Help Me!
5: 5: I Only Wanted The Wedding, Not The Marriage.
Help Me!
As soon as Dylan shut the door, I changed into the black pants and long-sleeved shirt he had given me.
The clothes were slightly loose, but they were practical.
I pulled open the bedroom door and walked into the main hallway.
Down the stairs, two men in matching royal blue jackets were carrying heavy cardboard boxes and a scuffed leather suitcase up the steps.
I stopped on the landing, staring at the faded floral pattern on the top box.
”What is that?” I asked, pointing at the luggage.
An older man in his fifties, dressed in a suit, stepped forward and bowed his head slightly.
“Good morning, Mrs.
Burke.
I am Thomas Bowman, but you can call me Bowman.
I’m the chief butler of Blackwood House.
These are your personal belongings from the Knox Residence.” My chest tightened.
“My belongings?
Who sent them?” ”Your stepmother insisted they be cleared out immediately,” Bowman replied politely.
“We brought your wardrobe, your books, and your personal items.” “Cleared out?” My heart started beating faster.
“No.
No, no.
That was just for yesterday.
I’m not moving in.” I had prepared for the wedding gown.
I had prepared for the cameras, the screaming, the scandal, and the live news headlines.
I had pictured my stepmother’s furious face and my father disowning me.
In my mind, I would walk down the aisle, drop the bomb, humiliate Kristen, and walk away victorious.
I thought I’d won.
I hadn’t prepared for this.
I hadn’t prepared for waking up in Dylan’s house, wearing his clothes, or having my luggage unloaded into a room like I actually belonged here.
Marriage had destroyed my mother.
I had spent ten years watching her wither away in the Knox house, desperate for love from a husband who ignored her until the day she died.
When I was ten, my father brought his mistress home, along with her six-year-old daughter, Kristen.
My mother couldn’t take it anymore.
She eventually died from hypertension, and in my mind, the years of humiliation and heartbreak had killed her long before that.
There was no way I had unintentionally built the same cage, walked into it, and locked myself inside.
I had sworn I would never become a trapped victim like her.
I wanted the wedding as a weapon to smash their stupid pride, but I never wanted the actual marriage attached to it.
My throat tightened, and my hands started shaking.
”Take them back,” I choked out, stepping backward.
“Take it all back.
I don’t live here.” Dylan stepped out of the study down the hall, holding a pair of tactical gloves.
He glanced at Bowman before looking up at me.
”How long am I staying here?” I demanded, my voice cracking as I glared down at him from the stairs.
”You’re my wife,” Dylan said smoothly, stepping toward the base of the staircase.
”That’s not what I asked!” I yelled.
“How long until we sign the divorce papers?!” ”Unless you want to launch another media circus before the week ends, you stay in this house,” Dylan replied, his eyes fixed on my shaking hands.
”I don’t care about the media!” I struggled to draw a full breath.
I clutched my chest as my knees began to wobble.
“I can’t be married!
I just wanted to ruin their stupid event!” A bright, translucent blue box popped up between us.
[ TARGET EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY DETECTED.
] [ HOST EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY DETECTED.
] [ STATUS: INTERESTING.
] I swatted frantically at the air, ignoring the floating box.
“Get out of my face!” I gasped, clutching my throat.
“Get out!
Both of you!” ”Stella.” Dylan’s voice sounded distant, as though he were calling to me from underwater.
”I can’t stay here,” I wheezed, tears spilling down my cheeks.
“I can’t be trapped.
I can’t do this.
I’m not a Burke.
I don’t belong in this place.” I sat down on the stairs and pulled my knees against my chest, my whole body trembling as dry sobs shook through me.
I heard Dylan move.
I pulled my knees tighter, already bracing myself.
I expected him to grab my arm and order me to stop crying, or tell me to get a grip like my stepmother always did.
Instead, his footsteps stopped several feet away.
Dylan didn’t touch me.
He didn’t even bend down.
He simply stayed where he was, giving me enough space to breathe.
I peeked through the gap between my arms.
His eyebrows were slightly drawn together.
The hard edge in his expression had softened into something more cautious than threatening.
He wasn’t glaring or yelling, which was very different from what I’d expected.
He was simply watching me without crowding me.
He waited until my breathing slowed enough for me to think clearly again.
Dylan reached into his pocket, pulled out a clean white handkerchief, and held it out.
I stood and took it.
”We’re delaying the trip to the perimeter,” Dylan said softly.
I wiped my face with it, staring up at him.
“What?” ”You’re not in any shape to handle it today,” he replied, turning toward the stairs.
“Eat something for breakfast.” ”And then?” I asked, my voice weak and hoarse.
”Then you sit in the garden or stay in the room you were in earlier,” Dylan said, picking up his tablet.
“Nobody is locking you in a closet here, Stella.
The front gate is open.
But if you walk out today without a plan, your stepmother will drag you right back to her house.” I stared at his back, my mouth slightly open.
My knees were still shaking, but the tightness in my chest had eased enough for me to breathe properly again.
The blue screen flashed in front of my eyes once more, smaller and dimmer than before.
[ MANDATORY QUEST: ACCOMPANY TARGET DYLAN BURKE TO WESTBRIDGE.
] [ QUEST STATUS: PAUSED BY TARGET DYLAN BURKE.
] [ REASON: HOST FRAGILITY.
] [ SYSTEM RATING: LAME.
] I glared at the floating text, but I didn’t have the energy to argue with it.
”Dylan,” I said quietly, stopping at the threshold.
He didn’t turn around, but his shoulders shifted slightly.
“What?” “I’m still getting a divorce,” I told him, keeping my voice firm.
“As soon as the noise dies down, I’m leaving.” Dylan looked over his shoulder, his eyes meeting mine.
”Try to survive until then,” he said