The words hit her like a physical blow, but she fought to keep her expression neutral, her eyes cast downward to avoid the venom in his gaze. "I don't want to be a burden to you, Benedict," she said quietly. "But I won't give up, not on this marriage." He scoffed, picking up a fork and stabbing at his food with clear disinterest. "It's funny how you still believe this is a marriage. We're barely even housemates.". Don't think it is more than that. Sabrina's heart fractured a little more at the harshness of his words, sharper than she cared to admit. Still, she clung to the love she had for him, hoping that one day he'd see her in another light. A few bites into the meal, he pushed the plate back, exasperated, ignoring her completely. "I have no time for this," he muttered, standing from his chair. "If next time you just placed the breakfast in the kitchen, then I wouldn't be able to see you immediately the next morning. Fine with me not to be nagged to look at your ugly face first thing." One tear rolled down from her cheek, but it would not be there forever because she brushed it away almost mechanically and nodded. "Fine," she whispered nearly without voice. Benedict paused at the door and looked back at her one last time. "And don't think for a moment that I'm going to play along with this farce. This house, this arrangement—it's all a jail. And you're the one who locked me up and seduced me." With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her sitting alone in the silent, empty dining room, where the breakfast she had prepared so carefully sat cold and untouched.

Behind the closed door, Sabrina was left with the suffocating fog of his words. She slumped in a chair, gazing blankly at the dishes of food she had put out to prepare, that breakfast that once, on a glimmering speck of hope, today perhaps he would change being an aching proof of the cold indifference.

She started clearing the table. The clinking of the plates echoed in the stillness. With every clink, it was as if a part of her heart shattered into pieces.

Turning to leave towards the kitchen, the door opened yet again. Benedict stood before her with his icy stare piercing through. Her breath got caught in her throat as she hadn't expected him to return.

"What're you doing, still standing there?" His voice was cutting, full of irritation, as if her being made him uncomfortable, annoyed him. “Have you not realized that this… whatever this is—this breakfast, this act—is pointless?”

Sabrina's hands strangled the plates at her sides; her knuckles were white. She struggled to keep her voice steady. "I'm just trying to make you feel comfortable, Benedict. To make this place feel like home.".

He laughed; it was a harsh, bitter sound. "Comfortable? For whom? Not for me, anyway. Do you think that all the cooking and cleaning makes up for what you did? That somehow these things are going to rub out the truth, that you manipulated everything just to get here?"

Then it was his turn to shoot an accusing glance at her, the pain cutting even deeper into her heart. "I… I don't think I manipulated a thing. I never did want things to be as they are," she murmured, trying to stand tall.

Benedict took a step closer, his eyes as cold as ice. "Then what did you want, Sabrina? My love? My loyalty?My money? Well, you have neither." His voice dropped to a low growl. "You're just an unwanted guest here—a daily reminder of how far I've fallen."

Sabrina bit her lip, fighting back hot tears that threatened to spill over. "I just… I thought if I could show you that I care, maybe—"

"Maybe what? "he interrupted with a rising voice full of anger. "Maybe I suddenly fall at your feet, and love you? Come on, Sabrina, grow up. This Isn't one of your fairy tales. I do not love you, and I never will. It's crazy to think otherwise."

A stabbing pain shot up in her chest as composure seemed to shatter into smithereens around her. Still, she'd be damned if he could see that. "I know it's not a fairy tale," she said, small and shaking, her voice barely big enough to chop through the tension between them. "But it's not wrong to hope you might see me for who I am and not for what you imagine I was once."

Each word was like a tenuous thread that could come crashing down any second due to the gushing and boiling emotions that swam inside her. A mere spark of love flickered beneath the burning wounds of hurt and anger, for one cannot let such precious life die. She needed him to understand her; look deeper than the bitter undertone of his tone, towards the woman standing in front of him, with so many efforts to touch his being.

Each word felt like a fragile thread, hanging by a whisper as she fought against the surge of emotions bubbling inside her.There was a glimmer of love that never really died. She wanted him to understand her, see the woman before him through his bitterness, desperately wanting to reach him.

"See you?" He sneered, his face twisted with disgust. "I see you perfectly—a girl who thought she could trap me into marriage, using every trick in the book to get her way. But let me be clear…" He leaned in low and harsh. "I may be bound to you by law, but I will never be bound to you emotionally. You will never have a piece of my heart."

With that, he straightened, his face impassive as he looked at her like a stranger. "So stop playing the devoted wife. I don't need it. And I don't need you."

Without another glance, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Sabrina alone in the suffocating silence of the dining room. Her heart felt shattered, each piece splintered beyond repair.