Chapter 17
Chapter 17
THE NEXT DAY
ROSALIE
The first thing I felt was the dull ache in my back caused by the cold, hard floor reminding me of where I had been. I blinked, my vision blurry, trying to piece everything together. My body felt heavy, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if I was still dreaming or if the reality of last night had truly happened.
And then I saw him.
Damien was sitting a few feet away, his arms casually draped over his knees, his gaze locked on me. My heart jumped, a mix of anger and confusion surging through me.
“Finally awake,” he said, his voice calm, like we were having a normal morning conversation.
I struggled to sit up, the stiffness in my body making it harder than it should’ve been. My head throbbed, and my lips felt dry. I glanced around, realizing I was back inside the house, lying on the bed in our bedroom. “What… what happened?” I muttered, my voice hoarse.
“You passed out,” Damien said simply, shrugging. “I brought you back in.”
The memory of last night hit me like a punch to the gut. The cold, the locked door, the helplessness… all of it came rushing back.
I pushed myself upright, my body trembling–not from weakness, but from pure, unfiltered rage. “You locked me out,” I spat, my voice rising with each word. “You made me sleep outside! What kind of person does that?”
Damien’s expression didn’t change. He leaned back against the couch, his eyes watching me with a mix of boredom and indifference.
“You shouldn’t have walked out on me,” he said, his tone cold. “Actions have consequences, Rosalie. Maybe now you’ll think twice before pulling something like that again.”
“Are you serious right now?” I yelled, my voice cracking. “You left me out there, Damien! In the cold! I could’ve-”
“You could’ve what?” he interrupted, his voice sharp as he leaned forward slightly. “Learned a lesson? Good. Maybe that’s what you needed.”
I stared at him, my chest heaving as I tried to process the sheer audacity of his words. My fists clenched at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. “You’re unbelievable,” I said, my voice shaking. “Do you even care? Do you even feel anything, or are you just some kind of—”
“Stop,” he said flatly, cutting me off. “I don’t have time for your dramatics this morning, Rosalie. You’re fine. You’re inside now. So drop it.”
My mouth fell open, disbelief washing over me. “Drop it? You think this is something I can just ‘drop‘? You humiliated me,
Damien. You-”
“I’m done with this conversation,” he said, standing up and brushing off his pants like this was some trivial argument over breakfast.
I watched as he straightened his tie, his movements calm and deliberate, like nothing had happened. The sight only fueled the fire burning inside me.
1/1
19:38 Mon, 17 Feb
Chapter 17
“Where are you going?” I demanded, my voice laced with anger.
32%
+23)
“To work,” he said simply, not even sparing me a glance as he walked toward the door. “If you need anything, you know how to reach me.”
I stood there, stunned, my mind racing with a hundred things I wanted to say. But the words caught in my throat, blocked by the sheer frustration and helplessness that threatened to consume me.
“Damien,” I called after him, my voice low and firm.
He paused at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”
“You’re a coward,” I said, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “You think this makes you strong, controlling me like this? It doesn’t. It just makes you pathetic.”
He smirked, the same infuriating smirk that made my blood boil. “Call it what you want, Rosalie. Just remember–you made your choices. Now, you live with them.”
And with that, he walked out, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing through the room.
I stood there, shaking with anger, my hands still clenched into fists. The silence in the room felt deafening, and I wanted to scream, to break something, to let out the storm raging inside me.
But instead, I swallowed it all down, my jaw tight and my chest heaving.
I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
DAMIEN
The drive home was quiet, the kind of silence that crept into your chest and made you hyperaware of your own thoughts. Mine were a tangled mess.
I replayed the morning over and over again. Rosalie’s pale face, the way she had collapsed outside…. I clenched the steering wheel tighter, trying to shake the image. A part of me felt a pang of guilt–leaving her outside like that was cruel. But then another part of me, colder and more rational, shoved the guilt aside.
She walked out on me. She embarrassed me. What was I supposed to do? Let her get away with it?
I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, staring at the house. The lights inside were on, a soft glow spilling through the curtains. I let out a long breath and got out of the car, slamming the door harder than necessary.
When I stepped inside, I found her in the living room. She was bent over the coffee table, arranging something. Her hair was pulled back loosely, and she was dressed casually, her movements deliberate.
“Rosalie,” I said, my voice sharp as I shut the door behind me.
She didn’t even flinch. She didn’t look up or acknowledge me in any way.
“Rosalie,” I repeated, louder this time.
She straightened, slowly turning to face me. Her eyes met mine, and for a second, I wished they hadn’t. There was anger there, sure, but beneath it was something else. Hurt. Disappointment. A faint glimmer of tears that she refused to let fall.
It unsettled me.
“What? You’re not speaking now?” I demanded, my tone harsher than I intended. “You have nothing to say to me? I don’t
2/4
19:38 Mon, 17 Feb
Chapter 17
think this is the right way to welcome your husband after a long day at work.”
Still, nothing. Her silence was deafening, louder than any shouting match we’d ever had. Yet she just glared at me.
32%
+23
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snapped, stepping closer. “You think you’re the victim here? You think I don’t have a right to be angry after what you did?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t move.
The tension in the room was suffocating. I hated this–her silence, her defiance, the way it made me feel like I was the one who had done something wrong.
Finally, she turned away from me and walked toward the kitchen, her shoulders stiff. I stood there for a moment, fuming, before following her.
She was at the counter, setting plates for dinner. The smell of food filled the air–something rich and savory–but I barely noticed.
“Rosalie,” I said again, my voice low.
She didn’t look at me.
“You’re just going to ignore me now? That’s mature,” I said, leaning against the doorway.
Still nothing.
When she placed the food on the table, I sat down, determined to get a reaction out of her. I took a bite, chewing slowly, deliberately.
“It’s tasteless,” I said flatly, setting my fork down.
I expected her to snap at me, to defend her cooking like she always did. But she didn’t. She just stood there for a moment before turning on her heel and heading back to the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” I asked, following her.
She didn’t answer. She was already pulling out ingredients, clearly preparing to make something else.
“Rosalie,” I said, my voice rising. “What are you doing?”
Still, she didn’t respond. The silence was starting to grate on me, pushing me to the edge of my patience.
“Rosalie!” I barked, grabbing her arm.
She froze, her body stiff under my touch. That’s when I noticed it–the unnatural heat radiating from her skin.
My grip loosened, and I turned her to face me. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glassy. She looked exhausted, barely holding herself together.
“Jesus, you’re burning up,” I muttered, more to myself than to her.
She tried to pull away, but I held her gently, my anger melting into something else. Worry.
“Rosalie, you’re sick,” I said firmly. “Go upstairs and lie down.”
“Rosalie,” I said again, louder this time, but still no answer.
2/1
19:38 Mon, 17 Feb
Chapter 17
ས ཊཱི32%.
+23)
11
The tension in my chest grew tighter. I stepped closer, gripping her arm lightly to get her attention. Her skin was burning under my touch.
I froze, staring at her flushed face as she swayed slightly. “You’re running a fever,” I said, more to myself than to her. She pulled her arm back weakly, but still didn’t say a word.
“Please,” I said, surprising even myself with the sincerity in my voice. “Just go lie down. I’ll bring you something to eat.”
She looked at me then, her expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought she might argue. But then she nodded, her movements slow and reluctant, and walked out of the kitchen.
I watched her go, a strange tightness settling in my chest. As the sound of her footsteps faded, I leaned against the counter, running a hand through my hair.
I’d screwed up. Badly.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure how to fix it.
