Page 151 of My Ruthless Husband

That night, I cried myself to sleep. My heart felt like it was splitting apart, one half clinging to Damian, the other bleeding for the father I’d lost. But Damian’s surprise this morning lifted up my spirits. We were to marry today.

And now, here we are, driving back to the mansion. The civil ceremony is done, and I’m his wife. But the heaviness in my chest hasn’t left. I have no family, no friends, no one to share this moment with. There’s no one to offer congratulations, no oneto celebrate with. But somehow, despite all of that, I don’t feel alone.

I steal another look at Damian, my husband. My family. Because that’s what he is now. All I have left.

As if sensing my gaze, Damian turns his head and our eyes meet. My heart lifts, the sadness momentarily forgotten, and I offer him a soft smile.

He doesn’t smile back.

It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t, given Damian rarely smiles. But something about the coldness in his gaze makes my smile falter.

Is he still upset about the paparazzi? They were relentless outside the registrar’s office, hurling cruel accusations at us. Questions about how Damian and I supposedly carried on a ‘forbidden affair’ behind Edward’s back.

They were merciless. Disgust dripped from their voices when they asked me how it felt to be disowned, reduced to nothing because of my rebellious move. And worst of all, the insinuations that Damian was a gold-digger, that he’d seduced an heiress for power, for wealth.

The memory makes me wince.

I scoot closer, ignoring the way his body stiffens as I lift his heavy arm—the one holding the phone—and wedge myself between it and his chest. I need to feel him, need to hold him.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur into his chest, hoping he’ll feel how much I mean it. “I never wanted you to go through all that. It’s not fair.” My arms wrap around his waist, trying to pull him in, to offer some kind of comfort, but his body remains stiff, unmoving. I wait, expecting him to hug me back to give me some sort of reassurance, but nothing comes.

I pull back just enough to glance up and see his phone is no longer to his ear. He’s not even on a call anymore.

“What can I do?” I ask softly, my hand gently cupping his jaw. I lean in to nuzzle the familiar warmth of his neck, needing the connection, but before I can get too close, his hand comes up, firm yet gentle, pushing me back.

I blink, surprised by the gesture, my chest tightening.

His hand retracts, but I reach for it, holding on. When I feel his bare ring finger, my heart drops. He removed his wedding band.

“It was tight,” he says, pulling his hand free from mine. “I need to get it resized.”

“Oh, okay.” The absence of that ring feels more significant than it should. As if I belong to him, but he is still not entirely mine. As soon as the thought creeps in, I shake it off, reminding myself what he’d done for me. The rings, arranging the civil ceremony—it was all planned while I was trapped at my father’s, held against my will. If that’s not love, then what is? He couldn’t wait to make me his wife. He loves me, I remind myself. He wouldn’t have gone through all that if he didn’t.

I offer another smile, desperate to change the mood. “Are you hungry?” I ask, my voice lighter, almost hopeful. “I could make something for you. I’ve been learning, you know… I might even surprise you with—”

The car slows to a stop, the familiar sight of the mansion coming into view.

“Go inside. I need to go to the office. The PR team needs to be handled. Damage control.”

I blink, stunned by his tone. Damian had never been like this before. But then again, he’s never been accused of being a gold-digger in front of the entire world. My heart aches for him.

“I…” I hesitate, unsure of what to say. He’s already focused on his phone, his mind miles away from me.

“And pack your things in the meantime,” he adds, not even glancing my way.

I remember how last night, when we returned, I found everything waiting for me. Damian had thought of everything—a brand-new wardrobe, jewels, even cosmetics stocked in the vanity. The master bedroom redecorated, security doubled, new staff hired. I was stunned, seeing how much he’d done in the ten days I’d been gone. As if he was preparing for a life with me, securing everything while I was locked away by my father.

“Pack for what?”

“We’re leaving for Scotland tonight.”

Scotland. A foreign place, far from this mess. The thought of getting away, of escaping this chaos, brings a smile to my lips. A few days in a foreign land could be just what we need. It could help him relax. It could give us time. This could be our honeymoon.

When I begin to smile at the prospect, he adds, “We need to get away from this scandal,” he says, his voice still detached. “It’ll blow over, but we need time. I have a few properties there. We’ll return when it dies down.”

“That sounds perfect,” I say, clapping my hands attempting to lighten up the mood. “Do you go there a lot? I’ve never been to Scotland before.”

When he doesn’t answer, I go on, “Should I pack light? How long are we staying?”

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