Do You Think That Simon Will Like You?

The freezing night air felt even more biting under Damian’s furious glare. Knowing he was enraged that I had reached out to another man to secure my bail, I swallowed my pride and pushed down the rising panic in my chest. I turned back to Hazel, hastily bid her farewell, and walked obediently over to my husband’s side. I kept my head lowered, my gaze fixed firmly on the damp pavement beneath his expensive leather shoes.

"Thank you," I murmured.

Damian offered a cold, indifferent glance. His eyes were fathomless pools of dark ink, impossible to read but radiating a dangerous energy. "Get into the car," he ordered.

I dared not speak another word. I stepped around him and climbed into the passenger seat of the heavy black jeep.

The long drive back to our shared villa was suffocatingly silent. The air inside the cabin hung thick and heavy with his unspoken accusations, pressing down on my lungs until it was hard to breathe. Halfway through the agonizing trip, my phone buzzed against my leg. It was a brief message from Hazel confirming she had made it home safely. I quickly typed out a reply, telling her to get some rest, and then turned my attention to the passing city lights outside the window. We were nearing the neighborhood, but the distance between me and the man sitting beside me felt like miles.

From the corner of my eye, I studied Damian's sharp profile. He sat rigid, radiating his usual frosty demeanor. If he did not initiate a conversation, I certainly would not push my luck by speaking first.

The moment he killed the engine in our garage, Damian stepped out and strode straight inside the house. I trailed carefully behind him, following his tall frame up the grand staircase. The heavy tension needed to be cleared before he exploded.

"Damian," I started, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet foyer as I hurried up the steps. "I thought you were drunk tonight. That is why I called Doctor Cross. I didn't have any other intentions."

It was an earnest explanation, even if I knew it might fall on deaf ears. I just wanted to mitigate his raging jealousy and make him understand my desperate situation.

Damian stopped abruptly halfway up the stairs. He slowly turned to face me, his dark eyes narrowing into dangerous slits that pinned me in place.

"Other intentions?" he repeated, his voice dripping with venomous mockery. "Do you think a man like Simon could ever like someone like you?"

His harsh, demeaning words felt like a physical blow, instantly stripping away whatever dignity I had left. I stood there on the steps, utterly speechless. I swallowed the bitter truth lodging like a stone in my throat. I was merely his wife in name. We were only bound together because of Master Ashford’s dying sympathy. To Damian, I was as lowly as the dirt stuck to the soles of his shoes, fundamentally unworthy of any man's genuine affection.

Realizing I had absolutely nothing left to say in my own defense, I lowered my eyes. Damian scoffed coldly and turned back toward the stairs to leave.

He took two steps before pausing mid-stride. Without warning or any logical reason, he looked back over his shoulder.

"Go to Carter Restaurant," he commanded sharply. "Buy me supper."

I froze, my mind struggling to process the sudden demand. I glanced toward the grandfather clock in the distant hallway. "Do you have to eat it tonight? It is past midnight, and a massive storm is coming. The roads will be terrible. They might already be closed."

"It is open twenty-four hours," he stated flatly, his tone shutting down any room for argument. He turned his back and continued upstairs, vanishing into the shadows of the second floor.

He did not truly want the food. The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. He was deliberately using a trivial task to maliciously torture and physically exhaust me. This was my punishment for bruising his ego and contacting Simon.

Left with no choice but to obey his tyrannical command, I dragged my heavy, pregnant body back down to the dark garage. The humid, thick air outside promised a violent downpour. I initially walked toward the spot where the black jeep was parked, but Damian had deliberately taken those keys upstairs with him. Sighing in defeat, I moved toward a smaller sedan with a significantly lower chassis.

I navigated the empty streets, my belly feeling unusually tight and uncomfortable against the steering wheel. By 1:00 AM, I finally reached the distant restaurant and purchased his demanded meal. For a brief moment, I considered myself lucky the rain had held off.

That fragile relief shattered the exact moment I pushed through the restaurant’s glass doors with the food in hand. A massive, torrential thunderstorm violently broke out over the city. Thunder rumbled loud enough to shake my chest, and lightning sliced through the pitch-black sky.

Clutching the warm bag, I sprinted to the sedan and started the engine. Ridgeton’s underground tunnels were notorious for severe flooding during heavy storms. Desperate to avoid getting trapped in rising water, I opted for a much longer, isolated route back to the villa. It meant driving much slower, but it felt safer for me and my baby.

Yet, despite my careful driving precautions, the universe had other plans.

Halfway through the journey, on a remote stretch of road bordered by dark trees, the small car shuddered violently. The engine sputtered against the rising water on the pavement, let out a pathetic whining noise, and stalled completely. I turned the key frantically, but the engine was dead. The heavy rain battered against the windshield in a relentless, deafening rhythm.

I was stranded. The area was pitch dark and devoid of traffic. Attempting to hail a taxi out here at this ungodly hour was an absolute impossibility.

Panic set in as I grabbed my phone from the center console. My heart sank as the screen lit up; the battery icon was aggressively flashing low. I tapped Damian’s name and pressed the phone to my ear, praying he would answer just this once.

The line rang out into nothingness. I called again. And again. No one answered. He was deliberately ignoring my desperate late-night calls.

Knowing I must deliver the food or face even worse wrath, I searched the backseat of the dead car. My fingers brushed against the handle of a flimsy umbrella. I grabbed it, picked up the bag of supper, and pushed the heavy car door open.

The freezing, heavy rain hit me instantly, soaking through my clothes and chilling me to the bone. With no other way home, I braced myself against the harsh wind and began the grueling, agonizing task of walking the rest of the long way back to the villa on foot.