Page 11 of Scar

I sink onto the edge of my bed, tracing the intricate patterns on the quilt with my fingers. The fabric feels soft to the touch, but it only serves as a reminder of the warmth I can no longer feel. My thoughts are still consumed by Scar's words from our argument earlier, each one cutting deeper than the last. His voice, cold and smooth, sliced through the air between us like a frigid wind.

He spoke as if his will was all that mattered. As if his desires were more important than my feelings. In response, I fought back with a passion that surprised even me, fueled by frustration and resentment. It's absurd to feel alive while trapped in this suffocating marriage that he forced upon me.

I glance at the window where light streams in, illuminating every corner of the room except for the shadows gathering in my heart. Scar, with his sharp edges and dark heart, has imprisoned me in an ivory tower from which there is no escape. Our destinies are intertwined without consent, but there is an undeniable pull between us that I cannot ignore - a magnetic attraction that defies reason and logic. But every moment spent near him is laced with tension - it's a never-ending battle we both seem to be losing.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I quickly blink them away. Crying won't change anything; I squeeze my eyesshut tightly, trying to suppress the rising tide of grief as I think about how much my life has changed and how much I miss my parents.

That's when Scar barges into my room without knocking and finds me like this - tears staining my face, resentment seeping through yet again.

His eyes narrow, but I see a glimmer of recognition in them. “Why do you insist on fighting me every step of the way?” he asks. The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard and for a moment, I see past his tough exterior.

“Why do you think, Scar? Are you so cold that you can't see beyond what you're doing to me?”

“I haven't hurt you,” he points out.

I shake my head, and the tears come quicker and harder. I wipe at my cheeks, unable to stop the salty liquid from staining my face.

“Not physically,” I tell him. “But emotionally - mentally - you have. I miss my parents. I miss my old life. You may see this marriage as something to check off your list, but for me it feels like a curse.”

He flinches and for a moment, there is silence between us. In that moment, I see the real man behind the harsh facade - a man who didn't want this marriage any more than I did. We are both bound by circumstances beyond our control, yet here we stand circling each other like wary animals.

As Scar steps closer, the air in the room seems to thicken with tension. His expression softens for a moment before returning to his usual indifference. He looms over me, filling the space like a dark and heavy curtain shutting out the light.

“You forget you’re not the only one wearing the curse,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want this anymore than you did.”

I meet his gaze, my anger momentarily subdued. “The difference between us is that you had a choice,” I remind him.

He looks around as if expecting the walls to have ears before locking his gaze with mine. “My duty, my family, my legacy demands sacrifices I never wanted to make.” His fist clenches at his side, and I can see the pain and resentment in his eyes.

“Why didn't you fight it?” I ask cautiously, trying to keep my voice steady. “Why submit to a fate that makes you miserable?”

A humorless laugh escapes him. “Every day is a battle for me. This is just one of the many sacrifices I'll have to make.”

“But it was still your choice,” I press on.

Scar falls silent, and we both contemplate his words. For the first time, I consider that maybe he's just as much a prisoner of our circumstances as I am. Trapped by tradition. Trapped by a contract that should have been torn up and incinerated years ago.

“There's always another way,” I say firmly. “By forcing me into this marriage without my consent, you've killed my dreams and taken away my future. You've also saddled yourself with a wife you didn't want.”

His jaw tightens; he thought we were reaching some kind of understanding. That I would simply play my part in this charade without putting up a fight. But I'm not going to make it easy for him. Not when he's taken everything from me. And I'll continue to be a thorn in his side until one of two things happen – he divorces me and lets me go, or one of us ends up dead.

CHAPTER 10 – SCAR

“Holy hell and mother of mercy,” Lucky splutters.

I lower my coffee as all eyes follow his gaze to the sliding glass door, where Allegra rises from the pool, water clinging to her skin like glittering diamonds. Rafi lets out a low whistle, while Brando scowls in disdain at his brothers' reaction. I also notice that he cannot tear his eyes away from my wife on the other side of the glass. My burden. She didn't join us for breakfast this morning, and now I know why - she was too busy swimming. As we sit together in my office with our coffees, we're only just catching up to her movements.

She's been avoiding me all week, which suits me just fine. I've been buried in work and would prefer not to be distracted by her until I can put my plan to destroy her into motion. Until then, I'd rather she stays out of my way and out of my mind. This extends to my brothers as well - I don't want them falling prey to her charms any more than they already have.

Allegra spends most of her time in her room, which is perfectly fine with me as her presence serves as a constant reminder that she's a living, breathing person. The last thing I want is for her to inhale the same air as me. She only emerges to swim or jog around the perimeter of the compound, mentally taking note of any potential escape routes. But in staying out of my way, she allows me precious moments where I can forget that I am stuck with this beautiful disaster.

Allegra's sun-kissed skin shimmers as she sits at the edge of the pool, soaking up the warm rays. Her blue one-piece swimsuit hugs her curves in all the right places, drawing the attention of my brothers who are trying to discreetly steal glances at her. I try to focus on our meeting, but their distracted chatter is making it impossible.

“Can we get back to business?” I scowl, trying to divert their attention.

But Rafi, always one for a good joke, can't resist asking his crude question.

“Bro, have you tapped that yet?”

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