The night was long. Too long.
I felt as though the darkness itself was pressing down on me, reminding me with every tick of the clock that I did not belong here, yet somehow, I had no other choice.
I lay curled on the couch close to his bed, where the rhythmic beeping of the machine kept slicing through the suffocating silence. My eyes traced the ceiling's blank surface, but no answers formed there.
What am I doing here?
The question repeated in my head, relentless. And yet, beneath the confusion, a quiet voice whispered, persistent, unyielding... you are his wife. It is only right to be here.
I hated that the voice made sense.
Earlier, I had taken the time to confirm the truth. The Marriage Bureau had no errors, no false trails. The marriage agreement we signed was legitimate, real, and irreversible without an annulment. The date matched, the documents bore my signature, my name, his. My chest had gone hollow when I saw it in black and white.
I could barely remember the night after the book signing event. The details were blurred with alcohol, my sanity dulled, my logic abandoned. That was when I had signed the contract. That was when everything changed.
But did he know? Did Richard understand that I was cornered, that everyone around me was urging me to marry, to settle down, as though my worth had an expiration date?
Over the years, the pressure had become unbearable. With every family gathering, every polite smile from relatives, every not-so-subtle remark from colleagues, I was reminded of my "duty." And with that pressure came shadows, men circling me, not out of love, but out of hunger. Their eyes did not see me as a woman, a person, but as a prize to be won, a key to wealth and status.
Sometimes the threats were silent, messages slipping into my inbox, numbers I didn't recognize calling late at night, invitations laced with danger. Other times, they were more direct, unwanted touches disguised as accidents, "proposals" that were not really requests but warnings.
And always, the thought lingered: I am not just myself. I am the only child. The heir. The bearer of everything my family built.
The businesses, the estates, the lands, everything was written in a future where my name stood alone. No wonder men looked at me not with admiration, but with greed. Not as a person, but as high-quality meat laid out in a market, waiting to be bought.
And now here he was, Richard, bound to me by a signature I barely remembered. My supposed shield. My supposed husband.
But was it protection? Or a chain I had willingly clasped around my own neck?
I wanted... needed... to keep myself sane. My thoughts felt like loose threads, each tugging in a different direction, and if I didn't act soon, I knew I would unravel completely.
When he wakes up, I promise myself, I will propose terms. Rules. Boundaries. We'll turn this into a contract, a structured arrangement, not a marriage built on chaos and missing memories. That way I could breathe, that way I could feel safe again.
The thought became my anchor as the night deepened. The steady beeping of the machine beside his bed became a lullaby, the soft hiss of the air conditioner like distant waves. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and eventually, I slipped into sleep.
The dream came suddenly.
I was standing in the park near my home, where the trees leaned toward the sky and the scent of damp grass clung to the air. The sun was low, casting everything in a golden haze. A warm breeze whispered through my hair, but I felt uneasy, like I was waiting for something, or someone.
Then, out of nowhere, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind. A solid chest pressed against my back, familiar in a way that made my heart ache. Soft lips brushed my cheek, a feather-light kiss.
I tried to see him, but my body wouldn't respond. My feet were frozen. My hands wouldn't move. I had no power in this dream, only sensation.
"Boss, I love you," the voice murmured, low and thick with drunkenness.
My heart stuttered. Boss. That strange endearment again. That word that had begun to echo in my waking life, tying me to a past I couldn't recall.
I strained to turn my head, to see his face, but my dream-self was bound, as though some invisible force wouldn't let me.
"I love you the most, Boss…" His breath was warm against my ear, tinged with alcohol and regret. "But it's not yet time. I cannot choose you yet."
Not time yet?
The words echoed inside me, heavy, ominous, but I didn't understand.
When my eyes fluttered open, the room was still cloaked in darkness. The beeping of the machine was steady. His silhouette was unmoving in the bed. The clock marked 3:00 AM, its glow cold and sterile.
My pulse raced. My palms were damp.
Was that dream a memory clawing its way back to me? Or was it just my mind, so crowded with his presence, crafting a false past to fill the void?
I lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling again, but this time the silence wasn't empty. It was waiting...
I played simple games on my phone to pass the time, swiping aimlessly, though my heart wasn't really in it. The colors and sounds on the screen were only distractions, a shield against the restless thoughts circling in my head. Sleep refused to come back to me, so I clung to the glowing rectangle in my hand until the world outside slowly shifted.
When the first strands of morning light slipped past the blinds and filled the hospital room, I finally set my phone down. My gaze wandered almost unwillingly to the bed beside me.
There he was... Richard.
His face looked peaceful in sleep, as if untouched by the chaos that had dragged both of us here. But the illusion cracked the moment I noticed the faint furrow in his brows, a line of tension carved deep even in rest. It was the face of someone carrying burdens too heavy for his years, of someone fighting battles even while unconscious.
I sat up straighter without realizing it, my chest tightening. What is it that weighs on you so much, Richard? And why does a part of me ache as if I already know the answer?
Then, without warning, his eyelashes fluttered. His lips parted as he drew in a slow, shaky breath.
And suddenly, his eyes opened.
For the briefest second, there was confusion, a dazed flicker of awareness, but then his gaze found mine. Immediately. As if he had known I was here all along.
The world outside continued with its morning sounds. The distant wheels of nurses' carts, the hum of fluorescent lights, but in that instant, everything fell silent for me. It was only his eyes, locking onto mine, holding me still.
Eyes that seemed to recognize me far more than I recognized him.