Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You

"Sarah? Talk to me," Marishka says, shaking me gently.

I look up at her. "Nothing. It's nothing I can change now. And I'd rather not tell you," I say.

The truth is, I don't want Marishka to know. Marishka still looks at me like how she did when I was a little girl. Pure and innocent. If she knows about the things I did to get what I want…she will be disappointed. She might even start to hate me like Matthew does.

I can't bear the thought of disappointing Marishka. She loved me. Possibly more than my own parents. 

"Please, Marishka," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Just let it go. I can handle this on my own."

Marishka's brow furrows with concern, but she nods slowly, respecting my wishes even as worry etches itself into the lines of her face. She pulls me into a tight embrace, and for a moment, I allow myself to sink into the comfort of her arms, the warmth of her love enveloping me.

"Alright, dear. Tell me when you are ready, okay?" she says. "You know you can trust me, right?"

I nod silently before standing up. "I better go get ready."

She furrows her brows. "Get ready for what?"

"I need to go see Daddy at the company. He wants to sign everything over before he leaves for France," I reply.

Marishka brightens at that. "Oh! He is doing that today, is he?"

I smile for the first time. "Yes. I told him there was no rush, but he says he can't wait to hand over all the responsibilities to me and retire in Paris."

She smiles. "Then you better go."

I head upstairs to get dressed, but when I stand in front of the mirror, I freeze.

There is an ugly bruise forming on my throat.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but the memory of last night plagues my mind, unwelcome and vivid: Matthew's handsome face twisted into a mask of fury as he was choking me last night.

I choose a soft cashmere turtleneck. The high collar conceals the ugliness. My father can never know how Matthew had hurt me. He will probably have a heart attack!

The drive to the company building is short, so when I finally arrive, I take a deep breath and step out of the car.

My father greets me with a warm smile and a hug. "Sarah, my dear, you look lovely as always," he says, his voice filled with pride.

I force a smile, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. "Thank you, Daddy."

He pulls back and narrows his eyes. "What's wrong?"

I let out a nervous laugh. "What do you mean? Nothing's wrong."

My father studies my face intently, his eyes searching mine. "Sarah, I know you better than anyone. Something is bothering you."

I look away, unable to meet his eyes. "It's nothing, Daddy. Nothing for you to worry about."

He frowns, unconvinced. "Don't lie to me, Sarah. This is the day after your wedding. You should look happy, and yet…"

"Please, Dad…just…let it go, okay?" I snap.

I regret being so harsh instantly. I soften my expression, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to be short with you. I am fine, really."

He nods slowly, his eyes still filled with concern. "Alright, sweetheart. But remember, I'm always here for you, no matter what."

I swallow back the lump in my throat, forcing another smile. "I know. Thank you."

We make our way to his office.

"Here it is, Sarah. The papers for the company. I have already signed everything, and after you sign, it will all be yours," he says, his voice thick with emotion.

I stare down at the papers. This is another thing I've always wanted. So why do I feel so hollow inside?

"Are you sure I deserve this, Daddy?" I whisper.

"Of course you do, Sarah! You are my only child. And I am sure with Matthew by your side, you will take good care of this company," he says firmly.

I flinch at the mention of Matthew's name, my heart clenching painfully. If only my father knew the truth. But I can't bear to shatter his illusions, to see the disappointment and worry cloud his eyes.

"Thank you, Daddy," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do my best to make you proud."

With a shaky hand, I reach for the pen, my fingers trembling as I sign my name on the dotted line.

"Congratulations, my dear," my father says, his smile wide and genuine. "I know you'll do great things."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The papers blur before my eyes, and I blink back the tears that threaten to fall. This should be a moment of triumph, of celebration, but all I feel is a hollow ache in my chest.

Because I have no one to share it with.

"Where is Matthew? I expected you two to come together this afternoon," Dad inquires.

"He…he had some business to take care of," I lie, forcing a brittle smile. "You know how busy he is."

My father nods, accepting my explanation without question. "Of course, of course. Well, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear the good news."

I swallow hard, my throat tight. "Yeah, I'm sure he will be," I murmur.

My father claps his hands together, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "This calls for a celebration! Let's have dinner tonight. You, me, your mother, and Matthew."

I suddenly feel panicked. "Um…I don't know if he can make it tonight."

Dad's expression darkened. "Why not?"

My mind races as I try to come up with an excuse.

"He…he mentioned he has to see some friends tonight," I say.

Dad frowns, his brow furrowing. "Without you?"

"Um…an old friend. Someone I don't know. I wasn't going to go with him since…um…I don't know this person very well yet," I ramble on.

Dad looks at me suspiciously. "Surely he can reschedule to have a celebratory dinner with his new bride and his family, Sarah. This is a special occasion. I want us all to be together to celebrate your success."

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "I'll talk to him, Daddy."

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "See that you do. If not, I can talk to him for you."

"No, no. Let me," I say quickly.

"Alright. Well, I won't keep you here anymore. This is only the day after your wedding. I am sure Matthew will want you home," he says.

If only that was true.

I leave his office with the weight of the world on my shoulders, my stomach churning with dread.

How am I going to convince Matthew to come to this dinner? How can I sit across from him, pretending everything is fine when the bruises on my throat throb with every breath?

And to top it all, Matthew announced he won't be home until midnight this morning!

I take a deep breath as I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling as I dial Matthew's number. The line rings once, twice, three times before he finally picks up.

"What is it, Sarah?" he snaps.

I flinch at his tone, my heart sinking. "I…I was just wondering where you are," I say softly, trying to keep my voice steady.

"I told you this morning I'm out with friends," he replies impatiently. In the background, I can hear laughter and music, the clink of glasses, and the hum of conversation.

"Which friends?" I ask hesitantly, dreading the answer.

There's a pause, and I can practically see the anger flashing in Matthew's eyes. "None of your damn business."

I swallow hard, my throat tight. "I just…I thought maybe you could come home early tonight. My father wants us to have a celebratory dinner together. He just signed the company over to me and-"

"Oh, congratu-fucking-lations, Sarah," Matthew interrupts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, I'm very happy for you, but I have plans. I'm not going to drop everything just because Daddy dearest snaps his fingers."

Tears sting my eyes, and I blink them back furiously. "Please, Matthew. This is important to me. To us. Can't you just-"

"No, I can't," he cuts me off again, his tone final. "I'm not in the mood to play happy family with you and your parents tonight. You'll just have to make my excuses."

"But Matthew-"

The line goes dead before I can finish my sentence.

Fuck it. I am not going to just accept this. 

I call him again.

"WHAT?" he barks on the other line.

"Where are you, Matthew? If you are not coming home, I am going to come to pick you up instead," I declare.

"Don't you dare!" Matthew snarls into the phone. "I told you, I have plans. I'm not your fucking lapdog, Sarah. You can't just order me around."

I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. "I am your wife, Matthew."

"Wife?" he scoffs.

Here we go again.

"Where the hell are you, Matthew?" I repeat, my voice growing louder. "Just tell me where you are, or else-"

"Or else what?" he interrupts, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I'll start contacting every one of your friends. Surely someone must know where you are hiding," I threaten, fully aware that this would not sit well with Matthew.

"For fuck's sake, Sarah…"

"Are you going to tell me, or should I start making calls?" I ask.

There's a long, tense pause on the other end of the line. I hear someone giggle in the background.

"Fine," Matthew finally grits out, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "I'm at the Crimson Lounge on 5th Street. But I'm warning you, Sarah, you're not going to like what you find here."

"I'll be there in 20 minutes," I say.

"Suit yourself," Matthew replies coldly before the line goes dead.

I stare at my phone for a long moment.

The Crimson Lounge…he is at a goddamn strip club instead of being home with his wife.

I scurry inside the car and tell the driver to drive me to the club.