Chapter 35: Fragile
The moment those words left Zylan’s lips, the fragile hope Naomi had clung to shattered, dissolving into nothing—no, not just shattered—crumbling into powder. Why had she dared to hope for something better between them? Hadn’t she been the one who had planned, from the start, to escape this nightmare? So why did it hurt so much now, as though someone were slowly driving a knife into her chest, twisting it deeper with every beat of her heart?
She sat there, silent, refusing to play his game any longer. Why had she even started? Yes, it was just a game. She knew that. And yet, when he spoke those words, a bitter realization washed over her. Had she really been hoping he would lie? That he’d say something—anything—that might soothe her wounded pride, offer some reassurance, even if it was false? But no. He hadn’t. It was just a game, and he’d been honest. Brutally honest.
Yet somewhere deep inside, a small, foolish part of her had wished for something different. That he might have said "yes" instead of "no," even if just to protect her feelings. This was how he played his part in their twisted little game. But to her, it no longer felt like a game. It felt... too real. Far too real.
Naomi lowered her gaze, her fingers trembling as she let the card slip from her grasp.
"I’m tired." She had said it so suddenly. Why had she let those words slip? Oh, goodness, why? She could feel the raw pain radiating through her, as if her heart were physically tearing apart. And now it was obvious—obvious that his words had hurt her. She could barely keep the tears at bay, feeling them well up, heavy and hot, right behind her eyes. Yes, she was truly, unmistakably pained.
Zylan turned, his piercing gaze fixed on her face, studying her intently, as though trying to pry into her thoughts. But his expression remained unreadable, his face a mask of indifference, giving her no hint of what might be lurking beneath. Did he regret saying those words, even a little? His eyes held no such indication.
A broken smile tugged at Naomi’s lips, a hollow expression that only deepened the confusion roiling within her. Why was she feeling this way? Was this what rejection felt like? How silly, how utterly ridiculous. What had she even expected? She had always lived in a house devoid of love; affection was a foreign concept, something she had only ever dreamed of. Yet, here she was, sitting across from her unloved husband, and somehow... somehow, his words cut deeper than all the wounds her parents had inflicted on her.
And that was something she needed to drill into her own stubborn heart: she would never be loved. Not by anyone. All of this—this whole twisted situation, this heartache—was her own fault. She had started this foolish game, driven by some misguided curiosity, some absurd notion that perhaps... just perhaps, things could be different. But no. Every time she dared to dream, to hope, to reach beyond the bars of her cage, she was met with pain. Why did everything she started end in agony? Why did everything she tried to avoid still manage to find her, to haunt her?
But why was she even overthinking this? The man sitting across from her didn’t care. He wouldn’t even blink if she disappeared tomorrow. And that stung—a thousand times more than she had ever expected.