07. CHRISTOPHER H. (POV)

Sitting on the bed in the darkness of my room, the memories of today still ache in my head. The drops of water trickle from my hair as I pathetically try to dry it with a towel, my mind elsewhere.

Since I moved to my apartment in London, I thought I could escape this place... but my efforts are always in vain — once again, they pull the strings on my hands like I’m a damn puppet.

The moonlight entering through the window is weak, casting a crack in the shadows on the floor — a crack I’ve been staring at for the last five minutes, almost without blinking.

Again, I remember Charlotte’s words in the garden. She told me she didn’t want to be my wife, didn’t want my love... after everything, after years, after the nightmare I’ve been through.

But I don’t believe it.

I don’t believe anything Charlotte says.

With a sigh, I look at the cell phone in my hand, at the twelve missed calls from Evelyn, who is probably tired of waiting for me.

I should meet her. In fact, I was supposed to be at her house by now... But instead, I’m sitting on this bed, trying to understand Charlotte’s mind.

Damn it.

I throw the phone aside and sigh again, running my hand through my wet hair. Despite my efforts, my thoughts turn back to the words Charlotte told me in the garden... to her cold, resentful eyes at the altar.

Haha, I shouldn’t be surprised by her changing before my eyes; it has happened once before. Not so quickly, in a single dawn, but this is nothing new about my wife.

I know that the drastic transformation she has undergone over the years is because of Houghton. It’s my grandfather’s fault for treating her like that — a twelve-year-old shy girl, smaller than she should have been for her age.

Honestly, I can understand why my grandfather always had a soft spot for her. Not only was she really cute, but she was the granddaughter of the man who saved his life. Perhaps to express his gratitude, he treated her like a princess who needed to be pampered and protected.

But his care knew no bounds, displayed in extravagant gestures worthy of an Earl. For Charlotte’s thirteenth birthday — the first one here — he organized a princess-themed party at Windsor Castle. On another occasion, he imported snow from Canada so she could have a white Christmas in the midst of a particularly dry winter in England.

The extravagances were not limited to single events. When Charlotte showed a fleeting interest in ballet, my grandfather hired the principal dancer of a renowned dance company to give her private lessons.

The effort to please Charlotte seemed endless. Each of her desires was met with almost excessive enthusiasm, and she never had a negative.

But it was different with me. While Charlotte received parties and ballet lessons, I was given advanced books and tutoring sessions in Latin and classical Greek. The gifts I received were calculated to prepare me for leadership and academic success.

Perhaps that’s why our worlds are so different. Charlotte grew up expecting the world to always satisfy her desires, while I learned that every privilege came with responsibilities and severe expectations.

But despite these differences in our upbringing, Charlotte and I got along well… at least first. I always saw her as a little sister, someone who needed protection and guidance, partly because of the affection my grandfather had but also because I knew the sad past she carried.

But eventually, I realized that the little sister I wanted to protect was becoming a source of anxiety and fear in my life.

And just like that, when I least expected it, my grandfather made a decision that deeply shook my world — he announced a forced engagement between Charlotte and me when she turned eighteen.

The idea of an arranged marriage was not strange within our family tradition, but choosing Charlotte as my fiancée felt like a cruel twist of fate.

But then, when the wedding finally arrived, contrary to my expectations, Charlotte didn’t seem happy. She seemed distant, calm, and determined — nothing like her usual lively self. This change left me deeply confused.

The Charlotte I knew would have reveled in the majesty of such an event, surrounded by all the attention and worship. But there she was, almost like a stranger to me, behaving in a way I had never seen before.

Her smiles were serious, and her eyes, when they met mine, were mysterious. There was no joy in them, just a kind of resignation mixed with a purpose I couldn’t decipher.

Charlotte’s unexpected behavior stirred something in me in a surprising way, and this annoyance only grew after that conversation in the garden. She made it clear she dislikes our marriage, which doesn’t make any sense. I mean... it was her idea, wasn’t it? We’re in this damn situation because of her, so why?

That resolution to say those words somehow triggered many conflicting emotions in me. I felt unsettled, not just by the situation but also by my own reactions to it.

The impact of that talk resonated with me for the rest of the night. I walked back into the party, but the music and laughter seemed distant.

It shouldn’t matter...

It’s actually a good thing.

If I hadn’t been able to annul the engagement before, maybe now I can get a peaceful divorce...

The screen of my cell phone lights up again with Evelyn’s call, bringing back my eyes. I stare at her name for a few seconds, unblinking, my head starting to ache more.

My finger hangs over the green button, but I find myself unable to answer the call.

As if drawn by magnetism, my eyes stare at the golden ring on my finger, feeling its weight not just on my hand but on my entire body.

I give a long, loud, exasperated sigh... and end the call, tossing the cell phone away.

Closing my eyes tightly, I throw myself back, sinking into the mattress. I stare at the ceiling, white and tidy, like the wedding dress Charlotte wore, which, for a moment, almost distracted me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing them hard, hoping to find comfort in complete darkness, but my mind goes back to Charlotte’s expression during her vows... how her ‘I do’ sounded hollow, emptier than mine.

“I must be losing my mind,” I murmur with a sarcastic, bitter smile, empty of any humor, and force myself to clear my mind, breathing heavily... But I can’t… That conversation in the garden disturbed me more than I could have imagined.

Why I’m feeling so distressed?

I can’t fucking believe it… I’m still letting that spoiled girl get under my skin.

“Just go fuck sleep, Christopher,” I murmur to myself, growling, turning around in the bed. I rest my face on my arm, my fingers tugging my hair; perhaps that can ground me.

But even with my eyes closed, I can’t help feeling a strange uneasy.

Hah… I need to talk to Charlotte, understand the true meaning of her words, and find what she hides in those now opaque, cold, and distant eyes.

I’m not usually impulsive, yet my legs take on a life of their own. I stand and walk through the silent hallway of the big mansion. The cold wooden floor echoes under my steps as I pass ancient portraits that adorn the walls, silent witnesses of so many generations of our family. The house is quiet at this hour, and most guests have either retired to their rooms or are still involved in celebrations in other halls.

But when I finally reach Charlotte’s bedroom door, I hesitate for a moment.

The light seeping from under her door tells me she’s still awake, giving me a restored surge of courage.

Without knocking, I gently turn the knob and push the door open, finding Charlotte still in her wedding dress, more beautiful than when I saw her at the altar — and when her eyes land on me, surprised and confused, a strange guilt pierces through my chest.