Left without a choice

Amber’s pov

My heart starts racing once again. When something is done at a specific time and in a certain pattern, the human body becomes accustomed to it. Each time I dress up before leaving the house in the morning quickens my heartbeat. When will this end? The truth is, my husband is unhappy. From the bedroom where I'm getting ready, I can hear the running water in the kitchen sink and the clatter of dishes as my husband angrily washes them.

In my upbringing, it was my father who woke up every day, dressed quickly, and rushed out of the house for work, leaving my mother behind. He was the one I knew as the primary provider for our family. However, since my husband's company was taken over by one of the wealthiest men in the country due to a significant debt, my husband stays at home and takes care of all the household chores. Despite my efforts, he refuses to join me in my small pharmaceutical company, which I inherited from my parents, or seek employment elsewhere. Every time I step out of the house to work, I indirectly feel guilty for allowing him to stay at home, considering his continuous requests as I'm about to leave. Each day becomes a debate as he tries to convince me to do something that I believe would disrespect my late parents and humiliate me. How can he expect me to sell my inheritance? And not just that, my thoughts pause as I consider the other thing he has asked me to do while fixing my right earring.

His demeanor in the morning always suggests that I am responsible for his unhappiness. How long can I continue living with a man who hasn't smiled or made love to me for the past six months? I wish I could go to work without him seeing or knowing. Ever since we were forced out of our mansion, there is only one entrance and exit door to this one-bedroom apartment. And Dave always sits on the couch near the door with one purpose in mind—to confront me and repeat what he has been telling me. Rejecting his request every morning has become a task more daunting than my entire workload at the office.

Should I comply and bring peace to my family? A subtle voice often whispers this question in my heart. But then, a louder voice immediately suppresses it, asking, why should you sell your inheritance and sleep with a man you haven't even met, just to help your husband regain his company? When did your beauty and body become abstract collateral to free your husband from debt?

The idea of sleeping with another man unsettles my heart, and due to my restless thoughts, I find myself spending more time in front of the mirror while getting dressed.

In an attempt to convince myself that my actions were justified, I confided in my best friend, Gwen, about the struggles I've been facing. I needed someone to validate my choices. Surprisingly, Gwen expressed the belief that a husband's happiness should be paramount. I can understand her perspective, as she is still desperate to find a man of her own.

As expected, after wearing my pink gown and was about to open the door, I heard my pet name being called.

"Sweetheart!"

I stopped, turned, and made my way towards Dave. He was seated on the couch as usual, but something about his demeanor and the way he called out to me felt different. It was as if we hadn't shared the same bed. His voice carried a deep sadness, akin to someone who had lost a loved one to death. His facial expressions and the way he sat conveyed the torment in his heart.

"Sweetheart, I have a new suggestion regarding what I've been asking you to do for me."

When he mentioned a new suggestion, a sense of relief washed over me, and I sat down next to him, intrigued by the prospect of an alternative to his previous request.

"Instead of selling your inheritance," he began, "I've come to realize that preserving it is a way of honoring your deceased parents. What if we lease it out for a few years? Once I've regained control of my company, I'll activate the clause to return your pharmaceutical company to you. You know that the revenue generated by my company far exceeds that of yours. I understand your desire to respect your late parents, but in truth, it was your grandparents who established the company and passed it down. It would be a shame if, when it came to your turn, you decided to sell off the family legacy. Leasing it doesn't mean losing ownership. This is my new suggestion, and I promise you, I will restore your company to you."

This is a much more reasonable suggestion, I thought to myself. But before I could finish processing my thoughts, he interrupted me.

"But Sweetheart, you must understand that the money obtained from leasing your company won't be enough to settle my debt. Just one night with one of Mr. Miller Morgan's sons will resolve everything. As your husband, I approve of it."

Lately, whenever he mentioned this second part, I would simply stand up and leave the house. However, this time, for some reason I don’t understand, I sat there without getting up. Had he managed to sway me? Then he gently touched my shoulder, as if he knew my mind had started to wander.

"Sweetheart, look at our current living conditions," he said, rising from his seat and gesturing around the small apartment. "We're confined to a one-bedroom apartment compared to the grand mansion we used to live in. By taking this one action that I'm begging you for, we can reclaim all our possessions. I understand how humiliating it is for you, but I am the one who feels the most humiliated. Ultimately, it's for the good of our family. Family comes first in everything. This will remain our secret, known only to you and me. You have every right to refuse, but how long can a grown man like me continue to live this way? From working in a luxurious office to performing household chores at home. If you observe closely, you'll notice that I no longer leave the house. How can I face my friends and business associates? I've had to lie to some of them, claiming to be on vacation. Even if I worked diligently for the next twenty years in someone else's company, there's no way I could repay my debt. Amber, you are my only hope."

The more I listened to him, the more I sensed his deep anguish. It was completely unexpected when Dave dropped down to his knees, but I couldn't bear to witness tears streaming down his face. For the first time, I felt his pain intensely.

What should I do? The person who had seen me at my nakedness now wanted me to expose myself to another man. How long could I keep refusing before Dave spiraled into depression? A multitude of questions raced through my mind as Dave remained on his knees, awaiting my response. Would I ever be able to forgive myself if I did what he asked? Would I not harbor resentment towards him for persuading me to sleep with another man?

Without uttering a word to Dave, I left the house. Once I reached my office, I buried my face in my hands, resting them on my desk, and wept. I wept because my husband believed that I stood between him and his happiness and success. The only way to avoid this predicament would be if I weren't married to Dave, or if I had never been born. It would be a relief if all of this were just a terrible dream.

I didn't sign any documents on my desk or engage with my staff after closing my office door. I didn't even switch on my computer. In the silence of my office, the ticking of the wall clock resonated loudly, echoing the rapid beats of my agitated heart. It reached a point where I contemplated suicide as the only escape from all my troubles. How could I undress in front of a stranger without feeling a shred of emotion?

Around 4:30 pm, my heart reluctantly acknowledged reality, but there was something on my mind that has helped me to come up with this resolve. I picked up my phone and dialed Dave's number.

"Send me the hotel address. I have made up my mind."

Without waiting for his response, I promptly ended the call. I didn't want to hear my husband's voice, which had become grating at this moment of my life. Thirty minutes later, a notification pinged, indicating the arrival of a text message.

"Room number 12, Paradox Palm Hotel, at 7 pm. Please refrain from identifying yourself as my wife."

If I wasn't supposed to introduce myself as Dave's wife, then why couldn't he use someone else's? But now wasn't the time to question anything further.

I didn’t go home again, and I didn’t want to see Dave’s face. His little excitement for doing what he said might provoke me and I will change my mind.

Around 6:30 pm, I arrived at the hotel, my face filled with sadness. Without exchanging any smiles or greetings, I headed straight to the room, hoping he hadn't arrived yet.

Thankfully, the door was already open, and the unfamiliar man was nowhere to be seen. I entered the bathroom and proceeded to bathe. Just as I was about to finish, I heard the sound of the room door opening, indicating his arrival. My heart raced, and I paused for a moment. He knew I was in the bathroom, as the shower had briefly paused.

A few minutes later, I sensed him undressing, knowing that as soon as I emerged from the bathroom, he would begin touching me. Taking a deep breath, I carried out my plan and waited for some seconds before coming out of the bathroom. I came out covering my head to my neck with a thick black nylon, ensuring he couldn't see my face and I was only putting on red pants and a black bra.

"Why are you covering your face?" the man asked immediately, his tone revealing his surprise.

"Sir, I am a virgin, and I have made a solemn vow to myself that the only man that would make love with me is the man I will walk down the aisle with. What I am about to do goes against my will, and that's why I have covered my face."