Chapter 10: The Unexpected Conversation

Something felt different tonight. I stumbled into the dark living room and came to a halt. Nicholas was sitting by the fireplace, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie undone, and a tumbler of whiskey in his hand.

He appeared to be a man with too many ideas and nowhere to put them rather than the calculating billionaire I had grown to know. It was rather soothing to hear the rain hitting the penthouse windows. I was unable to fall asleep because it was late—past midnight—again.

He glanced at me as his head turned slightly. "You are, too."

His expression had an unguarded quality that I don't often see. For a moment, I considered leaving him to his thoughts. But instead, I moved over and slipped into the armchair across from him. The silence was filled with the crackle of the fire between us.

"Had trouble sleeping?" I took a chance.

“No.” He twirled his glass of golden liquid. "I'm thinking about too much."

I paused, not knowing if I should continue. Although Nicholas wasn't the kind to open up readily, something about the night, the fire's warmth, and the storm outside felt different.

I said, "What's keeping you up?"

“You wouldn’t understand.” “Try me.” His lips quirked, almost like a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“My family has this... expectation. A legacy to uphold. Marrying someone like you wasn’t part of their plan.”

The words hurt more than I wanted to admit, and I clenched my fists, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. “Someone like me?” “Don’t take it personally,” he said quickly. “They would have disapproved of anyone who wasn’t handpicked for me. It’s always been about appearances and alliances. Love has never been a factor in the equation.

Before I could stop myself, I responded, "Sounds lonely."

Nicholas's mouth clenched. "There are worse things in the world than loneliness."

I cocked my head to observe him. "Do you tell yourself that when you go to sleep at night?"

When his eyes met mine, I briefly believed I had pushed too hard. Then, however, he laughed bitterly. "Perhaps. However, it's simpler than acting as though I can alter the current situation.

The crushing pressure of his silence was felt by us. I rested both elbows on my thighs and leaned forward.

What made you do it, then? Why would they marry me if that wasn't what they wanted?

Nicholas paused, his fingers gripping the glass more tightly. "Because something in my life needed to be under my control." The union was a... concession. They believe I'm abiding by the rules. And you—

He paused, his eyes darting to mine.

"How about me?" I pushed.

He stated plainly, "You needed help." "I could also give it."

I couldn't decide if I should be outraged or appreciative. "So, I'm just another element in your plan?"

"Maybe at first." His tone grew softer. "But now..."

My heart skipped a beat as he trailed off. He didn't finish the phrase, so I waited in the hopes that he would. Rather, he drank more of his beverage while turning back to the fire.

I was caught off guard when he inquired abruptly, "What about you?" "Why accept this?"

I gave a halting laugh. "Because I had no other option. The art center is everything to me. For many, it's their lifeline, not simply a building. I thought I was losing a part of myself when I received the eviction notice.

Something like shame flickered across Nicholas's face as his expression changed. "And now?"

"I feel like I've exchanged one issue for another now."

He squinted his eyes. "Is it meaning?"

I looked into his eyes and added, "Meaning that this doesn't feel like a solution." It has the feel of a trap.

The tension between us was evident as the room fell silent once more. However, Nicholas astonished me by not responding with his typical scathing rejoinder.

"I understand how you feel," he said.

I was surprised by what he said. "You? Do you feel stuck?”

With a hint of resentment in his voice, he replied, "Don't act so surprised." "Having luxury at birth does not equate to freedom. In fact, the reverse is true.”

I pondered that for a while, attempting to understand the world from his perspective. The ongoing pressure to live up to expectations and the absence of personal authority. Perhaps we weren't as unlike as I had assumed.

"Have you ever wanted to simply leave?" I inquired.

"At all times," he acknowledged. However, leaving isn't as simple as it seems. The stakes are too high.

I understood more than I wanted to, so I nodded. It's the core for me. It's your family's approval, for you.

At that moment, he gave me a fierce look. Nevertheless, here we are. We were both entangled in a web we didn't create.

The ensuing silence was filled with the crackling of the fire. I thought for the first time that I was seeing the real Nicholas, the man behind the protective façade. And I was so curious that it scared me.

I found myself thinking about our chat more the following day than I cared to acknowledge. As usual, Nicholas had gone early for work, and I had been at the art center for the majority of the morning. However, something seemed... strange.

When I returned to the flat, I noticed an envelope on the kitchen counter. Across it, in large, strange calligraphy, was my name. I scowled as I ripped it open and took out one piece of paper.

You can meet me at the Blackwood Café at 8 p.m. to find out the truth about Nicholas Scott.

My heart struck my ribs hard. With my mind racing, I read the note once more. This was sent by whom? Furthermore, what "truth" were they discussing?

I looked at the time. It was 7:30 already. I was pressed for time to make a decision. I wanted to pretend I hadn't seen the note, dump it in the garbage, and ignore it. The portion that had been hankering after solutions, however, was unable to let it go.

By the time eight o'clock rolled around, I was seated in a café booth in the corner, tapping nervously against the table. There were very few other customers strewn around, and the atmosphere was dark and quiet. I looked around the room, trying to find the sender of the note.

"Mrs. Scott."

The voice was low and strange, coming from behind me. A man in dark coat was standing next to the booth when I turned around. There was something eerie about him, even if the shadows partially covered his face.

"Who are you?" Even though my chest was fluttering with anxiety, I asked in a firm voice.

After slipping into the seat across from me, he remarked, "That's not important." "The most important thing is that you are aware of your husband's true identity."

My heart was pounding as I swallowed hard. "What are you discussing?"

With a cold, calculated gleam in his eyes, the man leaned closer. It's not Nicholas Scott who he says he is. If I'm not telling the truth, ask him about Blackthorn Industries.

I was feeling nauseous.

"Blackthorn Industries: What is it?"

The man grinned. "Let's just say that's why he finds your art center so intriguing. Mrs. Scott, give it some thought. Do you honestly believe there are no conditions attached to his assistance?

The man got up and left before I could reply, leaving me sitting there with more questions than answers.