Chapter 6: Fractured Trust
I sat in the treatment room, the sterile air heavy with silence. Suddenly, the door was flung open, and a tall figure entered, his presence as menacing as a storm. The doctor jumped, startled by his sudden arrival.
I glanced at the doctor, offering a small reassurance. “It’s okay, he’s my… boss.” The word husband almost slipped out, but I caught it in time.
Julian walked toward the doctor, a tension in his posture, his voice hoarse with something unsaid. “Is it serious?”
The doctor, unconcerned with the tension between us, simply replied, “Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal.” He cleaned my wound and prescribed some external medication.
I thanked him, stood, and prepared to leave. Julian, always the dutiful figure, took care of the bill and grabbed the medicine, following me without a word. I was too exhausted to argue or even speak.
When we reached the hospital exit, I attempted to call an Uber, but Julian grabbed my phone from my hand. Without asking, he draped his arm around my shoulder, guiding me toward the parking lot. Before I could protest, he shoved me into his car and slid into the driver’s seat himself. The door slammed shut, sealing the outside world away.
The atmosphere in the car was heavy and suffocating.
“Is this your latest twisted game to punish me? Playing chicken with death now?” Julian’s voice cut through the quiet, dripping with annoyance as he shot me a glance.
For a moment, I froze. Then, something inside me snapped. I laughed—a burst of sunlit sarcasm that shattered the tension. The absurdity of his words was almost too much to bear. He cheated on me, and now he was accusing me of risking my life to punish him?
How could someone be so narcissistic?
“Relax. I’m not that silly. Give me my phone back.” I reached for it, but he pulled his hand away.
“Okay, I lied today…” His voice cracked, betraying his discomfort, “–but was it really necessary to make her cry like that? She’s just a spoiled kid who doesn’t think before she speaks. Why take her tantrums so seriously?”
I listened to his excuses, to the unconscious tenderness in his tone as he described her. Every word felt like a slap.
Julian, you should see how ugly your shifting loyalties look right now.
Finally, I spoke, my voice hollow, like dead leaves scraping the ground. “I’ll stop bothering her. Do whatever you want. Just keep your precious baby from flaunting herself in front of me.”
“She’s like a little sister, not what you’re imagining.” His brows furrowed, his expression defensive, like tangled headphones.
“Right, little sister,” I responded, resisting the urge to expose him. “My mistake. Congratulations on your new sibling, then.”
The car engine roared to life. I pulled the smoke-gray jacket tighter around me, the warmth of sandalwood clinging to the fabric, a mockery of the chill creeping into my bones. Julian’s eyes suddenly locked onto the jacket with a sharp, focused intensity.
“Whose jacket is that?”
“My big brother’s,” I replied, staring out the rain-streaked window. “The one I just adopted.”
His expression darkened, his gaze narrowing with that unmistakable glint of anger. What happened next unfolded like a scene from a bad reality show—he tore the jacket from my shoulders as if it were cursed, hurling it into the storm outside.
Damn it. I needed to return that.
Anger bubbled inside me. I yanked open the car door, ready to retrieve the jacket, but Julian was faster. He pulled me back, his grip like iron around my arm. Leaning over, he kissed me roughly on the lips, forcing me into submission. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him control me.
“Stop using other men to punish me,” he growled against my swollen lips. “This is how people get killed.”
I was speechless, the sting of his words cutting deep. I couldn’t respond. What was there to say?
Thanks to this “wonderful” weekend, I came down with a fever that night. Julian stayed at home, cooking porridge and fussing over me with medicine. For a brief, fleeting moment, it gave me the illusion that he still cared, that he still loved me. But it was only a mirage, a temporary reprieve from the truth.
At midnight, I felt dizzy and uncomfortable, my body wracked with feverish chills.
My phone buzzed, breaking the silence. Julian and I both looked at it at the same time. It was 12:35 AM. The screen lit up with a message: “Sweetheart.”
The nickname sent a chill through me. Wasn’t that intimate?
The vibrating phone felt like a harsh intrusion in the quiet night, each buzz a prick against my already frayed nerves.
