Chapter 2 COLD SHEETS

The honeymoon phase ended before it began.

A week after the wedding, Drake returned to New York City to resume his tax job. Long hours, noisy subways, and the weight of rent and responsibilities hung around his neck like a chain. Beauty, on the other hand, settled into her role as a receptionist at a small newspaper company on the outskirts of the city. Her days were slow, filled with routine greetings and refilling the coffee pot in the break room.

At home, the silence between them grew louder.

Drake came home late most nights, exhausted. But no matter how tired he was, he always reached for her arms sliding around her waist, lips brushing against her neck. His body craved hers, his need unspoken yet desperate.

Beauty tensed every time.

Not because she didn't love him. She did. But intimacy still felt foreign. Her body, once shielded by years of abstinence, now felt exposed in a way she hadn't prepared for. She wasn't sure how to move, what to say, or how to respond when he touched her in places she'd only heard whispered about in church cautionaries.

One night, as he kissed down her neck, she gently pushed him away.

"I'm tired," she whispered.

Drake's jaw clenched slightly, but he rolled over without a word. His back to her said more than his silence did.

This became a pattern. Some nights she gave in, allowing him to have his way even though she didn't feel ready. She stared at the ceiling, counting cracks in the paint as he moved over her, trying to convince herself that this was love. Other nights, she denied him gently, not knowing how deeply the rejections bruised his ego.

He tried to be patient, but frustration simmered beneath his surface. The same man who used to take women to bed with ease was now grappling with his wife's quiet resistance. And guilt twisted with desire. He had promised to be faithful. Promised to cherish her. But his needs felt like fire against cold sheets.

One morning, while Beauty stood at the kitchen counter making toast, Drake came behind her, arms wrapping around her waist.

"Can I have you before I leave?" he asked softly, nuzzling into her neck.

She tensed. "Drake... I have work. I'll be late."

"It'll only take a few minutes," he joked, trying to lighten the tension.

She stiffened more. "I said no."

He let go of her, stepping back. "You keep saying no like I'm some kind of burden."

"I'm not ready every time, Drake," she replied, almost pleading. "It doesn't mean I don't love you."

"But it means I'm alone in this marriage," he muttered, grabbing his bag and walking out.

Beauty stood there, the smell of burning toast rising behind her, tears pooling in her eyes.

That night, she sat across Evelyn at a quiet café.

"You think I'm broken?" she asked her friend. "Drake wants sex all the time. I... I just don't feel it the way he does."

Evelyn sighed, stirring her tea. "You're not broken, B. But marriage isn't just about love and rings. It's also about learning your husband. His needs. His hunger."

"I try... but I don't know how to want what I don't feel."

"Then maybe it's time to explore it. For you, not just for him. Sex isn't a sin anymore, Beauty. You're married now. Give yourself permission to enjoy it."

Beauty nodded slowly, unsure of how to unlock something that had been shut for so long.

Back home that night, she wore the silk nightgown again. She lit candles. Brushed her hair like she was preparing for a date. When Drake entered, surprised to see her waiting in bed, she smiled shyly.

"I want to try," she whispered.

He kissed her with urgency, his fingers undoing the strap of her gown. She tried to enjoy it closed her eyes, imagined love instead of obligation. But halfway through, she winced.

Drake noticed. He slowed down. "Are you okay?"

"I'm trying," she said, tears slipping down her cheeks.

He pulled away gently. "I can't keep doing this, Beauty. I need more than just your body. I need you to want me."

She stared at him, heart cracking under the weight of something she didn't know how to fix.

And as he rolled away again, both of them facing opposite walls in the same bed, it was clear:

Something was breaking. Slowly. Quietly.

And neither of them knew how to stop it.