The Billionaire’s Reluctant Bride (By Tessa Wren) novel Chapter 43

The days blur into each other in the penthouse. Morning fades into afternoon, and evening brings nothing but silence. The silence has become a constant companion—thick, heavy, and inescapable. It fills each edge of this vast, generic space, repeating stronger than any words Alexander and I have exchanged since our wedding night.

I sit by the window in the lounge, my knees tucked underneath me, some tea developing cold in my hands. Outside, the city hums with life, the roads underneath overflowing with individuals who have places to go, lives to live. I envy them. They’re moving forward while I feel stuck–stuck in a marriage that feels more like a transaction, in a life that doesn’t feel like mine.

Alexander has been gone most of the day. Not that it’s uncommon. He leaves promptly in the morning, his suit impeccably tailored, his expression is quite unreadable, and doesn’t return until well after dinner.

Sometimes he calls. Sometimes he doesn’t.

But when he does come back, the silence between us feels heavier. It’s not hostile, not cold. It’s just… empty. Like we’re two strangers occupying a similar space, reluctant or unfit to connect the gorge between us.

I put my cup down and look at the clock. It’s past eight. He ought to be home at this time, but I’ve quit expecting him that he should stick to any sort of schedule that includes me. I ought to feel relieved that he hasn’t arrived to fill the silence with his confined lack of concern. But I’m not.

The sound of the elevator breaks through my thoughts. I hear the soft chime, then, at that point, the snap of the penthouse entryway opening. My heartbeat enlivens automatically, and I disdain myself for it.

At the point when Alexander steps inside, he says nothing. He shrugs off his coat, loosens his tie, and strolls directly to the bar toward the edge of the room. He pours a drink for himself, the amber liquid getting the light as it twirls in the glass.

I watch him briefly, uncertain whether to talk or remain silent. The air feels charged, however I can’t determine whether it’s strain or something different.

“Long day?” I finally ask, my voice hesitant, testing the waters.

He looks at me briefly, his demeanor muddled. “Busy,” he says just, taking a taste of his drink.

I nod, uncertain what else to say. The words feel hollow, just like every interaction we’ve had since the wedding.

“Do you always work this late?” I press, trying to keep the conversation going. It seems like trying in vain, however I can’t stand the quietness any longer.

Alexander puts his glass down on the counter, turning to face me. His gaze is sharp, almost piercing. “Yes. It’s necessary.”

Necessary. Of course. Everything about him is efficient, calculated, and necessary.

There’s no space for anything more not really for warmth, not so much for connection.

“I see,”

“I mumble, peering down at my hands. I disdain how little I feel under his look, similar to a kid attempting to figure out a world very muddled for her to comprehend.

“Is there something you want, Leila?” he asks, his tone even yet edged with restlessness.

I bite my lip, hesitating. What do I say to that? That I need him to act like my husband? That I need him to see me, to acknowledge me as more than just an obligation? Yet, I can’t express any of that. I don’t have the boldness.

“No,” I say at long last, shaking my head. “I just… wanted to talk.”

He studies me for a moment, his expression softening slightly, but it’s so fleeting I wonder if I imagined it. Then he nods, picking up his drink again. “ We can talk,” he says, gesturing toward the couch.

I blink, surprised. He’s never offered to talk before. It seems like a little triumph, however I have no clue about what I’ll say since the opportunity has presented itself.

“What is it that you need to discuss?” he asks, his tone nearly… inquisitive

Thesitate, searching for the right words. “I… I want to understand,” I begin slowly, my voice trembling slightly. “I want to understand how this is supposed to work. This… marriage.”

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