My Arranged Husband Had A Terrifying Reputation — But His Reaction Behind Closed Doors Left Me Speechless
Part 2
The ironclad authority in the room shifted instantly.
“And if you ever open my door again without waiting for a reply, I will dismiss you without a character reference.”
Craig’s gaze narrowed.
“Do you understand?”
The rumors of the old patriarch’s madness were terrifying, but Craig’s cold, rational anger was paralyzing.
“Yes, sir,” she clipped out.
Her head bowed slightly as she retreated.
She turned on her heel and swept out of the room.
The terrified maid scurried behind her like a frightened mouse.
The door clicked shut.
Craig stared at the door for a long moment.
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
Then, he let out a heavy sigh.
He ran both hands through his messy hair, making it stand on end.
He walked over to the washstand, poured freezing water into the porcelain basin, and splashed it onto his face.
He grabbed a towel, scrubbing at his skin violently.
“She hates me,” I observed softly from the bed.
Craig tossed the damp towel onto a chair.
“Brenda hates everyone.”
“She hated my mother, she hated my father, and she hates me.”
He walked over to the breakfast tray, picked up a piece of dry toast, and bit into it.
“She respects fear.”
“My father gave her plenty of it.”
He grimaced, chewing mechanically.
He looked at me, his gaze lingering on the way I was practically suffocating myself with the blanket.
“Are you going to hide in there all day, or are you going to eat?”
He poured a cup of tea.
It was black and steaming.
He didn’t offer to bring it to me.
I slowly lowered the quilt.
The cold air of the room bit through my thin nightgown instantly.
I slid my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet hitting the floorboards.
I felt ridiculous and entirely exposed, despite being covered from neck to ankle.
I walked to the table, keeping a cautious distance between us.
I reached for the other cup.
My hand trembled slightly, the cup rattling against the saucer.
Craig watched my hand shake.
He set his own cup down.
Without a word, he unfastened the heavy wool suit jacket he had discarded the night before.
He picked it up from the chair and tossed it at me.
It hit me in the chest.
“Put that on.”
“Your lips are blue and I don’t have time to dig a grave today,” he muttered.
I caught the heavy garment.
It was massive, smelling faintly of the whiskey he had drank last night.
I slipped my arms through the armholes.
It fell past my thighs, swallowing me completely.
The residual warmth of the thick fabric was immediate and profound.
I looked up at him.
“Thank you.”
Craig didn’t smile.
He just picked up his tea again.
“Don’t thank me.”
“Just eat your eggs before they turn to rubber.”
“We have to go downstairs in an hour.”
“I need you to pretend you aren’t terrified of your own shadow.”
Breakfast tasted like cold clay.
I forced half a piece of dry toast down my throat, swallowing past the tight knot in my stomach.
Craig didn’t watch me.
He stood by the window, staring out at the rain-lashed estate.
He was a silent, brooding monolith in his rumpled shirt.
He had promised not to hurt me, and he had just protected me from the one woman who ran this house.
Could I actually survive in this house with a man who was supposed to be a monster?
