The Debt Bride

Chapter Twenty-Six

  After dinner, the household settled into its usual nighttime routine. The clinking of dishes being washed and the muted hum of conversation gradually faded into a peaceful quiet. Amy and Rhysand made their way to their room, a space that symbolized the complexities of their relationship.

  The room was elegantly furnished, with soft lighting casting a warm glow over the luxurious decor. Amy changed into her nightwear and slipped into the large, comfortable bed, her movements mechanical and tired.

Rhysand, as was their custom, settled himself on the couch across the room, his eyes never leaving her.

  As Amy's breathing slowed and deepened, signaling that she had fallen asleep, Rhysand's gaze softened. In the dim light, he could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the delicate curve of her face relaxed in slumber. She looked peaceful, serene—so different from the composed, sometimes distant woman she was during the day.

  Rhysand leaned back on the couch, his thoughts a tangled web of emotions. He admired Amy's beauty, the way her hair spilled over the pillow, the faint smile that sometimes played on her lips even in sleep. But admiration wasn't enough. He wanted her to understand him, to see the depth of his feelings. He loved her, but the chasm between them seemed insurmountable.

  He sighed softly, the sound barely disturbing the quiet of the room. The weight of his unspoken emotions pressed heavily on him. He had never been a man to easily express his feelings, always maintaining a facade of control and composure. But with Amy, he yearned for something more—a connection, an understanding, a love reciprocated.

  In the stillness of the night, his mind wandered to the moments they had shared. He thought about the times they had worked together, the brief exchanges that hinted at a deeper bond, the way she had agreed to their marriage out of duty rather than love. Each memory was tinged with both hope and sadness.

  Rhysand stood and walked quietly over to the window, looking out at the city lights that glittered like distant stars. He was a powerful man, respected and feared in equal measure, but in this moment, he felt vulnerable. His heart ached with a longing that power and control could never satisfy.

  Turning back, he glanced at Amy once more. She was still asleep, her expression calm. He wished he could reach out, bridge the gap between them, and show her the depths of his affection. But he knew that love couldn't be forced or demanded. It had to be given freely, something that Amy had not yet offered.

  With a heavy heart, Rhysand returned to the couch. He lay down, staring at the ceiling, thoughts of Amy filling his mind. He loved her deeply, but the realization that she did not return his feelings made his heart ache with a sorrow he rarely allowed himself to feel.

  As the night wore on, sleep eluded him. He kept his eyes on Amy, silently willing her to understand, to see the man beneath the stoic exterior, to recognize the love he held for her. But as the hours passed, he remained a silent guardian of her dreams, his own heart heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires.

  In the early hours of the morning, just as the first light of dawn began to filter through the curtains, Rhysand finally drifted into a restless sleep. His last waking thought was a wish—a hope that someday, Amy would see him not just as a husband by necessity, but as a man who loved her with all his heart.