A MARRIAGE OF HATE: Chapter 11 – The End
Chapter 21
Julianna?
One month later
My phone rang, rousing me from my dead sleep. I picked up the call without looking at the screen, already knowing who it was.
“Good morning, Mirai. Isn’t it too early?” I greeted her, groggily.
“Too early?” she scoffed. “It’s almost noon, Julianna.
My eyes snapped open and I sat up on the bed, startled. I looked at the digital clock on the nightstand, gaping.
Mirai was right; it was almost noon. How did I sleep through the morning without even rousing once? I didn’t even remember waking up when Killian left the bed.
My husband had a habit of waking up, an hour before the sunrise. His routine was going for a quick run while it was still dark outside and then coming back to his home gym and doing a thirty-minute intensive workout.
Then it was shower and breakfast, before he sat down for work.
While I hadn’t left the Spencer Manor since we got here, Killian found a few ways to entertain me.
We had all our meals together and we were very active, when it came to sex. This relationship most definitely didn’t lack physical intimacy.
During the day, I chatted with Mirai over the phone and then I would browse through my kindle, looking for my next read.
Some days, I’d find myself in the kitchen, trying a new recipe. But I didn’t enjoy baking as much as I enjoyed horseback riding.
Spencer Manor was cold and boring. The staff was welcoming and pleasant, but they kept their distance. It was a solid boss and employee relationship, nothing more than that.
I missed the island. Mirai and Emily. Ragna and Cerberus.
But it was safer here, at the Spencer Manor. We were surrounded twenty-four-seven by security and I knew Killian was doing his best to keep me protected. And it was a duty he took very seriously.
Even though he was good at hiding his feelings, always wearing that cold mask – I could tell he was stressed and frustrated.
So far, all of their investigations had led to dead ends. That made the situation even more dangerous, because we were completely blind when it came to whoever was the culprit. We had no idea who was behind the accident and who was still hunting me, three years later.
“Julianna?” Mirai said, her chirpy voice breaking through my thoughts.
“Hmm. Yes, I’m listening.”
“Remember the unopened letters we found? From Elias?” she asked.
Right, those. After putting Arabella’s letters and poems back into her drawers, I decided against opening the letters from Elias.
The past should be kept in the past, where it belonged.
I no longer felt the need, the insistent pull toward Arabella’s tragic tale.
Maybe it was because I had somehow broken the invisible chains that kept me shackled to the past stories of the castle when I decided to give my own tale another chance.
To re-write my own story, without the tragic ending.
“I left them unopened,” I said to Mirai. For specific reasons that I didn’t have to tell her.
“Yes, about that. Don’t be mad at me,” she started, practically pleading. “I was just so curious and I couldn’t stop myself. So um, I opened those letters and read through them.”
“Oh.” I shook my head, half-smiling.
“Why am I not surprised?”
“But Julianna, you have to see this!” Her shrill voice came through the phone and I winced.
“All this time, we thought wrong. You have to read through Elias’s letters. It gives you a whole new perspective of things.”
My chest squeezed at the thought of going back down that path. Obsessing over that cursed story, like it was my own.
“I don’t think I should.”
“Fine,” she said, quickly relenting.
“You don’t have to read through all of them. I’ll send you the only important one. It’s short, but it tells you everything we need to know. The details we were missing in Arabella’s story.”
To appease Mirai and her pure enthusiasm, I agreed. “Send me a photo.”
“Yes!” I imagined her pumping her fists in the air. She really was a ball of innocence and joy.
Though her story was also tainted by the cruelty of fate, Mirai didn’t allow it to deter her from finding joy in the little things in life.
Two seconds later, my phone vibrated with a notification. I opened the message and tapped on the photo that Mirai sent me.
“Did you get it?” she questioned.
I hummed in response. “Yes, give me a minute to read through it.”
Arabella,
I have thought of how to start this letter more times than I could count.
Though every time I begin to write the first sentence, I find myself without words.
I did not know when it started or how it started.
Maybe it was the first time when you openly wept in my arms after the loss of our first child.
Or maybe it was the time when we waltzed at Appleton’s Ball and you had worn that emerald dress, matching the color of your eyes.
I remembered your shy smile when I had complimented your looks.
And I still do remember the taste of that peach tart on your lips.
I do not know when but somehow, you have started to take over my thoughts.
Your shy smile. Your tender touch.
Your soft lips.
I now noticed things I never did before.
The way your fingers glide over the piano with sweet precision.
You prefer peaches over strawberries.
You prefer reading Shakespearean tragedies over watching an opera.
Your favorite color is pastel-blue, specifically.
I notice the way your lips curl with a gentle smile at Charlotte’s laughter.
I can see how much you adore my sister’s baby and I can feel how much it pains you.
What I had with Rosa was young love, pretty and immature.
Reckless. For the longest time, I thought I knew what it meant to be in love.
But I had not even scratched the surface of it.
Until my feelings for you matured over the last four years of our marriage.
It started slow, burning through me, but I was too foolish to understand it.
Now that I do, I fear it has taken me too long and that I might have lost you forever.
I hope you can forgive me.
I hope you allow me another chance.
Our marriage is more than a ruse, my sweet Arabella.
When I return from this expedition, I vow to woo you the way you deserved to be wooed from the very beginning.
Your husband,
Elias.
My heart stammered in my chest and I reread the letter again, to confirm that what I read was indeed correct.
“Have you read it yet?” Mirai asked.
“Yes.” How cruel could fate be?
The only thing Arabella ever wanted was to have her husband’s love and adoration.
She craved Elias’s undivided attention. She waited for four very long years, while her husband loved another.
“His letters didn’t reach her on time,” Mirai whispered, sounding quite heartbroken.
“While Elias was cutting his trip short to surprise his wife, Arabella died thinking she was unloved.”
Arabella persevered through her marriage and when it was finally time to reap the sweet fruits of her patience, fate decided to play a twisted joke on her.
How unfair that her story was written with such cruelty and tragedy.
“Elias died two months after Arabella, right?” I asked Mirai for confirmation.
“Yes. The rumors were that he died of heartbreak when he found out that his ex-lover had married another man.”
“The rumors were not true,” I muttered.
“No. There are more letters written by Elias after the passing of Arabella, detailing his distress and heartache over his wife’s death,” Mirai said, her voice thick with emotion.
“It’s true he died of heartbreak. But not because of his ex-lover. He mourned Arabella’s death and the pain was too much for him to bear. He died of heartbreak…”
“For Arabella,” I finished.
“A lost love story, based on misunderstandings and too much wasted time,” Mirai sighed.
Arabella’s life was a tragic tale and I was almost convinced that the castle was truly cursed. There were no happy endings for any of the four couples who lived there.
I wanted my own love story to be different, cursed castle or not.
Killian and I were not going to be a tragedy.
After all the pain and sorrow – despair and heartache – we deserved our own happy ending.
My love story might not have been a perfect fairy tale.
It was messy and ugly, stained by guilt and tarnished with grief. Killian and I were a tale of flawed love.
.
Killian glanced up my bare body as I straddled him.
“Feeling bold today, wife?” His voice was deep and warm, like sweet molasses and melted chocolate.
“You like me bold,” I said, tossing my hair over my shoulders.
His eyes gleamed devilishly.
“Arrogance suits you.”
“I am a Spencer now.” His approval of my boldness was evident in his aro usal.
His ere ction dug in the curve of my ar se as I lowered myself over his th ighs.
“Bold and arrogant seem like Spencer traits I had to become familiar with.”
Killian threw his phone on the nightstand, finally giving me his undivided attention.
He crossed his arms behind his head and gave me a lazy look.
“What do you think you’re going to do now?”
I circled his npple with my thumb, feeling it pucker under my teasing touch before I trailed a finger down his strong abs.
“I am going to fk you,” I breathed, with a newfound confidence that I didn’t have before.
His nostrils flared and his lips twitched into a half-smile.
“Tempting,” he rasped. “Don’t disappoint me, wife.”
A MARRIAGE OF HATE: Chapter 11 – The End
************
A tear slid down my scarred cheek.
I found both my redemption and salvation on his lips.
I woke up, my body exhausted, but my mind completely rested. For the first time in three years, I felt peaceful. Like I finally belonged.
The urge to hurt myself wasn’t there. The guilt and despair that used to gnaw at my inside was silent.
I stretched before rolling over to grab Killian’s pillow. I pulled it against me and tucked my head into it, inhaling his lasting scent.
A grin spread over my lips, but it fell away when I noticed something different. Something that wasn’t there before.
I blinked, staring at my left hand. Was this–?
My eyes widened and I gasped, sitting up straight. My humongous diamond ring was gone. Replaced by a cushion-cut halo diamond ring. The very same one that Killian gave me the first time we became engaged, before the accident.
When Gracelynn died, I was forced to give up my ring too. Killian had taken it away, thinking that his fiancée was dead and there was no need for the Romano family to keep the engagement ring.
I stared at my left hand, my heart stammering in my chest. Killian must have exchanged the rings while I was asleep.
I missed that side of Killian – the considerate and romantic side of him.
Tears of joy flooded down my cheeks and I clutched my aching chest, not knowing if I should be happy or fearful.
Because whenever I was happy and each time I found solace in the arms of Killian… something bad always happened.
Tragedy after tragedy.
I guessed I was afraid to be happy.
But for once, I just wanted to forget all the bad and think of all the good.
So, I quickly shoved away the feeling of dread.
A knock rapped against my door. After securely wrapping the sheets around my naked body, I called for the person to enter.
Malay, the housekeeper, walked inside with a tray.
“Killian asked me to deliver your late breakfast to you in bed. He said you might be too exhausted to come down,” she said smoothly.
“Oh.” I cleared my throat, fighting back a smile.
He was right. I was pretty sore after last night’s activity. Killian took me twice before we fell asleep, tangled in each other’s arm.
And then he woke me up in the middle of the night, for a quick fvck. It was hard and fast – the reason why I was sore this morning.
“Is he home?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.
She shook her head. “He left for an urgent meeting an hour ago.”
“Okay, thank you.” I smiled.
Malay placed the tray on the coffee table and then excused herself, shutting the door behind her.
The bling on my left hand caught my attention again and I sighed, falling back against my pillows. Today was going to be a good day, I firmly believed.
The smell of warm butter and toast filled the room, teasing my nostrils and I gagged.
What ?
Since when did the smell of toast make me want to retch?
I reached for the glass of water on my nightstand and took a big gulp, hoping that it would alleviate the sick feeling in my stomach.
But it only made it worse. Bile rose in my throat, tasting acidic on my tongue.
Oh God, I was going to puke.
I sprung out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, kneeling by the toilet – just in time for me to vomit my dinner from last night. I gagged, letting out a pitiful cry.
God, I hated puking.
My stomach churned and I continued gagging, even though I was done vomiting. There was nothing left but bile and an empty stomach.
After flushing the toilet, I brushed my teeth and rinsed my mouth, trying to get rid of the taste of vomit on my tongue.
It wasn’t until after I had pulled on a dress over my head and the room swayed under my feet that realization dawned on me.
The reason behind my constant exhaustion over the last two weeks; my b©©bs being extremely sensitive, me being overly emotional and now… puking.
No.
This couldn’t be happening, right?
I quickly counted the dates in the back of my head, only to realize that I was ten days late for my period.
I was never late. My period was regular, always on time or some times, a day early. But never late.
And especially not by ten freaking days!
How did I miss all these signs?
Rushing to the bathroom, I fumbled through the cabinets and drawers to find the pregnancy test I always kept on me.
When my marriage began with a contract, stating that I was practically a walking womb for the Romano and Spencer family, I had to be always prepared.
When I found the pregnancy test, my heart stuttered.
My stomach churned as I peed on the stick and then placed it on a napkin on the counter.
I didn’t know if I was scared or pleased…
Killian and I both knew what was expected from this marriage.
An heir. We never used any protection, so this was bound to happen.
Eventually. But we never specifically talked about kids.
The deal was for us to go our separate ways once I gave birth.
But that has changed now, right?
Our marriage was no longer a ruse. We were together for real.
Maybe we needed more time together…
Just the two of us.
We lost three years and while our relationship was somewhat stable now, we still needed more time to recover from all that went wrong between us.
Doubt creeped in, slithering into my heart, and I felt nauseous again. I walked away from the pregnancy test and paced the length of the bedroom.
There was anticipation burning under my skin – the thought that I could be carrying Killian’s baby pleased me.
But the worry coursing through my vein unsettled me.
After a few minutes, I started toward the bathroom again. To check for the result of the pregnancy test.
Except, I never reached the bathroom.
There was a rustling sound behind me, strange and uninvited. I fought back a shiver of dread. Someone was in my room…
I had been so consumed by the thought of finding out that I could be pregnant, I hadn’t noticed that there was someone else in the bedroom, other than myself.
My heart leaped in my throat and I lunged for the vase.
Too late.
A heavy arm snaked around my waist, tugging me back into an unfamiliar body and then a hand slammed over my mouth, muffling my scream.
I felt a tiny prick in my right arm, right above my elbow. My body went rigid before I started struggling, trying to escape my captor.
But he was strong and much heavier than me.
Whatever he injected in my veins was making me drowsy and…
No. Please, no.
I tried to struggle but my limbs wouldn’t cooperate.
The room swayed.
My vision blurred.
I heard a familiar voice, but I couldn’t place it.
A small groan rattled from me before my eyes rolled back into my head.
And everything ceased to exist.
.
A MARRIAGE OF HATE: Chapter 11 – The End
Killian?
I realized one thing in the last month. Loving Julianna was easy. Trying to hate her with no more apparent reason was difficult and pure torture.
I tried to find a reason to be angry at her, but I had long forgiven her lies and deception. It was that I never knew how to tell her that.
I was in love with my wife.
Recklessly and irrevocably in love with her.
It was a mad, mad love – and sometimes, I worried that I might scare her away with how intense my feelings were for her.
My gaze darted to the bouquet of ranunculi in my hand. It was time to put the past behind us and to start anew. Julianna wanted to re-write our story and I was going to grant her that wish.
I took the stairs to my room, my palms sweating and my heart racing. Why was I so nervous, acting like an amorous teenager who was about to go on his first date?
Goddmn it, I was whipped for my wife.
A grin spread across my lips as I stalked into our bedroom.
“Julianna?” I called out, when I found the room empty.
The bathroom lights were on and the door was ajar, so I took a peek inside. But Julianna wasn’t there either.
I turned to leave when something unusual caught my eye.
I slowly blinked and walked further into the bathroom, toward the counter.
A pregnancy test.
I peered closer at it and my heart leaped to my throat.
A positive pregnancy test.
Dumbfounded, this took a second to sink in.
Julianna was… pregnant.
I didn’t know why I was so shocked.
We never used any protection, because the sole purpose of our marriage was to provide an heir.
Though, everything changed when Julianna’s truth was revealed.
Our marriage was more than that now.
My legs shook and the room swayed for a moment before I quickly regained my composure. Julianna was pregnant with my baby.
Jesus Christ.
I was going to be a father.
But where the fvck was my woman?
I clenched the bouquet in my hand and rushed out of the room and down the stairs, calling out for her.
Malay came forward, her hands fluttering to her chest.
“Killian, is something amiss?”
I looked around, as if my wife would somehow materialize into thin air.
“Where’s Julianna?”
“She has been in her room all this time,” Malay said, her brows furrowing.
“I brought her breakfast in bed, like you instructed.”
Though I had rushed out of the room, I remembered seeing the breakfast tray on the coffee table.
It was untouched.
My blood ran cold. “When did you bring her breakfast?”
Malay looked thoughtful for a second before nodding. “About three hours ago.”
“She’s not in the room,” I said, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
My mind raced. “I want every single staff looking for her. Right now!”
.
.
A MARRIAGE OF HATE: Chapter 11 – The End
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