Seducing Her Husband

The sun streamed in through soft white curtains, warm and golden against the pale sheets. Mia stirred gently, her lashes fluttering before her eyes opened, and for a brief, fragile moment, everything felt still. Peaceful.

Then she remembered what day it was and smiled.

The first day of school.

She turned to glance at the clock on her nightstand. 5:42 a.m. a little earlier than planned, but she was too excited to sleep any longer. She sat up slowly, brushing her dark hair back with a sleepy yawn, and reached for her journal. It was more of a diary, She had fallen asleep when She was pouring out her feelings as usual in the blank pages. It gave her a sense of peace whenever she poured out her deepest feelings. Her journal was kind of her bestfriend, it was her safe space. It had been a while she had written in her journal before last night. Today she decided to write down what she was grateful for to mark the beginning of a new session.

It was a small ritual. Quiet. Personal. Necessary.

Three things I'm grateful for:

1. A new school year with my students

2. The smell of sharpened pencils and tiny finger paint

3. That I still have hope

She hesitated after writing the last line. Her pen lingered, pressing into the paper with unspoken weight. Hope was dangerous. It was the reason she woke up each morning thinking maybe just maybe he'd look at her differently. That he'd see her not just as a contract. Not just a name on paper. But something more.

She closed the journal gently, setting it aside.

Mia loved her job. Teaching children wasn't just work it was her whole heart. They didn't care about last names or contracts or social status. They just wanted someone to listen to their stories and hug them when they cried. With them, she felt seen. Needed. Loved.

It was a sharp contrast to how she felt in her own home.

She slipped out of bed and padded across the cold marble floor to the en suite bathroom. As she brushed her teeth, her eyes caught her reflection green eyes, delicate features, her frame small in the oversized plain nightgown.

Sometimes she barely recognized herself.

By 6:30 a.m., she was dressed in a soft blush blouse tucked into a cream pleated skirt. Modest. Neat. Gentle. She pinned her hair half-up and touched her lips with a hint of pink gloss not because her students would care, but because... he might notice.

Even once.

She slipped downstairs quietly, the house echoing with emptiness. Everything was sleek and modern and far too cold, like the man she married. Still, she knew where to find him.

The kitchen.

Her heart fluttered as she stepped inside and there he was.

Damian Blackwood. CEO of Blackwood International. Only heir of the Blackwood legacy. And her husband of one year.

He stood at the counter, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark navy suit, the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the silver watch on his wrist. His hair was slightly damp from the shower, and he was sipping black coffee while reading something on his tablet.

He didn't look up.

"Good morning," Mia said softly.

"Morning." His voice was deep and flat, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

"I-I'm going in early today. First day back." She tried for lightness, cheer. "I have a new batch of first-graders. It's always a little chaotic, but sweet."

"Hm," Damian murmured, tapping the screen.

Mia moved to pour herself some coffee, her hands shaking just enough to make the china clink. The silence stretched between them like a thread ready to snap.

"Would you like me to make you anything for breakfast," she offered, glancing at the marble island. "I have a little time before i need to leave."

"I won't need it. I have an early meeting uptown."

"Oh. Right." She nodded and took a sip, even though her throat felt tight.

Then, unexpectedly, he glanced up. His gray eyes met hers for half a second.

"You seem good with kids," he said simply.

Her heart skipped.

" Yes, Thank you."

Another pause. Damian set down his tablet. "Do you need Roland to drive you?"

"I'm okay driving myself."

He gave a faint nod. "Fine."

And just like that, it was over. He walked past her, grabbing his briefcase from the counter.

At the door, he paused. "Good luck today."

It was nothing. A courtesy.

But it was more than usual. Simple conversations like this with him were rare.Mia held onto it like it meant something.

"Thank you," she whispered as he walked out the door

She stood there long after he was gone, her coffee cooling in her hands, her heart aching in her chest. She loved him. With everything in her. Had loved him since she was a child chasing after his shadow in the garden while their parents dreamed of joining families through love.

But only one of them had kept dreaming.

Their marriage had always been business. Arranged. Controlled. Strategic. He agreed only to secure his position. She agreed because she hoped... she believed...

Maybe love could grow where it was planted.

But after one year, she knew better.

Still, she wanted something of him. A piece. A thread. A single, small spark that belonged to her and no one else.

Her car was parked in the smaller garage. A compact white Mini Cooper, decorated inside with pastel seat covers and tiny flower shaped air fresheners. A far cry from the luxury cars Damian drove but it was hers. She had bought it from her her very first paycheck. She had a trustfund she could use to buy any car she wanted but this one felt different.

She started the engine, humming along to a gentle pop song as she pulled out of the driveway and onto the quiet road leading into the city.

The wind teased her curls. The sun warmed her skin. And for the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breathe.

She loved this part of her life. Where she wasn't a contract or a forgotten wife. Just the teacher with a kind heart and a classroom full of chaos.

But even here, even in her happy place, his face lingered in her mind. The way he looked this morning. The way he said "you seem good with kids" like it almost meant something.

She wished it did.

She wished she meant more to him.

And yet... she was still the girl who had married a man who didn't love her. The girl who had loved him in silence since she was a child. The girl who still hoped he might look at her not through her one day.