Sapphire's POV

My whole body ached, and I could barely move from the bed. I groaned into the pillow, feeling a strange soreness between my thighs.

How many rounds did we go for again?

I sat up slowly, wincing as my limbs protested. The silky sheets clung to my bare skin as I turned my head toward the other side of the bed.

The bed was empty and cold. Darenell was gone.

I didn’t know what I was expecting. Maybe some small gesture? A note? A “good morning” at least? But no. There was nothing but silence. The same kind of silence that clings to regret.

It shouldn’t have surprised me. This marriage wasn’t built on love, after all. It was an arrangement, terms and conditions, not hearts and promises. And yet, I still found myself staring at the door like he might walk back in.

Pathetic.

I pulled the sheets tighter around myself and let my head fall back onto the pillow. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to see anyone. I felt hollow. Used. Like a sex toy that he bought. He did buy me for my family's freedom... Nothing but a tool for his pleasure.

And the worst part?

I had let it happen. I had wanted it.

God, I was stupid.

My heart betrayed me long before my body did. I had spent years nursing feelings for someone else, my high school crush, Ray. Sweet, kind Ray who once told me I had a beautiful smile when I had braces and a forehead pimple the size of Jupiter. I used to dream about us having a house together, a dog, and a backyard.

But those dreams were long gone.

I'm married. I had been ignoring his calls and texts because how would I tell him that I can't be with him because I'm married to another man?

I forced myself out of bed eventually, throwing on a robe and dragging my feet across the cold marble floor. I followed the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked croissants to the dining area, where I hoped, maybe, Darenell would be waiting.

He wasn’t.

But she was.

She sat at the head of the table, legs crossed elegantly, a half-drunk glass of orange juice beside her untouched plate. She looked expensive, like she walked out of a fashion magazine and onto the cover of every man’s fantasy. Her lipstick was the exact shade of trouble.

And her eyes were locked on me when she noticed me. Her face which seemed to be in a jovial mood, immediately pulled into a frown.

“Well, if it isn’t the new Mrs. Evans,” she said, swirling the juice in her glass like it was wine.

I blinked. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

She stood and sauntered toward me with that smug little smirk that made my skin itch.

“I’m Pinky,” she said, extending her hand like we were old friends. “Darenell and I… go way back.”

Who names their child, Pinky? I thought.

I didn’t take her hand. “What are you doing here?”

She leaned in, voice coated with venom masked as honey. “Just checking to see if the rumours were true. And they are. He really did marry a pauper.”

My eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

She smiled wider. “Oh, don’t take it personally. We all know why he married you. Or don't you know?"

"No? He married me to serve as Payment for the debt my father owes him"

She pushed her head back, laughing at me like in had just said the dumbest thing in the world.

"Really? You think that was the only reason why he married you? Didn't you stop to think what he would actually gain? You have nothing to offer him, you're not from a wealthy family or anything, so you're not helping him financially. You're just a whore for him to use. His bed warmer."

I clenched my fists. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Don’t I?” she laughed. “Sweetheart, you’re just the uterus he needs to carry on the Evans bloodline. That’s it. You’re a walking, talking incubator. Nothing more.”

Her words stabbed my chest but I tried my hardest to shrug it off.

“He doesn’t love you,” she continued, circling me like a predator. “He can’t. You’re not his type. You’re not me.”

My chest tightened. “And yet I’m the one wearing the ring.”

She tilted her head, mock pity in her gaze. “Only because I turned him down the first time. Don’t mistake desperation for devotion.”

That did it.

I turned on my heel and walked out before she could see the tears brimming in my eyes. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

I locked myself in the bedroom, my heart pounding and my hands shaking. I wanted to scream. Throw something. Rip off this damn robe and burn it.

Why did her words get to me so badly?

Because they echoed the same fears I had been trying to ignore.

Was I really just a means to an end?

Did he only want me for a baby?

Was Pinky really his only love?

The doubts twisted around my throat like a noose.

I curled up on the bed, pulling the covers over my head. I didn’t know when I fell asleep, but when I woke again, it was dark.

I wanted to question him about what she said was true and if I was just a baby machine for him. I felt that he wasn't coming but despite everything, I still waited.

I waited for the sound of the door. Footsteps. Anything.

But nothing came.

The clock ticked past ten.

Then eleven.

He wasn’t coming.

Why would he?

I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, just to stop myself from crying.

I turned off the lamp and curled onto my side, hugging the pillow like it could fill the emptiness inside me.

But just as I was drifting off there was a knock at the door.

My heart jumped as I froze on the bed.

Another knock. Firmer this time. Then the door creaked open.

And there he was, my husband.

Still in his suit, tie loosened, eyes shadowed like he hadn’t slept in days. He didn’t say anything at first. He just stayed in the doorway in his wheelchair, staring at me.

I sat up slowly, trying not to let my hope show.

“You’re here,” I said, voice flat.

“I am.” he said simply.

He wheeled in, shutting the door behind him.