Sugar, Secrets and Upheaval

I spun on my heel and walked out of the greenhouse with swift strides. Every muscle in my body screamed with the urge to lash out, to bridge that distance and strike him. I knew that if we continued this discourse for another moment, I would lose control and quite possibly punch him. All those arduous, soul-numbing anger management therapy sessions, the painstaking work I had invested in maintaining my composure, I was not about to have it all broken over Levi’s stubborn, cold indifference.

Fucking asshole!

I burst out of the greenhouse, the deluge of rain touching my clothes, plastering them to my skin with an icy shock. I stalked across the manicured grounds, not caring about the soaking, and shoved open the colossal doors, entering the mansion.

The sheer scale of the foyer swallowed me whole. My footsteps, heavy and squelching from my soaked shoes, echoed on the marble floor. I didn’t even know where I was going, just that I needed to be away. Away from Levi, away from that truth in the greenhouse, away from his derisive smile.

I strode through endless hallways, each one wider and grander than the last, lined with portraits and gleaming, silent suits of armor. Every turn looked identical, every corridor stretching into another, without end. I passed grand sitting rooms with untouched furniture, vast dining halls laid out for phantom feasts, and libraries that stretched into infinity, filled with more books than I could read in a lifetime.

I stopped in the fifth identical reception hall, my chest heaving, the rain still dripping from my hair onto my face.

Gods above, where the hell am I?

I took another turn, hoping for something familiar, a different painting, a less ornate console table. Instead, I found myself facing yet another stretch of corridor, lined with endless identical doors, each one carved with the Blake crest. This house was designed to confuse, to swallow you whole.

I could hear nothing but my own ragged breathing and the drumming of the rain against the mansion's vast roof. I felt a growing sense of panic, a desperate urge to find a window, any opening, to the outside world. But every window I passed was either too high or too heavily draped in velvet, like eyes shut against the light.

The sheer unendingness of the place was maddening.

I stumbled onward, my legs aching, my mind a swirling chaos of anger and despair. The carpets and polished wood floors eventually gave way to rougher flagstones, the wall coverings replaced by bare stone. The air grew significantly colder. I pushed through an unlatched wooden door that groaned on hinges.

This was no drawing-room or ballroom. The ceiling stretched high, vaulted and ribbed, and the floor was made of worn, uneven stone, scuffed and scarred from heavy use. Along the walls hung various implements, not decorative armor, but practical, heavy swords, shields, and what looked like blunt training weapons, all aged and gathering dust. There were even a few large, wooden dummies, chipped and splintered.

This was clearly a training area, a place where the Blake knights, generations ago, had honed their skills.

No wonder they're all so… formidable. It hit me how utterly unprepared I was for a family like this.

Gods…

I really did marry a duke. A fucking duke. A dukedom with five centuries of unbroken lineage. Even though Levi himself, the cold, calculating bastard, was the one who abolished the monarchy and dissolved all nobility, he was still the heir of a dukedom. He’s always been this… entrenched.

I really didn’t have any idea about what being a duke meant, actually. Beyond fancy titles and old houses, what did that even entail?

This place, designed for discipline and combat, highlighted everything I wasn't.

My wet clothes clung to me. I was standing in a relic of a past that Levi, despite his modern reforms, was still utterly steeped in. How could I ever truly understand him when his very foundations were so alien to me?

A scary thought clawed at me. I ran away again. Just like I ran away when I left him at the rehab. Just like how I didn't reply to his letter, or answer his call for two months while he was in his darkest place… I ran away.

Gods.

What if he had chosen another actor months ago for his fake husband? Would that person understand what it means to be married to someone who was a duke? Who had this terrifying, five-century-old legacy of power and control? Who knew how to navigate these labyrinthine halls, not just literally, but emotionally? I shook my head violently, the movement sending droplets of water from my hair flying.

Shut up. Shut up, brain.

I clenched my jaw, trying to force the escalating panic down. I did not run away, this time. Mine was a strategic dislocation. A tactical retreat. There's a difference. And… about choosing someone else, it is what if no one should think. It is a rabbit hole of self-destruction.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my hands against them.

A new sound cut through the steady drone of the rain. Faint at first, a distant thud. It grew steadily louder, accompanied by a murmur of voices. My head snapped up, my tired eyes scanning the space. Then a sharp, excited bark echoed, followed by another, deeper one. Dogs. And more than one set of footsteps.

The sounds were coming from somewhere beyond the heavy wooden door through which I'd entered, growing closer with surprising speed. A fresh jolt of adrenaline surged through me. Who would be walking through this forgotten part of the mansion? And with dogs?

The door swung open with a thwack against the stone wall. Two dogs launched themselves into the training hall. They were massive hunting hounds.

Before I could react, they were upon me. One, bounded forward, nose twitching, letting out a series of excited, investigative sniffs at my soaked trousers. The other, slightly smaller but no less imposing, circled me once, then nudged my leg with its nose, tail wagging with enthusiasm. They didn't seem aggressive, just curious and oddly pleased to have found something new. Despite my initial terror, their joy was disarming. Behind them, the muffled sounds of footsteps grew distinct, and a shadow fell across the doorway.

Three figures stepped into the cavernous training hall. Two were house servants, their faces etched with a mixture of concern and relief, each carrying a thick blanket. Between them, as composed and unyielding as the ancient stone around us, was Levi. His eyes swept over my disheveled form, then flickered to the enthusiastic hounds before settling back on me.

“Raphael,” he said, devoid of the contempt from moments before, yet equally lacking in softness. It was simply a statement of fact. “You are quite drenched.”

No shit. What, were you expecting me to be dry after running through a mansion because of your cold, unfeeling ass?

One of the servants stepped forward. “Master Raphael, goodness gracious,” she murmured, her voice soft with worry, extending one of the thick blankets towards me. The other servant moved to restrain the overly friendly hounds with gentle commands, though their tails continued to thump against the flagstones.

Gods above. Of all the humiliating scenarios… I get lost, I’m soaking wet, I’m having an existential crisis about dukes and hidden addictions, and then I’m found by the very man who drove me out here, accompanied by his enormous, ridiculously happy hunting dogs and polite, worried servants.

My ‘strategic dislocation’ indeed. More like a blubbering child throwing a tantrum and getting lost in the back forty. And Levi, of course, is composed. Not a hair out of place, probably not a single drop of rain on him.

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I ignored the blanket for a moment, my gaze fixed on him. "And you came… with the dogs? Don't tell me you worried, Levi. That would be, what, an 'inaccurate emotional reflection' for you?"

Levi dismissed the servants with his hand. The barks faded quickly, replaced by the persistent, muffled drumming of rain against the mansion's vast roof. He closed the several feet of distance between us.

“I accompanied the hounds, Raphael, because you had neglected to bring your phone with you. And, given your demonstrable unfamiliarity with the extensive layout of this residence, I ascertained a high probability of your becoming disoriented, which, as evidenced, you achieved.”

He paused, his gaze boring into mine. “Do you genuinely believe that merely vocalizing your appellation repeatedly would have constituted an effective search methodology in a structure of this immense scale? Also,” he continued, notably devoid of any discernible warmth, “whether the internal emotional state I experienced could be categorized as 'worry' or otherwise, is ultimately irrelevant. The pertinent fact remains: I am present.”

“So, what, are you expecting a thank you? For rescuing me from your ridiculous mansion after you drove me out here with your cold bullshit?”

He took a deep breath. He walked the few feet that separated us, his stride unhurried even as my heart hammered against my ribs. Without a word, he reached for the blanket and with a forceful grip, he clutched it around my shoulders.

“Raphael.” He drew me closer, as if to emphasize his point. “If we are going to continue this dispute, at least let us wait until you have changed your attire and are no longer subjected to the physiological discomfort of hypothermia.”

He just… manhandled me into a blanket. But the warmth… Gods, the warmth is actually incredible.

"You think a change of clothes is going to make me forget what you just said to me?" I stared at him.

“Why are you being so…” he trailed off. "Just change your clothes, Raphael. If you do not wish for my continued presence, I will simply summon the household staff to assist you."

“So what?” I shot back. Chapters fırst released on novel(ꜰ)ire.net

He took another deep breath, his chest expanding. “It does not matter, Raphael.” His grip on the blanket remained firm as tugging gently but unequivocally. “Come,” he said, his eyes meeting mine, “Let us attend to your needs. We will change your attire and dry you.”

After everything, he’s still treating me like a problem to be managed and tidied away.

"I'm not a child, Levi! You can't just order me around!" I yanked against the blanket.

He lifted his gaze to ceiling, a sigh escaping him. He looked like a man bewildered by the irrationality of the universe. "You are a child, Raphael. And I was not ordering. But since it has come to this, let us proceed."

He reached for my waist. His grip was firm, and before I could even register the protest forming on my lips, he lifted me by my waist, making me dangle in the air. My legs kicked uselessly.

Fuck this genetically superior asshole.

"Let go! Now! Or so help me, Levi, I will bite you!"

A faint curve touched the corner of his lips. “Please do, Raphael.” Without breaking his stride, he pulled my body closer to his, securing his grip. “You are at liberty to wrap your lower limbs around my person, or you may elect to persist in expending energy by propelling them through the air, needlessly, I assure you. Regardless of your chosen methodology, I will transport you.”

I’m just a wet, furious bundle of limbs dangling in his arms. And he just started walking. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world to scoop up your distraught husband and carry him.

"So, what, this is your solution? Just physically dominating me when I don't comply?" I glared at the side of his face. “And if you drop me, I will never ever talk to you.”

He chuckled. The sound was disarming. He propelled me higher into the air. My stomach lurched, a choked gasp escaping my lips as I was suspended. Just as quickly, he caught me. The entire maneuver was executed with such effortless control, such casual power, that it robbed me of breath and retort.

It was a statement. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, and you are entirely at my mercy.

"Let me go! I said, let me go!" I shrieked as I renewed my futile struggle in his arms.

Levi didn't respond with words. His grip remained unyielding, and his stride continued. I squirmed and kicked, but it was useless.

We ascended a grand, sweeping staircase, and then turned down a hushed hallway I recognized as leading to the private chambers. Finally, he pushed open the door.

Without ceremony, Levi walked to the bed, and placed me onto the mattress.

“Now,” he said. "Be a responsible adult and remove your garments."

He turned and walked towards the wardrobe set against the far wall. The scent of cedar and fine fabric wafted as he opened its doors, revealing rows of tailored suits and folded garments. He began to select and gather new, dry clothes, his back to me.

"Is this your idea of being a 'responsible adult,' Levi? Trapping someone and then ordering them to change?" I glared at his back.

He groaned. He turned from the wardrobe, holding a pair of dark trousers and a white shirt that clearly belonged to him. He approached the bed, not meeting my eyes, and dropped the clothes onto the mattress.

"These clothes are mine, so they will not fit you," he said, his voice carrying a note of weariness. He gestured vaguely at the haphazard pile. "Do whatever you wish. I am quite done with you."

His eyes held genuine fatigue as he turned and walked towards a large door.

Done.

He's walking away.

Is this how it always goes? He pushes me to my limit, I lash out, and then he just… retreats? Like I’m a problem that he's too fatigued to solve anymore. It’s not rage. It’s a cold, hollow ache that settles deep in my chest.

"Is this how you always deal with things, Levi? Just disengage when it gets too messy?" I asked, my tone was bitter, accusatory, the words stinging as they left my mouth.

He paused, his hand resting on the handle. Slowly, he turned his head, his deep blue eyes rolling upward towards the ceiling in a slow arc — a mocking, exasperated gesture that twisted my gut.

“Cease your petulant display, Raphael.”

He pushed the heavy door open, and prepared to step through.

I pulled the blanket tighter around me, my gaze burning into his. "You're a coward, Levi. You always do this. The moment you feel anything, you just retreat.”

He didn't flinch, didn't raise his voice.

“You must excuse my diminutive amygdala, dear. It is, regrettably, largely incapable of rendering physiological responses such as adrenaline. Therefore, the attribution of 'cowardice' is rather… unfit for my person.”

He stepped through the door, closing it behind him.

He's gone. And I'm here. Still soaking wet under this blanket, on his enormous, too-soft bed, in his ridiculous room. He just walked away, again, leaving me with my emotions, my illogical feelings. And the worst part? A part of me, a tiny, sick, desperate part, just wants to scream for him to come back. To argue. To just… be here.

I… should change my clothes.

My muscles ached from the struggle, my head throbbed from the torrent of emotions. But it felt like an insurmountable effort. Just lifting an arm seemed impossible, let alone stripping off everything and finding something dry.

The click of the door, Levi’s dismissive exit echoed. He was gone, leaving me here, drained and exposed, with his dry clothes waiting beside me like a silent accusation. It was just… too much.

A choked sob escaped me. Then another, and another, until racking sobs turned into a silent deluge. I pressed my face into the blanket, trying to muffle the sounds, trying to disappear into the vastness of the bed, of the room, of this overwhelming house. Every humiliating moment, every cutting word, every crushing realization about Levi and me surfaced and burned.

When the storm subsided, leaving me hollowed out and aching, I reluctantly uncurled. My eyes were swollen, my face blotchy and raw, but the burning pressure behind them had eased. With a sigh, I pushed myself up.

His clothes. Moving stiffly, like an old man, I slipped out of the damp blanket.

I pulled on his shirt. It was, as expected, too large, the sleeves falling past my hands, the collar gaping. The trousers pooled slightly at my ankles. But they were dry. And they were warm.

My gaze drifted to the door, the soft click of its closure still reverberating in my memory. How was I supposed to navigate this? How was I supposed to build anything with a man who could so effortlessly switch off, who saw my raw, aching heart as nothing more than an ‘illogical’?

The rain still drummed softly outside, a mournful rhythm against the glass. This house, this life with Levi, felt like an impossible puzzle, and I was just a misplaced piece, utterly out of sync with its grand design.