Page 91 of Hidden Echoes

Vulnerable.

I glance at Zane’s peaceful face, the tension that’s usually there smoothed out in sleep. Carter’s words linger in my head. I don’t want to lose you.

Who was Carter talking about? Was he afraid of losing this Zane—the one sleeping next to me, hugging a cat—or the Zane he’s always known, the one who buries himself so deep in his own silence that it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking?

My thoughts spiral, landing on something unexpected.

Marriage.

Carter had talked about it, and I’d gotten curious—looked it up. Apparently, normal people wait years before getting married. That was news to me. Marriage had always been explained as an imposition, something I should do, until suddenly, I wasn’t worthy of it. Then it became off-limits.

During my research, I came across a forum thread titled:

"Why You Should Never Marry a Man Before Fucking Him."

The discussion underneath was… fascinating.

One person said: Imagine ending up like Samantha from Sex and the City crying in a bathroom because his dick is small.

That alone made me want to watch the show. Mental note: add it to the list.

But in my case, it was too late for that, wasn’t it? I definitely married Zane before I fucked him.

The way these people talked about sex was strange, almost like it was something good. Not an obligation. Not something to be endured. I’d heard some girls at the brothel say they had preferences—certain clients they actually wanted because they knew how to make them cum. That idea was foreign to me.

To me, sex had always been a necessary evil. Something to get through. Something to tolerate until it was over.

And yet, here were people basing their entire concept of marriage on it.

Others in the thread had different takes. Some said they needed a man who would treat them like a princess, do whatever they wanted, never say no.

I liked that one. Sounded reasonable.

Still, I understood now why marrying someone after knowing them for a short time was considered weird in normal society. I’d only known my fiancé for a few hours before I killed him. Compared to that, marrying Zane was practically slow and steady.

A low, groggy voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“What’s eating you up inside?”

Zane’s eyes are barely open, heavy with sleep, but he’s looking right at me.

Figaro is gone. I was so lost in my own head, I didn’t even notice him leave.

I hesitate before answering. “Carter is texting you.”

His jaw tenses. “I’m not going to answer him.”

I nod. I’m not about to defend Carter—I honestly want him to fuck off. But something he said lingers, gnawing at me. The way he made it sound like I’d forced myself on Zane. And I need him to know, need to say it out loud.

“I think you should know,” I begin carefully. “We didn’t have sex the night we got married. So… you can rest easy.”

Zane blinks at me, slow and groggy. “No?”

There’s something in his voice—something almost… fragile.

“No,” I confirm.

His brows furrow slightly. “But you were basically naked. In my bed.”

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