MY HUSBAND 9

Chapter 9 

It shattered on the floor. Porcelain shards scattered like fragments of my heartbeat, delicate pieces ruined in an instant. 

I stared at the mess, stunned, not understanding why his voice had sounded so… furious. 

Rozen stormed toward me, his eyes blazing, fury painting every angle of his face. “What the hell are you doing?!” he bellowed. 

I flinched. “I–I didn’t mean to-” 

‘This isn’t just some thing!” he spat, grabbing the broken remains off the ground, his hand trembling. “That vase was hers–she made it-” His voice cracked. “And now it’s gone.” 

The word “her” hit me like ice water. My breath caught. His… her? 

I was too stunned to move. But he wasn’t done. 

“You shouldn’t be in here. This room–these things-” His voice grew louder with every syllable. “You don’t belong here!” 

He shoved me–hard. I wasn’t ready. My feet tangled beneath me. I stumbled back, crashing onto the broken glass. 

Pain bloomed across my arm as a shard sliced through skin. I let out a sharp gasp, the sting deep and real. He paused, but only for a moment–then the rage returned. 

“GET OUT!” Rozen roared. “Get out now!” 

Tears blurred my vision. I scrambled to my feet, broken glass biting at my palms, legs shaky as I stumbled past him. 

I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. 

The corridor outside the library felt a thousand miles long. Every step away from that room was soaked in confusion and shame and a fresh, aching betrayal I couldn’t explain. 

By the time I reached my room, my hands were trembling, blood trailing down my forearm. My knees hit the floor as I collapsed, pressing my lips together to silence the sobs rising in my 

chest. 

I didn’t mean to break it. I didn’t know. I didn’t- But none of it mattered. 

The girl in the painting. The vase. Whoever she was–she had a part of Rozen I would never touch. And that realization? It gutted me. 

He had never shouted at me like that before. Never looked at me like I was a mistake. But 

tonight, he did. And for a moment, I felt like I was back in the past–betrayed, unwanted, unimportant. 

I cried. Quietly, bitterly. My hand throbbed, my heart worse. My hand throbbed, my heart worse. The pain from the glass couldn’t compare to the sting that bloomed in my chest. 

And as the tears soaked into the pillow, memories started slipping in through the cracks of my walls. 

Thomas. His lies. His charm. His betrayal. 

Scott. The fake warmth. The promises that meant nothing. 

My Husband is a Fake One 

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3:14 am DDD 

I remembered it all now. The moment I found out. The way they gaslit me. The way they made me feel like I was crazy, stupid, for believing I was loved. 

And tonight–Rozen’s voice, his eyes… it brought all of that flooding back. 

Even though this was different. Even though I knew it wasn’t the same. 

The ache felt familiar. Why did it hurt so much? Why did I care that he had someone in the past? Why did I care about a vase, a painting, a name I didn’t even know? 

Why… was my chest this tight? 

No strings attached. That was the deal. That was supposed to protect me. 

I had told myself over and over–I won’t fall. I won’t feel. I won’t love. But then why did it feel like had already broken every rule I’d made? 

I curled tighter into myself, like I could hide from the thoughts crowding in my head. 

No. No, I shouldn’t be like this. 

He didn’t love me. He made that clear from day one. It was just a contract. A performance. A convenient partnership. I was Mrs. Blackwood on paper. Not in his heart. 

And I was okay with that. Wasn’t I? So why did tonight feel like heartbreak? 

I buried my face into the sheets, fists clenched around the fabric, trying to block out the questions, the doubts, the rising fear that I had gotten too close–again. 

I shouldn’t be crying. I shouldn’t be breaking. I shouldn’t be… feeling. 

“Just business,” I whispered into the silence. “No strings attached…” 

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the silence. Then the warmth. 

Someone had dressed my wounds. My arm was wrapped in clean gauze, the sting numbed. My clothes were changed too, replaced with soft, fresh fabric. A blanket had been pulled over me. Someone… had taken care of me while I was unconscious. 

I sat up slowly. My limbs were heavy. My head, foggy. But my heart? That still ached. I rose from the bed and crossed the room, dragging my suitcase from the closet. My fingers moved quickly packing what little I had. 

It wasn’t about pride. It was about self–respect. He didn’t want to love. I didn’t want to fall. For now, I have to leave. 

I folded the last of my clothes, zipped the bag, and reached for my coat when a firm hand landed 

on mine. 

I froze. Rozen. 

His expression was unreadable. Not angry anymore. Not cold. Just… tired. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

I didn’t respond. My eyes dropped to his hand, still resting on mine. He noticed, pulled it back. 

“I shouldn’t have shouted at you,” he continued. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. That was-” he inhaled sharply, jaw tight. “That vase… it belonged to someone I cared about. A long time ago. And when you touched it–I panicked.” 

“I didn’t mean to break it,” I whispered. 

Chapter 9 

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“I know.” 

“I didn’t know it was hers.” 

“I know that too.” He looked away, “I just… lost control.” 

The silence stretched. My throat tightened, 

“I’m still leaving,” I finally said. “I need to accept that project. If you need a wife, just call me After all, no strings attached.”