Chapter 5 My Heart Is Not Free

Present

“Mrs. Montgomery, good morning. What do you fancy for breakfast?” Janice, our middle-aged cook, asked kindly.

I pulled my lips into a tight grin. I would never get used to being called Mrs. Montgomery.

“Please call me Sloane,” I said softly, my voice carrying a polite plea.

“I’m sorry, but Cillian insisted we address you properly,” she replied, her eyes glowing with both pleading and sorrow. How could I fault her for following his command?

“It’s just the two of us, Janice. It’s fine. I have an early meeting at the office.” I walked toward the door, exhaling in relief. Freedom came like  breathing again.

Living in that massive estate was too much. My neck was sweating just from walking from the house to the nearest subway.

Would Cillian confront me about sneaking out while he was still asleep? Or maybe I was just being overdramatic again.

I silently scolded myself for making him the entire focus of my universe. It was time to fix old habits and teach my foolish heart new tricks.

Our wedding was intimate, only close friends and family, no media, no press which meant acting normal at work would be easy enough.

My only uphill battle was with Cillian himself, and I was determined to overcome it.

To overcome him.

“Sloane?” I looked up and saw Maria, my work friend, staring at me with knitted brows.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my face staying neutral.

“He’s grumpier than usual today. He’s asking for you. Be careful, he might bite.”

Warning noted and appreciated. I could already guess why the devil was in a foul mood.

I shrugged. “He’s asking for me?”

She laughed, flashing me a teasing smile. “Of course he is! He’s your office husband and a terrible one.”

My face paled at the mention of my husband. I quickly glanced down at my finger.

No ring. No band. No sign of that ridiculous diamond he insisted on.

The coast was clear, for now. “Got it. Thanks, Maria. I’ll catch you later.”

She walked off, leaving me with my heart dangling by a thread. I was dying of fear and anxiety. No one could find out.

Absolutely no one.

I was convincing myself more than anyone else and that was valid fear.

Then, as I stood from my desk, the world stopped.

Cillian was leaning against his office door, arms crossed, watching me with those rich emerald eyes.

My breath caught. His stare pinned me down, quiet, powerful, and dangerous.

“In my office. Right now,” he said, voice sharp and commanding, as if he owned every fiber of me.

Once upon a time, he did.

He turned and disappeared inside. And I followed stepping straight into my version of hell.

I shut the door behind me as the blinds closed automatically, sealing us off from the world, a very predatory move.

“Is there anything you need from me, sir?” I asked, my tone clipped and controlled.

He scoffed. “Really, Sloane? Sir?”

His sharp gaze demanded to be felt.

“I have a full schedule today,” I said tightly. “If there’s nothing urgent, I’d like to go.” The sooner I escaped, the better for my fragile heart.

“Based on our contract,” he said evenly, “you still have an obligation to me. Stop playing this stupid chasing game.”

Stupid chasing game? Excuse me? For the record, I was the one chasing, waiting, breaking, dying for him.

“You think I’m chasing you?” I hissed, disbelief lacing every word.

He looked stunned. “What happened overnight? You think because you’re my wife now, you can be this hostile?”

Not overnight, sweetheart. Lifetimes.

Lifetimes between us, and you remember none of it. And I’m supposed to be grateful? You made me like this cold, cautious, indifferent.

“And you think,” I snapped, “that just because I signed that stupid paper and smiled at everyone at that fake wedding, you can demand anything from me? You don’t own me, Cillian. Not all of me, only this.” I gestured to my body.

“But not this,” I tapped my head, “and not this.” My finger moved to my heart.

His jaw tightened, annoyance flashing in his hypnotizing eyes.

“That wasn’t a stupid paper, Sloane. And that wasn’t a fake wedding. That’s my life,  my life in your hands.”

Finally. About time. Cillian’s life was mine to decide.

“We’re at work, sir. See you at home. And just so you know, a simple please would’ve solved your problem. It’s free to be polite. Try it sometime.”

I turned away, case closed, at least for now. I needed courage to face the King of Wrath, so called my husband.

“You okay? That intense?” Maria’s voice pulled me back to reality.

“He’s not Cillian king Montgomery if he’s not intense,” I said with a half-laugh, still shaken.

“You good?” she asked gently.

Maria was a gem, lwhen I first started here, her kindness helped me survive the chaos.

“Never been better,” I lied, as we exited the building together.

But his tortured face stayed carved in my mind. I couldn’t believe I was capable of loving him. The man who was entitled, arrogant, and shamelessly ruthless.

Some things never changed. The same man I loved for eternity still longed for power and control. Cillian was the same before, today, and yesterday.

A pang of pain filled my chest. In this life, I swore it would be different. I wouldn’t be pitied, forgotten, or pushed aside.

How dare he say I was the one playing chase?

Right. I did,  before.

But not anymore. I couldn’t bear that kind of love again. It was exhausting, consuming, destroying.

Our love had faded into a dark hole ever since he died in my arms.

When I came home, a bouquet of yellow flowers lay on the guest bed. My eyes welled up.

Did he remember what yellow flowers symbolized?

My knees went weak as I shut my eyes, a memory flooding in of the man who once truly loved me.

The man who once was the air in my lungs.

Our foolish, beautiful love before it all spiraled out of control, before madness swallowed his heart.

Did he remember what it was like to steal glances? To hide behind shyness?

I reached for the note among the flowers.

I’m sorry. — C.K.

Sorry for what?

For not remembering me? Or for every moment he made me drown in his presence?

My heart fluttered painfully, beating his name in an uneven rhythm.

“I’m sorry too,” I whispered. “Just… not in this lifetime.”

Time was never free. Neither was my heart.