Chapter 2 This Was Just a Mistake, Anne

The sky had fallen into darkness, and moonlight streamed through the window, tracing the silhouettes of two bodies entwined together.

"Edric, please don't tell me you'll regret this in the morning," Anne whispered softly against his ear. But before she could say another word, her lips were claimed by his breath, her voice swallowed by the heat of his kiss.

Faint, broken gasps filled the room.

When Edric touched her, he was both fierce and gentle, a tenderness Anne had never known before.

Their sweat mingled, their breaths tangled in the quiet night. His warmth pressed against her, his touch moved along her skin, and she felt as though she were melting beneath his hands, dissolving into the depth of his hunger.

Two years of marriage, yet this was the first time they had truly belonged to each other.

"Ah..."

A sharp pain made her frown.

She trembled, clutching him tightly, eyes closed, letting herself sink into the dizzying rhythm of it all.

The moonlight caressed the room, then slowly faded, giving way to the pale glow of dawn.

The first light of day slipped through the curtains, laying a golden sheen over the soft curves of the room. The faint scent of wine had disappeared, leaving only the warmth of skin and the quiet trace of what had been shared.

Anne opened her eyes.

The room was silent, save for the steady rhythm of breathing beside her.

She turned, and there he was.

Edric's handsome face rested against the pillow, his brows faintly furrowed, his breathing deep and slow. The sharp bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips still tinted with the memory of last night, he looked so close, so real.

Her heart stopped for a moment.

For two years, this was the first time she had seen him like this, without the tailored suit, without the cold, formal distance. Just a man, asleep beside her, his warmth brushing against her skin, making her heart tremble with a sweetness she had long forgotten existed.

She turned slightly, afraid to wake him.

Sunlight spilled over his bare chest, drawing soft lines across his body, strong but with something fragile beneath.

Last night felt like a dream, a drunken blur. Yet it wasn't only the wine. For one fleeting night, she had thought perhaps he had finally opened his heart to her.

Anne sat up, wrapped the blanket around her, and stepped off the bed.

Her bare feet met the cold floor, but warmth still lingered in her chest.

She wanted to make breakfast for him. Just once, she wanted them to share a morning together, like a real husband and wife.

She slipped on a robe and left the room.

Her steps on the stairs were light, almost soundless. In the kitchen, she boiled water. The aroma of coffee filled the air, mingling with the morning light.

Anne smiled, a small, delicate smile, but radiant nonetheless.

She made his usual coffee, black, no sugar.

Her hands trembled slightly as she poured it into the cup. She had never imagined something so simple could make her heart flutter like this.

But just as she turned around, the sound of footsteps echoed behind her.

She startled, the cup shaking faintly in her grasp.

Edric was standing there.

He wore a white shirt, hastily thrown on, a few buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of sun-bronzed skin. His hair was tousled, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but the warmth she had seen last night was gone.

His gaze was cool again, distant.

The sweetness in her heart crumpled, like paper crushed in a fist.

"You're awake," she said softly. "I was just making coffee for you."

Her voice was quiet, careful.

He didn't answer. His eyes flicked to the cup in her hands, then back to her face.

"Last night..."

His voice was hoarse, hesitant, as if he were searching for the right words.

"Last night was a mistake, Anne."

Every sound in the kitchen vanished.

Her whole body froze. Only the frantic beating of her heart remained.

"What... what did you say?"

Her voice trembled, small, like a lost child.

He looked away, rubbing his forehead as if in pain.

"I drank too much. I thought you were someone else."

Each word cut through her like a blade.

Anne stood there, lips trembling, but no sound came out.

"I'm sorry."

The apology was barely audible, but it felt final.

In her mind, she could still hear her own laughter from moments ago, the laughter of a foolish woman who had dared to believe in love again.

Someone else.

So that was it. He had never truly seen her, even when she had always been right there before him.

She lowered her head, her fingers tightening around the cup until her knuckles turned white. The heat from it burned her skin, but her heart was already cold.

"I understand."

Her voice was soft, almost weightless, but her eyes shimmered with something that had just shattered.

He still didn't look at her, or perhaps he couldn't.

"Let's pretend last night never happened," he said quietly.

She let out a short, bitter laugh. Not out of anger, but disbelief.

"All right. Let's pretend."

She set the cup on the table and turned toward the stairs.

Each step felt unbearably heavy, not with rage, but with emptiness.

Halfway up, she paused and looked back.

He was still standing there, a tall, cold figure, motionless, almost statue-like beneath the light.

The sun touched his face, outlining him in brilliance, burning the image into her memory.

And she knew, from that moment on, there would be nothing left to hope for.

She whispered, just loud enough for herself to hear,

"So even when I was in your arms, I was still nothing."

Then she continued upward.

Without looking back.

In the kitchen, the warmth of coffee lingered, but its bitterness had filled the air.

Edric stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space where she had been.

He closed his eyes and let out a slow, conflicted breath.

When he opened them again, all that remained was emptiness.

Outside, the morning sun had risen high, spilling across the vast mansion.

The light fell upon the windows, the dining table, the untouched cup of coffee, bearing silent witness to a dream that had already faded.

And in that quiet kitchen, Anne's shadow still lingered, fragile and fleeting, like the last trace of dawn before it vanished from Edric's world.