Page 25 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
The question struck with disarming precision.
For one fractured second, the room tilted beneath me.
Memories surged forward uninvited—cold hospital corridors, shattered glass, my father’s voice, the suffocating darkness that had followed.
My fingers tightened subtly against my lap, nails biting crescents into my skin.
Control yourself.
A slow breath entered my lungs.
Then another.
But the silence had already stretched too long.
And I knew he noticed.
Men like him were trained to notice hesitation. Raised in worlds where weakness was currency and silence often revealed more than words ever could.
I forced my shoulders to remain relaxed despite the tension climbing my spine.
“I apologise if this sounds discourteous, sir,” I said softly, keeping my tone measured despite the tightness pressing against my chest, “but that question makes me... deeply uncomfortable.”
Pain lanced through me so suddenly it was almost physical.
I kept my expression composed anyway.
Years of practice had taught me how to suffer quietly.
“And after what you did tonight,” I continued carefully, “after stepping in when your brother chose cruelty, the last thing I wish is to appear ungrateful.”
My fingers folded neatly together in my lap, though the tension in them betrayed me.
“But there are matters I still need to attend to this evening.” I lifted my chin slightly. “So perhaps it would be best if you allowed me some privacy.”
The words remained gentle.
Respectful.
Yet unmistakably firm.
“I am not accustomed to having men in my apartment, Mr. Rafael,” I added quietly. “Particularly men I barely know.”
Silence settled between us.
Longer this time.
He neither moved nor spoke..
The air itself seemed to tighten around his attention.
Not casual observation anymore.
Something far more deliberate.
As though he were reassessing every word I had spoken since opening the door to him. Measuring the restraint in my voice. The precision of my composure. The careful elegance of boundaries drawn without offense.
I remained perfectly still beneath the weight of it, refusing to fidget beneath his scrutiny.
