Page 172 of My Ruthless Husband

“Where did you just go?” His brow is creased.

“Nowhere,” I lie. “What did you want?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze searching mine. “I asked you a question.”

“I wasn’t paying attention. What was it?”

His jaw tightens, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes—anger, maybe, or something darker. “I said, aren’t you curious about the surprise?”

I blink at him, my irritation flaring. “No, Damian. I’m not interested in surprises. I’m not interested in games.” I try to turn away, but suddenly he’s in my space, pressing me against the car door, his face inches from mine.

“What has happened to you?” he demands. His fingers dig into my shoulders painfully. “You’re so... distant. This isn’t you.”

I meet his gaze unflinchingly, refusing to back down. “Maybe I got tired and stopped caring.”

His grip tightens, his expression hardening. “You’ve changed,” he accuses, his tone edged with disbelief, like I broke some unspoken rule.

“Did you expect me to stay the same?” I snap back, my anger surging to the surface. “Did you expect me to be that naïve girl who thought you were worth every tear I shed? I was wrong, Damian. I don’t owe you anything—not my attention, not my love, not my devotion.”

His face goes stony, the mask slipping back into place. Without another word, he thrusts me away like he can’t bear to touch me.

He pulls out his phone, the gesture achingly familiar. He’s already retreating, retreating into the cold silence that once tore me apart.

I watch him, my heart constricting painfully. I should feel triumphant. I should feel like I’ve reclaimed a piece of myself. But all I feel is a hollow ache, the same emptiness that’s haunted me since we got married.

I stare at his rigid profile and feel a familiar pang in my chest. My heart protests as I turn away, longing and begging me to keep my eyes on him a moment longer. But I don’t listen.

I force myself to focus on the scenery passing by.

You have to toughen up, heart. We don’t have a happy ending with him.

Chapter Forty-Three

The moment we step through the heavy front doors of Valewood Castle, a wave of nostalgia hits me so hard that my breath catches.

And there they are—Morag and Archibald, standing at the entrance like they’ve been waiting all day. The moment I catch sight of Morag, my heart stirs with a familiar warmth. She breaks into a wide smile, her eyes crinkling with genuine happiness. I hurry over, and she wraps me in a tight, welcoming hug.

Her woolen apron smells faintly of lavender and old wood, the scent so familiar it almost makes my eyes sting.

“Oh, River, my dear,” she murmurs, her Scottish accent thick with emotion. “It’s so good to see ye again.”

“I missed you, Morag,” I whisper. She was my only real company during those seven lonely days when I felt completely abandoned.

I wanted to keep in touch with her but Damian didn’t allow it. By then I was so depressed, so done that I didn’t really press him for it.

“I’ve missed ye too, lass. We all did,” Morag says, stepping back to give me a look of motherly concern.

My eyes sting with tears, but I force them back with a shaky laugh. “Well, I’m back now. And I brought someone with me.” Morag’s eyes shift to Vicky, who stands behind me.

I wave Vicky forward. “Morag, this is Vicky. My bodyguard and a dear friend.”

“Well, ye must be a good one if ye’re lookin’ after our River,” she says warmly, reaching out and shakes Vicky’s hand.

A genuine smile tugging at Vicky’s lips. “She’s in safe hands,” she replies. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. River—Mrs. Montgomery—has told me a lot about you.”

Morag chuckles. “Call me Morag, love. We’re all friends here.”

I turn toward Archibald, who stands a little farther back. His stern expression softens the moment our eyes meet. I walk over and offer my hand. He clasps it gently between both of his large ones.

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