Marry me 99 more times

The night was deep, and finally, she escaped from that suffocating business dinner.

This was Sophia Marshall's first job after graduating college. She had always been well-liked, and things were going relatively smoothly at work. But because of this job, Ethan Griffin seemed somewhat upset-he was always composed, self-disciplined, and a bit of a traditionalist. Yet Sophia had no interest in being financially dependent on him. That kind of life made her feel insecure. So she chose sales, firmly and decisively.

After all, they had only known each other for a week before getting married. Even though they had been married for six months, she still felt like she didn't really know him.

Just like that morning-he'd taken a phone call in the bathroom with the door shut. When he came out, his expression was unreadable, and then he left.

The client's inappropriate touches and suggestive words from tonight made her nauseous. Stumbling, she flagged down a cab, and the moment the door shut behind her, she drifted into a heavy, exhausted sleep.

A shriek of metal and a sudden jolt jerked her awake. The seatbelt yanked her backward, then rebound her into the seat.

"Miss, are you okay?" the panicked voice of the driver asked.

She instinctively touched her forehead, which throbbed with pain. Her fingers came away sticky and red. "I-I'm fine." she replied, trying to stay calm, though her voice quivered uncontrollably.

After getting out of the car, the cold wind chilled her to the bone. She sat down on a concrete block by the roadside. The world was still spinning slightly-but colder than her body, was her heart. She pulled out her phone, bit her lower lip, and with icy fingers typed a message: I was in a car accident.

Sent. Recipient: Ethan.

The screen dimmed. No reply. Like a stone thrown into the ocean.

A nearby police officer gestured toward the Rolls Royce that had hit them. "This gentleman will take you to the hospital."

Dazed, she got into the passenger seat. The man's profile was sharp, his aura cold and unapproachable.

"There's glass in your wound," he said suddenly, his voice like ice water.

Sophia blinked, then glanced at the vanity mirror. Tiny shards of glass were indeed embedded in the cut on her forehead.

"Oh. thanks for the heads-up." She lowered her gaze. "Sophia."

"Lucas Marshall," he replied, and said no more.

At the hospital, Lucas handled everything efficiently. Sophia checked her phone again-the chat with Ethan was still chillingly silent. She took a deep breath and called him directly.

Just as the call was about to go to voicemail, it connected.

"Hello?" she opened her mouth to speak-

"I'll call you later," his low voice said. There was background noise, then the line cut off cleanly.

Sophia stared at the darkened screen, her whole body cold. She didn't even get the chance to say, "I'm at the hospital."

Lucas handed her a gold-embossed business card. "Call me for the follow-up."

"No need. I can handle it myself." She rejected him flatly and walked toward the street, her back straight and independent.

"Still planning to take cabs alone?" Lucas's voice came from behind-not loud, but sharp, like a needle piercing through her forced calm.

"I'll drive you," he said, leaving no room for argument.

In the moonlight, her pale face and stubborn eyes formed a strangely fragile contrast. Lucas's gaze flickered. Suddenly, he reached out and brushed her hair.

"What are you doing!" she pushed him away, somewhat repulsed.

Feisty. Lucas's lips twitched slightly.

"Wait here. I'll get the car."

His departing figure was effortless. Soon, the car pulled up. Sophia got in. Silence stretched between them.

Lucas handed her his phone.

She looked at him, confused.

"Put in your number."

She refused. "I don't want to."

So stubborn. His eyes sharpened. "If you don't, how will I contact you about the compensation?"

Sophia noticed the business card box by the glove compartment. She pulled out a card and slipped it into her purse. "This is enough."

Lucas raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curling slightly in amusement.

She got out of the car outside her apartment complex, thanked him politely, and walked into the building. The key turned in the lock. The door opened to a cold, pitch-black apartment and a silence that threatened to swallow her whole.

Ethan wasn't home. He hadn't come back all night.

She didn't know how she made it through the night. Six months ago, she had just escaped a suffocating family, clinging to this seemingly mature and stable man like a lifeline. But now, the so-called "harmonious" marriage felt laughably hollow.

The next day, she hid the bandage on her forehead beneath heavy bangs and went to work like nothing happened. By evening, the sun cast a golden glow over her desk when finally, her screen lit up.

Ethan was calling.

"Hello?" Sophia answered the phone, trying to sound calm, though a slight hitch in her voice betrayed her.

"Are you okay?" Ethan's voice was low and steady as always-impossible to read.

"Mild concussion and some cuts from glass. It's all been taken care of," she answered factually.

"Sorry."

Just one word-polite, distant. It landed like a pin in her heart. Since when did "sorry" become the default between husband and wife? In the past six months, they had treated each other with courtesy, never raising their voices. She had once mistaken that for harmony. Now she realized-it was the vast distance between them in disguise.

"You didn't come home last night?"

"Mm. Overtime," he said briefly, offering no further explanation.

She was used to it. Ethan's world was full of endless projects and social obligations. "There's a company dinner tonight. Want to come?"

The silence that followed was entirely expected. She could picture him now-probably with one hand braced against the desk, brows furrowed, thinking of a tactful way to say no.

As expected.

"I have an important dinner meeting tonight."

"Got it." She hung up, unsurprised. They rarely interfered with each other's social lives or work.

That evening, the team dinner was held at an upscale restaurant. Everyone came in pairs-she was the only one alone.

After using the restroom, her phone rang. It was Lily Carter.

"Babe, I've got a date tomorrow!"

"Oh? Who's the lucky man this time?" Sophia leaned against the hallway wall, her voice tinged with a tired smile.

Sophia had always envied Lily. Lily believed in love sparked by chemistry and spiritual connection. She idealized that slow-burning, Platonic kind of romance-something that felt like fiction to Sophia, who had rushed into marriage for the sake of "compatibility."

Sophia and Ethan had met during a sudden downpour. He didn't have an umbrella, and she had nowhere to go. A week later, they registered their marriage. There was no grand wedding, no romantic proposal, not even deep understanding-just two adults who thought the other seemed "good enough."

They hadn't married for love. Peace at home was a blessing already. She told herself she shouldn't expect more.

After chatting with Lily for a bit, Sophia returned to the table. Everyone was already seated.

"Where's your mysterious husband, Sophia?" Emily Parker, arm-in-arm with her boyfriend, asked with teasing curiosity.

"He's got an important dinner tonight," Sophia replied with a smile, then lowered her head, pretending to study the menu, desperately wishing the evening would end.

At some point, someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare. Her luck was awful-she lost several rounds. This time, the punishment was: go to the private room next door and confess your love to a man.

Amid the rowdy cheers, she pushed open the door.

Inside were several well-dressed men. She froze, at a loss for what to do-until her eyes met a pair of familiar, deep-set ones in the corner.

Ethan.

He wore a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled casually above his elbows, languidly leaning back in his chair with a glass of red wine in hand. He was watching her quietly.

So this was the "important dinner meeting."

"Hey, beautiful! Confess to me!" A handsome, roguish-looking man waved at her, his smile full of mischief.

Sophia quickly took a step back, avoiding his outstretched hand, her voice cold. "It's just a game. No need to take it seriously."

Thankfully, Noah Hughes rushed in, placing himself in front of her and whisking her away.

The dinner ended awkwardly. As she stepped out of the restaurant, she saw Ethan's car waiting at the entrance. He rolled down the window, his eyes calm as he looked at her.

She got in the passenger seat, her expression stubborn.

He leaned over, his familiar clean scent enveloping her as he gently fastened her seatbelt. His movements were elegant and unhurried. Then, his warm lips brushed hers in a kiss-light as a feather.

"Does it hurt?" he asked gently, brushing back her bangs to check the scab on her forehead. His touch was tender, his eyes full of the concern she knew so well.

"It doesn't hurt anymore after you kissed it," she whispered, not realizing the note of dependence in her voice. His gentleness had a way of melting her defenses.

"Fool." He chuckled softly and pulled her into his arms.

Resting against his firm chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, all her earlier doubts and unhappiness seemed to fade in his warm embrace.

But just as he pulled her slightly closer, as if to offer more comfort, a scent suddenly hit her-an unfamiliar, rich perfume, distinctly feminine, and completely at odds with his usual crisp cologne.

Her body stiffened slightly.

Nowhere in their marriage agreement had it said she needed to get used to another woman's scent on her husband.

The following week, Ethan surprised her by coming home every night-on time. He even cooked.

"My mother said protein helps wounds heal," he said as he placed a perfectly pan-seared cod fillet in front of her.

"She's sweet. Please thank her for me."

"I'm sweeter." He picked her up and sat her on his lap.

He often brushed back her bangs to check on her healing scar, touching her with such care it felt sacred.

Sophia rested in his arms, basking in the warmth. The doubts and insecurities from before seemed to melt away in this week of tenderness. They'd only been married six months. Rushing things naturally led to a lack of trust. She should give him more time-and herself more patience.

She scheduled a follow-up at the hospital for the weekend. Ethan offered to go with her, but she refused. She didn't like clinging to him unnecessarily. If she could handle something alone, she always would.

Last night, he had been working late in the study. Sophia had planned to gently persuade him to get some rest. When she tiptoed in, she found Ethan staring blankly at his laptop, clearly troubled.

It was rare to see the usually composed and collected Ethan looking so anxious. She softly knocked on the door to get his attention.

When he saw her enter, Ethan quickly closed the laptop, replacing his worried look with a faint smile. "Still awake?" he asked gently.

"Mm." She wished she could help solve his troubles-just listening would be enough. But in six months of marriage, they had never really opened up to each other.

She knew nothing about Ethan's past. And he seemed uninterested in hers.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" he asked, pulling her into his arms.

"I can't sleep without you."

He smirked knowingly, lifting her onto the desk-then came a flurry of kisses.

It seemed only in this way did they shed all masks and give themselves completely.

The next morning, she accidentally spotted the gold-embossed business card Lucas had given her. Without hesitation, she tossed it in the trash.

The check-up went smoothly. She was in a great mood. But when she got home, Ethan wasn't there.

Something led her into his study. His laptop was open.

She tried a few simple passwords she knew. All wrong. Then, she typed in their wedding date.

The screen unlocked.

She froze. That she hadn't expected.

The desktop was clean. But in the corner was a thumbnail of a photo. She clicked it.

The woman in the picture had waist-length hair, teary eyes, and wore a white slip dress. A stark white bandage wrapped around her delicate arm. The lighting, the angle, the expression-it was perfect, portraying the ideal image of vulnerability and allure.

It wasn't her. Nor was it anyone Ethan had ever mentioned.

She slammed the laptop shut like it had burned her. Then, she called Ethan.

The line rang and rang. Every beep pierced her nerves.

"Hello?" he finally answered. The background was noisy.

She forced her voice to sound casual. "My hardworking husband working on the weekend-I just wanted to check in."

"Did you go to the hospital?"

"Yeah, the doctor said it's nothing serious." She paused and tilted her head. "You sound like you're at a hospital?"

She distinctly heard the announcement system in the background.

There was a beat of silence. Then he said calmly, "Yeah. At the hospital."

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. A friend got injured."

"Male or female?"

"Female," he answered without hesitation.

Sophia couldn't speak. If she asked one more question, the paper-thin illusion of harmony between them would tear.

"Well, enjoy taking care of your lady friend. Your wife's tired-going to nap." She tried to sound lazy and indifferent.

Just as she was about to hang up, his voice came through-low, amused. "Are you wearing anything?"

".What?" she blinked, then blushed furiously, shouting into the phone, "No!"

"Hm." His voice dipped, magnetic and teasing. "I'll handle you when I get back."

Call ended.

Sophia held the phone, somewhere between laughter and tears. The photo she'd seen and the casual, flirty conversation tangled in her mind. Maybe. she was overthinking. Maybe the woman really was just a friend.

She shut the laptop and climbed into bed, forcing herself to sleep.

She slept deeply. So deeply, she didn't stir until his cool hand slid under the covers, lighting fires across her skin.

"No." she murmured, half-asleep, pushing at his wandering hands.

"Liar," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

"Lied about what?" she mumbled, still dazed.

"You said you weren't wearing anything." He chuckled lowly, then kissed her deeply, silencing any protest.

Froze for a second, then she clung to him, responding to his every move. In this primal connection, she felt it-he was her husband. They were one.

She tried to ignore the smudge of lipstick on his collar. But any woman would spot that-who could pretend otherwise?