𝗕𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗢𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻-My Cold Billionaire Husband

Chapter 14

Arabella

The fireflies blinked on and off like stars trapped in the tall grass, but I barely noticed. Dad was quiet, the way he gets before a big decision, and the air crackled with unspoken words.

"We don't share a room," I revealed, kicking a pebble across the patio.

White lies were little things; silence was defence—my shield. But buried secrets, dark and deep, are now stealing my breath and making me weep.

He pivoted towards me immediately with a frown and a visibly shocked face. I swallowed hard, casting my gaze upon my intertwined fingers, as he set his cup of coffee down upon the tea table.

"Since when?" He muttered, his expression fraught with concern and stress. I bit my lips, feeling the tension in my intertwined hands as my knuckles turned white.

"Since always.” I mumbled. “We've never shared a room," I confessed, finally meeting his gaze. He appeared both troubled and composed. "This marriage has never been what it seemed," I admitted, feeling a heavy weight lift from my chest.

I expected a wave of disappointment to wash over him but his gentle touch brushed against my head, and he smiled. "I'll ask just one question. Please answer honestly, alright?" His voice was tender. I nodded solemnly.

"Is it worth it?" My heart sank. I didn't have the answer. I remained silent for what felt like an eternity before responding. "I've never tried. When the seed is never sown, how can one expect a sweet fruit?” I replied, staring into the distance.

"Indeed," he replied softly, reaching once more for his cup of coffee. I observed his actions intently. "However, is this venture worth investing in?" he inquired, gazing ahead. I turned to him, my brow furrowing deeply.

"Marriage isn't a mere transaction. Mine wasn't, nor will it ever be," I responded almost reflexively. Impressed, he nodded while taking a sip. "Then why were you engaging in such transactions until now?" he turned to me. Annoyed, I looked away.

"What was endured wasn't transactional, but rather—compromises," I replied, pondering my choice of words. "And now?" he arched an eyebrow at me.
"I don't have feelings for him," I confessed honestly.

"Then end it," he promptly replied. I frowned deeply at his suggestion. "You and mom didn't love each other either," I countered. "But we honoured our marriage," he shrugged, sipping his coffee casually. Frustration clenched my jaw. 

"Many things have happened in the recent months, but I've never seriously considered stepping away from this marriage," I murmured, more to myself than to him, feeling perplexed. "So consider it now and bring it to an end," he replied nonchalantly. I turned to him, irritated. 

"Do you want to end your daughter's marriage? So casually?" He chuckled. 
"Well, what should we do? What's the alternative? Shall we orchestrate a melodramatic soundtrack like a daytime soap, sprinkle in some over-the-top plot twists, and demolish your marriage?” He turned to me, completely at ease, draping one leg over the other and sinking deeper into the soft couch fabric.

I glared at him, irritation brewing within me. "Tell me honestly, Ara, why do you want to stay in this marriage? You don't love him, you don't want to either. Neither you wish to honour this marriage, nor do you want to break it. Do you intend to carry this burden with you for the rest of your life?"

He posed a barrage of questions, each more piercing than the last. My heart pounded. This wasn't supposed to be this difficult. I used to have clear answers before, it was for him. I refrained from pressuring him about my marriage earlier. But why are the reasons shifting now?