7

Once the soup was ready, Greta ladled it into a porcelain bowl and placed it on a tray with a cloth napkin and a slice of warm bread. “There you are, my lady. Perfectly done.”

Valeria thanked Greta profusely, lifting the tray carefully and carrying it toward Markus’s room. With every step, her heart beat a little faster, anticipation mingling with a renewed sense of hope.

When she reached his door, she hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath before knocking softly. “Markus?” she called gently. “It’s me. I… I brought something for you. I am sure you must like it. We didn’t get to talk much yesterday.”

There was a pause, and then the sound of footsteps approaching. The door opened, revealing Markus, his expression guarded as he looked down at her.

Valeria offered him a tentative smile, holding up the tray. “I made this for you. I thought… maybe you could use something warm.”

Markus’s eyes flicked from her face to the tray, and for a moment, his expression was unreadable. Valeria held her breath, waiting to see how he would respond.

Markus stepped aside without a word, letting Valeria enter. His face was hard, his jaw set as he returned to the bed, lowering himself onto it with a huff of irritation. He didn’t look at her, his piercing eyes fixed instead on some indeterminate spot on the wall.

Valeria closed the door behind her, her heart sinking slightly at his cold demeanor but refusing to let it deter her. She approached the bed carefully, carrying the tray of soup. As she placed it on the side table, the clinking of porcelain seemed unnaturally loud in the heavy silence.

“I made this for you,” she said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. “It’s just soup, but it should help you feel better.” Markus gave her a sidelong glare, his expression a mixture of annoyance and suspicion. “I didn’t ask for anything,” he muttered, his voice low and sharp.

Valeria swallowed hard but forced herself to remain calm. “I know,” she said quietly. “But I wanted to do something for you. You haven’t been well.”

He didn’t respond, his silence a cold wall between them. Valeria hesitated for a moment before reaching out, her hand trembling slightly as she extended it toward him. “May I?” she asked softly, her eyes meeting his briefly before flickering toward his forehead.

Markus said nothing, his body tense as if weighing whether to push her away. But he didn’t move, his lack of protest granting her silent permission.

Valeria placed her hand gently on his forehead, her palm cool against his warm skin. Her touch lingered, her fingers brushing lightly against his temple as she gauged his fever. “You’re still warm,” she murmured, concern lacing her tone. “You should rest more.”

Markus shifted slightly, his glare intensifying as he pulled back just enough to break the contact. “I don’t need your pity or anything,” he snapped, his voice harsh.

“It’s not pity,” Valeria said firmly, her own gaze steady as she met his. “It’s care, Markus. Whether you believe it or not, I care about you.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, it seemed like he was about to lash out again. But instead, he turned his head away, his shoulders stiff with unspoken tension.

Valeria sighed softly, her hand lingering in the space between them for a moment before retreating to her lap. She looked down at her hands, twisting them nervously. “I’m not trying to force anything,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I just… I want to help. That’s all.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between them. Valeria glanced at the untouched soup on the table, her chest tightening as she fought the urge to cry.

Markus shifted on the bed, his movements restless as if her presence was both infuriating and inescapable. Yet, despite his harsh demeanor, he hadn’t sent her away. Perhaps, Valeria thought, that was a small step forward. Or perhaps, it was simply the eye of the storm.

The silence in the room stretched taut, like a thread on the verge of snapping. Valeria sat still, her hands trembling slightly in her lap as she tried to hold on to the last threads of her composure. She glanced at Markus, his expression dark and unreadable, but she refused to back down.

“I know you’re upset,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her. “But I’m not giving up on us, Markus. I’m your wife—”

The word seemed to ignite something in him. His head snapped toward her, his eyes blazing with a fury she hadn’t expected.

“You’re not my wife,” he spat, his voice sharp and cutting. “You’re just someone my mother forced into my life. Don’t think for a second that I’ll ever accept you.”

Valeria flinched as if struck, but she didn’t look away. She opened her mouth to respond, to say something, but Markus abruptly grabbed the bowl of soup from the side table.

“This?” he growled, his knuckles white as he gripped the bowl. “Do you think a bowl of soup is going to change anything?”

Before she could react, he hurled the bowl across the room. The porcelain shattered against the wall, the golden broth splattering across the floor like a bitter symbol of his rejection.

Valeria gasped, her eyes wide with shock and hurt as she watched the remnants of her effort drip down the wall. “Markus, i know you are upset about whatever happened when you were in coma. I know it was not consensual that we should marry but i will try to put in efforts.” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I don’t want your efforts,” he snapped, standing from the bed and towering over her. “I don’t want you. This sham of a marriage—it’s nothing to me. And soon, it’ll be over.”

Her heart plummeted at his words, the finality in his tone cutting deeper than any of his previous barbs. “You don’t mean that,” she said, her voice breaking as tears threatened to spill.

“Oh, I mean every word,” Markus said coldly. “You don’t belong here, Valeria. You never did. And once I’ve sorted everything, I’ll make sure you’re gone for good. I’ll divorce you and send you away. So stop trying, stop pretending, and stop… whatever this is.”

Valeria stood, her legs shaky beneath her as she tried to steady herself. Her tears finally broke free, streaming silently down her cheeks. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “Why won’t you even try to make this work?”

Markus’s expression hardened further, his jaw clenching. “Because there’s nothing to make work,” he said bluntly. “Now leave. I don’t want to see you in this room—or this manor—ever again.”

For a moment, Valeria stood frozen, her heart breaking into pieces at his cruel words. She searched his face for even a flicker of regret or hesitation, but all she saw was the cold, unyielding mask he had built around himself.

With a shaky breath, she turned and walked toward the door, her tears falling freely now. Her hand hovered over the doorknob as she glanced back at him one last time, hoping against hope for something—anything—that might indicate he didn’t truly mean it.

But Markus had already turned away, his back to her as if her presence was too much to bear. Valeria swallowed the lump in her throat and opened the door, stepping out into the corridor. As the door closed softly behind her, she leaned against the wall, her body trembling with the weight of her emotions.

“He’ll never love me. I will make him mine.” she thought, her heart breaking anew with every step she took away from him. No matter what I do, he’ll never let me in.