Page 152 of My Ruthless Husband

Still, Damian says nothing. I smile again. “I won’t pester you with silly questions.” I reach for the door handle and step out, the cold air hitting me. I turn, ready to wave him goodbye, but before I can even raise my hand, the car speeds off, leaving me standing there.

???

I survey the rolling hills of the Scottish countryside through the window of the car, the world outside blanketed in a delicatelayer of frost that glistens under the muted winter sun. It’s a breathtaking view.

As we drive further into the heart of this serene expanse, the gentle curves of the road wind around low stone walls and quaint farmhouses that seem almost magical, their chimneys curling wisps of smoke into the chilly air. I take it all in, hoping to capture this moment forever, but my heart feels heavy with unease. My thoughts are stuck somewhere else.

Damian is sitting next to me. The silence between us is suffocating.

Since we boarded the private jet yesterday, Damian’s impenetrable silence has only deepened with each passing minute. I wanted to know where exactly we were staying, how the situation with the press was, and the most important thing, how he was doing. But I dared not ask any questions; his mood has been cold since we got married yesterday and it didn’t change a bit during the entirety of the flight, his attention was focused solely on the glowing screen of his laptop.

I didn’t see Damian until I boarded the jet. Hal was the one to pick me up. As I boarded, I found Damian hunched over his laptop, completely absorbed in his work, oblivious to my presence when I was standing right beside his chair.

I stood there for what felt like forever and had to move when the flight attendant gently urged me to take a seat.

I had hoped that once dinner was served, Damian would finally break free from his screen, that I might have a chance to talk to him. Yet, as we ate, he remained silent, my questions unanswered.

After dinner, he insisted I rest. When I hesitated to leave his side, he ordered the flight attendant to guide me away. My heart ached at his indifference but I clung to the hope that maybe some distance would be helpful.

I thought sleep would evade me, but it enveloped me and I was grateful. When I finally awoke, I returned to the main cabin, only to find him sleeping in the chair.

Tiptoeing, I went back, gathered the blanket from the bedroom and returned to drape it over him. But my gesture startled him awake, his body tensing. I watched in dismay as he shoved the blanket onto the empty seat beside him, lifting his laptop again.

The whole silent treatment made me so uneasy that I was reluctant to get off the jet. But Damian hurried me down and toward the waiting car with impatience.

What made his behavior unbearable was the painful realization that he hadn’t looked at me for more than two seconds since we got married yesterday.

Is he having second thoughts? Damian has always been the quiet type, but after months of being together, I know this silence is different. Even without words, I could usually feel his warmth, his care. Now, all I see in his eyes is a chilling glimmer. The absence of connection deepens my fears and insecurities.

This tension between us, this never-ending silence, I can’t take it anymore. Tentatively, I reach out and touch his arm, the coolness of his black shirt sleeve sending a shiver through me. “Damian…”

Turning his head, he looks at me blankly. His silky dark hair is a bit rumpled, and without thinking, I reach out to smooth it down, grateful when he doesn’t flinch away. But I crave more. My hand trails down to cradle his jaw. “I love you.” The words tumble out of me in a rush, hoping he could hear the sincerity in my voice. I am so frustrated of not being able to break through the wall he’s built around himself. If only he would let me in he would see, as long as we’re together, everything will be okay.

When he grabs my hand and lowers it, my heart plummets. I look at him, my eyes pleading for reassurance. “Do you regret marrying me?”

The silence stretches painfully, each passing second breaking my heart further. “No, I don’t,” he says, finally putting me out of my misery.

I exhale a long breath before throwing myself into his arms. “I’m so sorry I asked that. I was just afraid…”That you began to dislike me because of the bad press, my father and everything.

“I’m just pre-occupied with work,” he says and when I nod against his chest, he continues, “River, I need to make a phone call.”

I swiftly pull back, reddening. “Of course, sorry.” I scoot to the other side of the seat, smiling, yearning for him to return it or, at the very least, to see a glimmer of softness in his eyes. But I get nothing.

I refuse to wallow in my disappointment; instead, I content myself with staring at his profile.

He is so beautiful that I almost reach for my purse to snap a picture, but then realize Dad took it and never returned it.

When he finishes the call, I say, “I don’t have a phone.”

“You won’t be needing it anymore.”

For a heartbeat, his words sound ominous, sending a shiver down my spine. I shake the thought away, scolding myself for being so foolish. What is wrong with me? Just one day into our marriage, and I’m already having doubts about my husband’s intentions.

“We’re here.” His voice breaks through my thoughts, and I glance out of the window. My jaw drops. “You own a… castle?”

The awe in my voice feels justified as I take in the scene before me. The castle is magnificent, its vast stone walls rising majestically against the open sky. Turrets, adorned with intricate carvings soar above.

Set amidst rolling green lawns that seem to stretch endlessly, the estate is grand, with large windows. Gardens are meticulously kept, the kind you’d only see in luxury magazines, with fountains and statues adding to the sense of grandeur. Every inch of it screams wealth and royalty beyond imagination.

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