Page 113 of My Ruthless Husband

I lie down on the cushions. Curling into a fetal position, I clutch my mother to my chest and close my eyes. Then I finally allow myself to do what I couldn’t out there. I cry. My body racks with silent sobs.

I’m not sure what triggered it. My mother’s picture. My dad laughing with Nadine. Or Damian’s harsh words from a week ago. Or is it all of the above?

Perhaps it was that particular incident when Nadine maliciously brought up my mother. Or my art.

I don’t know the exact cause behind my tears. All I know is, shedding tears feels like you are parting with the pain. Each droplet carries a chunk of it, making you feel lighter by the time you are done. It’s a strange kind of comfort. So I let it all out.

I don’t know how long I stay like this, lost in the grip of grief, but gradually, my sobs turn into sniffles.

Suddenly something touches my shoulder. A large hand. My shriek is loud as I’m rolled onto my back. My heart races, thundering in my chest as I find myself staring upward, into dark eyes.

“Damian?” My voice comes out a bit hoarse and nasally from all the crying. I blink my tear-drenched eyelids rapidly.

“What the fuck are you doing here? I’ve been searching for you everywhere.” His jaw is set in a harsh line, he surveys me with his phone’s flashlight, taking in my disheveled appearance.

“I…”

Damian’s face darkens further as he helps me sit up. “Have you eaten anything?”

I shake my head mutely, avoiding his intense stare.

“When was the last time you ate?” His voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a whip.

As I struggle to recall, I realize it has been longer than I care to admit. Damian is silent and I squirm. He settles down on the cushions, leaning against the wall. Then he circles his arm around my back and tugs me and before I know it, I find myself on his lap with my head against his chest.

His fingers deftly release the pins, allowing my curls to cascade down. His hand then cradles my head, tenderly stroking the curls. Tears well up in my eyes again.

Nadine’s taunt about my curls comes back to me. But his touch… his touch becomes a balm to the wounds inflicted by her criticism, erasing the hurt and insecurity it caused.

“Don’t cry, angel.” The arm around my waist pulls me tighter against him. “Nobody deserves your tears. Least of all me.”

That makes me pull back. And though his phone’s flashlight has illuminated the treehouse a bit, it’s still hard to decipher his expression.

“I’m sorry.” He curves his big palm around my jaw.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Because even though I should, I won’t leave you alone.”

“Won’t or can’t?”

“Won’t.” He brushes away the wetness on my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I hurt you last week. I might hurt you again or I could keep hurting you in the future. But I have decided to keep you, River.”

A voice within me whispers to run. To flee from the impending future that could bring more tears. It warns me against the potential for more pain. But as I gaze into his eyes, I see a reflection of my own loneliness. Just like two years ago. I saw emptiness in them that mirrors the fractured pieces of my soul.

Even if I were to part ways from him, his presence would linger like an indelible mark upon my soul. Because he is my heartbeat. How can a heart be without its heartbeat? Without him, I would be dead in every sense of the word.

Without him, I would be nothing but a hollow shell, devoid of purpose. So if being with him means enduring pain, I’ll smile through my sufferings.

I cup his cheek in my small trembling hand. “I’m yours, Damian.” I agree even if he didn’t ask me. “But hey, try not to hurt me too much, okay?” I add, attempting to make him smile.

He stares at me for so long, my smile falters. Then he drags me back to his chest, silently promising me that he won’t.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Present

My eyelids flutter, tentatively opening to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the window. The image of his glinting dark irises lingers in my mind, haunting me even as I open my eyes and take in the master bedroom. It’s a stark contrast from my old and messy treehouse.

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