A Forced Contract Marriage with the Devil novel Chapter 93

A FORCED CONTRACT MARRIAGE WITH THE DEVIL:

Chapter 93

“I can’t do this with you anymore,” I whispered, the ache in my throat thirstening to pull a sob from my chest. Loved toward the dive thin the last, Alexandre vaid nothing.

No apology.

When I reached the dont, I hesitated not because I expected him in stop me, but because a small, pathetic part of me still hoped he would still hoped d say something. That maybe I wasn’t the only one hurting.

But when I glanced back, he wasn’t even looking at me. He stood there like a statur, his hands in his pockers, his face blink.

Not angry. Not

That was the part that hurt the most.

I opened the door, the cold night air stamning lato my skin like a slap. Still nothing. Still silence. I stepped out. The door shut behind me with a soft but final click

And that was it. No footsteps. No voice calling after me.

No fucking heartbeat that matched mine and no guards stopped me.

Just empty streets.

Just the

“Toure not

Bot my

of his words in my head like poison:

fucking wife. You’re e just a man I married as a replacement for your dead sister.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until the wind hit my cheeks and stung them ras, I kept walking. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I had to keep

moving

Because if I stopped, I’d shatter. And I couldn’t afford to break

Not because of him. Not again.

With shaking hands, I started dialing lack, trying my best to get my shit under control as I moved to the side of the building.

I started to feel sick and dizzy all at onor, nd I slid down the wall of the apartment building, feeling the tears fall even harder as the clench of my heart breaking knocked the wind out of me.

The phone was still ringing in my ear when I buried my face in my hands, trying to breathe through the crushing weight in my chest.

“Nikolait

Jack’s voice broke through the static of my mind like a thread in the dark. I sucked in a breath, clutching the phone tighter.

“What’s up, man?. I was just making pasta, you know, like how my mom used to make it when you slept over when we were kids, with the triple cheese.”

A breath escaped me, half a laugh, half a sob. My chest still hurt, but the mention of that stupid, cheesy pasta hit something deep and familar. Something

“I remember,” I rasped. “You used to burn the bottom every single time”

jack chuckled softly, “ill do. It’s tradition at this point.”

I closed my eyes, trying to hold on to the warmth in his voice, like it could stitch together the pieces of me that were

unraveling.

1/3

“Can you come and pick me up, Jack?” I asked, mi voire trembling violently. Plenar, I’ll pay you_H?

“Hey, Hey,” lack rut în gently, the teasing tene gone, replaced by something solid and grounding. Thou dit have to pay me Miki lerdir. Pont de

i swallowed hard, wiping i ny fare even though the tears kept coming, “Still outside his place, I didn’t make it for. fost…, behind the building nec

“Alright. Stay sight there, I’m coming

“No,” he interrupted firmly, “You don’t have in explain. You don’t have to say anything. Fm just coming to get you.”

The line went dead before I could argue. Typical lack. Always charging in with his whole heart.

I lowered the phone, the cold biting through my sleeves now that I wasn’t moving. My body felt heavy, like my bone were soaked in grief. I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to stay small, invisible. The kind of small Alestanden always seemed to make me feel

Five minutes passed. Maybe ten. I couldn’t tell Everything blurred together my breath, the wind, the memory of that blank look on Alessandro’s face.

Then headlights swept across the alley, and lack’s car pulled up, brakes squealing slightly. The pastenger door flew open before the engine even died.

lack didn’t say a word at first. He just crouched in front of me, his dark eyes scanning my face like he was trying to piece together all the things I wasn’t

saying.

And then, without asking, he reached out and pulled me into a hug. Tight. Unapologetic

I pressed my face into his shoulder, inhaling that mix of cologne and garlic and something that felt like home. I didn’t cry again, not right then. I was too hollow for tears.

“Let’s get you outta here,” he said quietly. “I made too much pasta anyway.”

He helped me into the passenger seat, buckling me in like I was breakable..

Maybe I was.

As the car p

car pulled away, I didn’t look back. I couldn’t,

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