pte

S POV

barely have time to turn before Evans speaks. "Don't get too comfortable," he says, his voice devoid of warmth. His dark eyes, the same ones that once burned with reckless passion that night, are cold now. Indifferent. "This isn't real." The words shouldn't hurt. I knew what this was for him. A forced marriage, a desperate bid to keep myself and my unborn child from the trifles of the underworld. But I had let myself hope, just a little. At least, he would touch me tonight to consummate the wedding. I lift my chin. "I never said it was." He scoffs, running a hand through his already-messy dark hair. He looks exhausted, like a man who's just survived a battle. Maybe he has. With the way Ford, Amid and my Dad had been breathing down his neck these past four days. "You act like this is a favor to me," I say, crossing my arms. "Like you're the only one who lost something." The only thing he lost was his freedom to be an unashamed playboy. His jaw tightens. "Did you?" I hesitate. Not because I don't have an answer, but because saying it out loud makes it real. Yes. I lost my life of thrill. Lost my dream of marrying a man that loved me. Giving birth in a home that was complete and filled with love. But I refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing it. "You're not the only one with a life that's been rewritten, Evans," I say instead. "So maybe drop the martyr act and accept that we're in this together." He exhales sharply, like he wants to argue, but he doesn't. Instead, he turns away, heading for the grand staircase. "You can have any room you want," he says over his shoulder. "Except mine." I roll my eyes. "Trust me, I don't want to share a bed with someone who looks at me like an obligation." He pauses on the steps, his grip tightening on the railing. "You're wrong." He says with gritted teeth. "About what?" I sat down on the couch, exhausted f