Chapter 7 Cracks in the ice

Days turned into weeks and the house still remained the same. For all Charlie could say, it was a house of lies and pretence where she had herself caged with the devil's incarnate. But a lot of things are beginning to change.

Charlotte noticed it first in the little things - the way Oliver's eyes lingered on her when he thought she wasn't paying attention.

He'd steal glances at her whenever she's not watching and take his eyes off quickly if she turns to look at him. He almost fell off the staircase on one occasion when he was staring at her, he missed his step and staggered.

Off late, he would sometimes forget his hands on her shoulder or hand after exchanging pleasantries as opposed to early days they spent together when he was too quick to pull his hand away and in fact too mean to exchange pleasantries.

He was still a mystery wrapped in ice, but every now and then, a crack appeared, fleeting and fragile.

She made no attempt to read meaning into the latest developments or recent changes she noticed in him after all what they signed was a legal contract and not some sort of love letter.

But sometimes when she's lonely at nights she does wonder if there's a lot more to Oliver Blackwood other than the cold, mean, commanding husband that she's known for a couple of weeks.

The charity gala that evening was another carefully orchestrated ploy for the public to see and think that the dark billionaire had just found his soulmate. They made a colourful appearance in grand style.

Charlotte wore a gold coloured slim gown, shoes and a small golden handbag with beautiful gold earrings and wrist bands. The shape of her body was revealed in the outfit and she and Oliver were the talk of the event.

Everyone admired and envied them at the same time as they walked side by side, arm in arm, everyone would think that they are lovebirds that cannot be separated from each other.

But that was exactly what Oliver wanted them to see, it was only Charlotte that knew the truth: the distance between them was a chasm.

Oliver kept his interactions with her polished but detached. His smiles were for the cameras, his words rehearsed. Yet underneath the facade, she sensed a tension simmering. His grip on her waist was firmer than necessary; his glances, heavier.

They met some of Oliver's rich friends and spent time together, they had a lot to drink. But Charlie wouldn't drink much. She poured little into her glass and pretended to be sipping it while the drink wasn't decreasing.

"Hello Charlie." One of the ladies greeted her wearing a beautiful smile. "Hello..." "Nickki... I'm Nickki" the lady quickly cut in. "Hello Nickki," Charlie said, smiling back at the lady. Feeling a little bit shy and out of place.

She was in the middle of wealthy people, they weren't of the same social status and class she didn't know what to discuss with the people there so for that reason she was avoiding conversations.

She excused herself that she wanted to use the convenience and left to call her best friend Emily, but on a second thought she decided to stay away from people for the time being.

She wasted so much time in the restroom before coming out only to find out that Oliver had left his friends and was coming in search of her, he'd drank too much and one could easily notice it.

"Time to go." He said, looking at her in a way that made her so uncomfortable. She walked to him and he held her hands as they walked to their car.

They arrived home and Oliver, who was heavily drunk, staggered out of the car and on towards the entrance of the house. He stumbled and fell just at the doorstep.

Charlotte just watched from a distance not knowing what exactly to do. She was contemplating whether to go and help him out or just keep her distance.

Before she could decide, Oliver turned, his eyes finding her in the dim light.

"Why do you just stand there looking at me like that?" He yelled out at her angrily.

Charlotte was startled, she blinked up at him and didn't say anything in response to his question which sounded more like a query.

He tried to walk closer to where she was standing, staggering his way through like a blind man, using his hands to search for his way. "You won't say anything to me huh?" He shouted again.

"Like what exactly" she managed to whisper to him as his face came very close to hers. He laughed and calmed himself down before talking to her again.

"Like I'm the devil." "You just avoid me all day like I irritate you or something, you wouldn't even offer me a helping hand when I'm hurting." He said more calmly this time around.

He reached out for Charlie's cheeks and used his left hand to shift a strand of hair that was covering her eyes back and tucked it behind her ear. His face was so close to hers and he could feel Charlie shivering at his touch.

"I'm not the bad guy you think I am, you know, I'm not hateful either." He said in a tone mixed with disappointment and frustration. He Turned and walked into the house in his sorry state..

Sleep didn't come easily that night.

She lay awake, replaying his words over and over. Was it the alcohol speaking? A crack in his armor? Or something deeper he couldn't bear to admit?

The following days passed with a strained kind of normalcy. Oliver retreated back into his cold, distant persona, burying himself in business meetings and endless phone calls.

But Charlotte saw the difference.

Sometimes, when he thought she wasn't looking, she would catch him staring at her across the room, an unreadable expression on his face. Sometimes his hand would linger when he handed her a glass of wine, or he would pause just a fraction too long outside her door at night.

He was fighting something.

And it terrified her how much she wanted him to lose.

One evening, after dinner, she found herself alone in the library. She was tracing the spines of old books when she heard footsteps behind her.

Expecting it to be Oliver, her heart fluttered - but when she turned, it was someone else.

A man she had never seen before.

Dressed in all black, a shadow among shadows.

Before she could cry out, the man pressed a finger to his lips.

"You're in danger," he whispered urgently. "You have to leave before it's too late."

Charlotte's blood ran cold.

"Who are you?" she demanded, backing away, her heart hammering against her ribs.

But the man only shook his head, glancing nervously toward the doorway. "They're coming for you, Charlotte. Tonight."

And then, just as quickly as he appeared, he vanished into the dark.