You are not my wife

Chapter 8: you are not my wife

Noah steps through the front door, his sharp gaze sweeping across the spotless living room. His expression remains unreadable as he walks further inside. I brace myself, expecting at least some acknowledgment of my effort even though I don't like the fact that he put me through this, but his silence stretches on. He doesn’t look pleased. If anything, he seems almost irritated.

I swallow my disappointment.

“The work is done,” I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. 

Noah’s gaze flickers at me, cold and distant. “Are you sure you did not seek any assistance from anyone?" 

    "You sent them away," I answered.

And even if he didn't, is he expecting me to be fully sincere with him about it?

   “I also prepared dinner. You should eat before it gets cold.”

     "I am not interested in your meals.”

His words hit like a slap. I stare at him, hoping for some sign that he’s just being difficult, but he doesn’t waver.

    "You should at least try it...I tried out some..."

   "I said that I am not interested. I don't want to eat your meals. You should quit acting like my wife,” he continues, shrugging out of his suit jacket. “There’s no need for it.”

   "But I am your wife. I got married to you..."

Did he forget? 

   "Is it hard for you to comprehend simple instructions?" He suddenly yells at me which honestly takes me by surprise as I step back instantly.

   "Just because I married you does not mean you should take it seriously or traditionally. I do not need your fake acts. You can put them on when we are in public and that is only when I tell you that there is a need for you to do so, do you understand? Just stick to the rules and that is all."

My fingers curl at my sides. I know what I signed up for, but hearing him say it so bluntly still stings. I force a weak smile, pretending his words don’t bother me.

“Right,” I murmur. “Of course. I forgot. I will stick to the rules. I am sorry to bother you.”

Noah doesn’t say anything else. He walks past me, his presence overwhelming even as he moves further away. The sound of his retreating footsteps echoes through the quiet house. When the door to his room clicks shut, I finally allow myself to exhale.

A lump forms in my throat as I turn away.

I should’ve known better than to expect anything from him. I should’ve learned by now. What was I even thinking or expecting?

He is my boss.

I sit down and have the dinner all alone — even though I put all my time into making it, hoping to maybe impress him with the taste, I lost my appetite for it. 

I just have to eat it so it doesn't get to waste. 

I retreat to my own room afterward, shutting the door behind me as I climb onto the bed. Hugging the pillow close, I press my face against it, willing myself not to feel so miserable. But the loneliness creeps in anyway. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to chase away the ache in my chest, but it lingers, heavy and suffocating.

Life as a married woman won't go as I have always prayed and wished for and I don't know if I am prepared enough for what is to come. 

.

.

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The next morning, I wake up groggy, the lack of sleep weighing me down. My body protests as I force myself out of bed. I go through the motions of getting ready, brushing my hair, putting on my work clothes, and applying light makeup to conceal the tired shadows beneath my eyes. I move on autopilot, my mind still replaying last night’s events.

As I step out of my room, I find Noah already in the living room, fixing his cufflinks. He barely spares me a glance before speaking.

“Our relationship is meant to be a secret,” he reminds me, his voice sharp. “Do not tell anyone about it.”

I clench my jaw but nod. “I understand.”

“If you repeat what you did before, you’ll have yourself to blame.”

I flinch, but I don’t let him see it. I just tighten my grip on my bag and exhale through my nose.

   "I won't repeat it," I assure him. 

“At work, you are nothing but an employee to me,” he continues. “Keep it that way.”

His words settle like a weight on my chest, but I keep my expression neutral. “Understood.”

   "If I have any more instructions, I will let you know. So for now, don't go against the given orders."

   "Noted." My responses are monotonous and I intentionally make it that way. I consider it a waste of time trying to appeal to him.

Noah studies me for a second longer before turning on his heel and heading for the door. He leaves without another word.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Even after he’s gone, the tension lingers in the air. I run a hand down my face, trying to shake off the frustration bubbling beneath my skin. I should be used to this by now, but it still gnaws at me every time he talks down to me like I’m nothing.

A moment later, I gather myself. I make sure that he has left before I step outside. The morning air is crisp, doing little to ease the tightness in my chest.

Even though he has fancy cars for transportation, I am sure I won't be privileged to enter any of them anytime soon. A cab stops in front of the gate after I flagged it down, and I slide into the backseat, giving the driver directions to my workplace. As the car pulls into traffic, I lean against the window, staring blankly at the passing buildings.

My phone vibrates in my lap, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glance at the screen.

A message from my sister.

[Dad wants to see you. Drop by at the hospital when you’re free.]

I stare at the message, my stomach twisting. My fingers tighten around the phone as conflicting emotions flood my mind. 

What does he want now?

I have not really gone to see him after I managed to pay for his surgery. It is kind of complicated for me, knowing that he would ask how I was able to get the money.

We haven't been on the same level of agreement for some time, and I always consider it a headache to want to see him because of how troublesome he would turn upon seeing me. 

Memories of past disappointments cloud my mind, but I shove them away. Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it. Just like I always do.

I take a deep breath and type a quick response.

[Okay. I’ll come by after work.]

As I hit send, I lean back against the seat, exhaustion seeping into my bones. Today is already shaping up to be a long day, and it’s barely even started.