05. I don’t want to be your wife
Under the fading moonlight and the starry sky, the garden looks stunning, especially in the spring. The lush dark green lawn and the soft, comforting scent of the flowers evoke a nostalgia I had forgotten. But what really captivates anyone is the big fountain, with water cascading down from one level to another. Its peaceful sound is almost hypnotic, contrasting with the muffled noise from the party inside.
The trees sway in the wind, just like my brown hair, which gently brushes against my face.
This fountain awakens many memories, all flooding back at once, overwhelming my senses and bringing a surprising sense of peace and control over my anxious mind and nearly hyperventilating chest.
The first time I was here, the spring sun shone brightly and warmly, brightening Christopher’s brown hair and giving it a reddish glow that took my breath away. But now, after so many years of pain and misery, he’s bathed in the cool moonlight, which lends him an elegant yet distant air.
Christopher’s presence here is somewhat unexpected but not really surprising. I knew he hated putting on a show for me. In my earlier life, I would have been stressed, following him around the hall, begging for a couple’s dance or any typical wedding tradition... now, I couldn’t care less.
I turn on my heels, ready to walk away, but Christopher’s voice stops me, sending a chill up my spine, “What are you doing here?”
I could ask the same question if I cared… But I don’t. So I just turn slowly, in silence, lifting the skirt of my long dress that drags along the stone path, “Escaping the party, just like you, isn’t that obvious?”
Christopher’s expression stays cold and indifferent as he slips his cell phone into his pants pocket. I assume he was making a call, probably to Evelyn, reassuring her that, even though he now wears a gold ring, his heart still belongs to her.
“Anyway, I don’t plan to bother you, so I’m leaving,” I say, turning away again, but his voice stops me for the second time, making me glance over my shoulder.
“Escaping the party you wanted so much?” Christopher’s tone is serious, almost sarcastic. His broad, firm shoulders, straight in a commanding posture, are obvious even through his elegant black suit. “Who would have thought Charlotte Sinclair would lose interest so quickly in things she’s obtained?”
Calling me Sinclair, on the day I took his last name as his wife, is meant to sting, but it doesn’t.
It’s true… I won’t deny that this marriage is my fault — of my past self and also the person I am now. I’m being selfish again, tying Christopher’s fate to mine, even if it’s just for a while… but he owes me that. He owes that to our son, who passed before birth, and he never shed a tear.
That memory fills me with disgust. I feel sick, but I only have to endure for six more months.
Previously, Grandpa Marshall had passed away, and the day after his death, while I was still mourning and hiding my pregnancy, Christopher slid the divorce papers in front of me and demanded I sign them.
Just like before, this is bound to happen — our marriage is meant to end.
Christopher looks at me, his expression now dark and wary, his eyes sharp, measuring my silence with contempt.
“You’re mistaken about something,” I say softly, turning fully toward him. “I don’t want to be your wife, Christopher.”
My words genuinely surprise him, evident by his stiffening posture and narrowing eyes.
“Right,” he scoffs with a mocking grin.
“This marriage is beneficial for both of us, especially for you... isn’t that why you agreed with it?” I tilt my head slightly, a faint smile on my lips that doesn’t reach my cold eyes. “As the son of Marshall Houghton’s eldest child, you’re the rightful heir. But even with your birthright, things aren’t easy, are they?”
Christopher’s eyes harden; if I didn’t know we were in April, I’d think we’re in the dead of winter.
“Ryan is the oldest grandchild, son of Marshall’s second child, and he’s also arrogant and thinks he has the right. Besides, your brother—”
“I don’t need you to explain this to me.” He cuts me off, sharp, though not raising his voice. “I’m fully aware of my position.”
“Then surely you understand that winning your grandfather’s favor is the best way to ensure the succession goes as planned, to solidify your claim. Besides, Grandpa Marshall is part of the House of Lords, but there’s no guarantee you’ll be chosen too.”
And Christopher won’t be. Another family filled the seat left by Marshall Houghton, and no vacancies have come up for the next ten years. Christopher never achieved his true desire.
“This marriage may have been forced on you, Christopher, but don’t pretend it won’t benefit you. We can both achieve our goals if we use this marriage.”
“And what do you want?” Christopher steps toward me, each stride reducing our distance and increasing the tension, thick and palpable. “My attention, my love?”
I could never want him love, not after everything — that’s what I want to say, but when he stops just inches away, I hold back those words.
Christopher’s scent is like I remember… a woody, masculine fragrance that once gave me butterflies, although we were rarely close enough for me to smell it. The clearest memory I have of this scent is from the only night we shared, but it was mixed with whiskey, sweat, and pleasure.
My throat tightens at the memory of his shaped, strong body on mine, and my face flushes. I clear my throat, managing to keep looking at his sharp brown eyes that seem to analyze every part of my soul.
“If you don’t want to be my wife, what do you want from this marriage?”
Christopher’s words are so close they seem to shake against my lips, even though they aren’t touching… even though they never have. But our breaths mix, and that’s a strange and annoying sensation.
“Don’t worry, I want nothing from you,” I say with a dry smile, noticing his body tense and his brow furrow. “I will be your wife to the world, Christopher, as my duty, but let’s be clear... I don’t want your love or your attention, and I couldn’t care less about your personal life. In fact, I hope we both follow separate paths as much as possible during this arranged marriage.”
My words are steady, and I say them without hesitation or a blink. The confidence in my tone is so obvious that I see confusion flicker across Christopher’s face.
“So go ahead and live your life as if I don’t exist. Use this marriage for your benefit, and don’t worry about trivial, pointless things like love.”
I turn my back to him, but just as I start to walk away, I feel Christopher’s fingers around my arm, gripping me... a sensation I haven’t felt in years.
“After everything, Charlotte... After years of obsessing about it and asking the Earl, you say you don’t want this marriage?” He tightens his grip slightly, his eyes locked on mine. “Is this some sort of joke to you? Just another stupid whim? Are you trying to get me to pity you?”
I part my lips to retort, already feeling anger bubbling inside my veins, but a familiar voice calls my name softly from behind, “Lotte?”
Slowly, I free my arm from Christopher’s grasp and cross my arms, adding a subtle, safe distance, and turn to face the man approaching: Sebastian, my brother-in-law — the man I used during my first misguided life… a once weapon of revenge.
In my first foolish life, we shared the same bed for months. I hoped that being betrayed by his own brother might hurt Christopher, but he didn’t care. My husband never cared, even though I was intimately involved with his brother.
But now, strangely… Christopher’s face hardens as he glances past my shoulder.