Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 43: Missed a Spot

Sarah

I don’t dare move and barely breathe as Matthew lightly grazes the scratches on my arms.

His blue eyes aren’t icy as they usually are, and this softness in his face is a rare sight.

"Why did you do this to yourself?" he asks in a low voice.

"I...I felt like something was crawling all over me when I was down there," I say quietly. "Like bugs."

"I see," he comments grimly. "Maybe you should see someone about it."

"I am not crazy," I snap.

His lips quirks into a smile. "That’s debatable."

"Well...I am not." I pout.

Matthew releases my arm and goes to his desk. He rummages inside for a bit, then pulls out a tube of antiseptic cream.

I watch as he uncaps the tube and squeezes a small amount of cream onto his fingers.

"Hold still," he murmurs, and I do as he asks, tensing slightly as he starts to gently apply the cream to the raw scratches on my skin.

The cool sensation of the ointment is soothing, but the tension in the air between us only grows. I can feel every subtle movement of his hands, every shift in his posture. His touch, though clinical, stirs something in me, and I find myself holding my breath.

"Does it hurt?" he asks. There’s no teasing in his voice, no mockery—just an odd tenderness I am not used to.

I shake my head, forcing my voice to steady. "No, it’s fine. It’s nothing."

But I can tell by the way his brow furrows that he doesn’t believe me.

"I shouldn’t have done it," he says softly. He carefully smooths the cream over the marks, his fingers lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. "Locking you in the basement, I mean. I went too far."

"It...it’s okay. I am okay now," I mutter.

Matthew pauses, his fingers stilling on my skin. "I got really angry when you didn’t come home with me."

"Well, I was angry too..." I say. "You can’t just order me around and expect me to follow you like a puppy."

He tightens his grip on my wrist. "And why the hell not, Sarah? You made me marry you, so you are now supposed to respect and obey me."

I laugh. "Obey you! Matthew, this isn’t 1920s."

Matthew smirks. "Right. You are a modern woman, Miss CEO. And my boss, so I guess you expected me to obey you when you married me, didn’t you?"

I frown at that. "Matthew, stop. I never wanted that. I know you think I am some kind of evil bitch who wants to control you, but that’s not the case. I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove that fact."

Matthew releases me and waves his hands in dismissal. "Yeah, well, whatever. I have a lot of work to do, so you should leave."

I stand there for a moment, trying to process his words. The sharpness in his voice stings, but it’s the resignation that lingers with me the most. It’s as if he’s already decided what we are, what this will be.

I glance at him, seeing the rigidness in his posture, the way he’s bracing himself for something else I might say, something more.

But I don’t have the energy for more arguments. I don’t have the strength to try and prove myself again, to fight against the walls he’s built around himself.

"Fine," I mutter, taking a step back. "I’ll go now. Enjoy your lunch."

I walk toward the door.

"Sarah."

I pause with my hand on the handle. I turn slowly, not sure what to expect.

"Yeah?" I ask, my heart pounding a little harder than it should.

"Hailey’s birthday is tomorrow. I was thinking we could go see her. She had been complaining that I had been neglecting her," he says and chuckles lightly.

I blink a few times. The way things were going with us, I had assumed he would exclude me from his family out of sheer pettiness. But he wants me to go with him? "Hailey’s birthday? You want me to go with you?" I ask.

He raises an eyebrow. "Yes. Is that a problem? Do you not want to go?"

"I’m just... surprised," I say, my voice soft. "I thought you’d rather go without me."

He shrugs. "We are married now. My parents will expect you to come."

I sink my teeth in my lower lip and nod. "Yeah, I’ll come."

"Great...see you at home," he says.

He is dismissing me, I realize so I don’t wait anymore and leave his office. I stop by Donna’s desk before leaving. "I will be back to work tomorrow. Could you make sure the board meeting is scheduled at five?" I tell her.

Donna looks up from her work, nodding with a smile. "Of course, Mrs. Jameson. I’ll make sure everything’s set up for five."

"Thanks," I reply, offering a brief smile before I turn to leave.

~-~

The following evening, I started to get ready for Hailey’s birthday celebration. I slip into a casual sundress and apply a touch of makeup, fully aware of Matthew’s gaze on me the entire time.

I turn my head to look at him. "What?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light, but truth be told, he makes me nervous now.

"Hmm?" he feigns ignorance.

"Why are you staring at me?" I ask.

"Am I not allowed to look at you?" His tone is teasing.

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in my stomach. "You can look, but you don’t need to do it like you’re sizing me up."

Matthew doesn’t respond. He smirks and leans against the doorframe.

I try to ignore him and continue applying some blush.

"Hmm...who are you trying to look good for anyway? Certainly not for me. Because I couldn’t care less," he mocks.

Is he trying to hurt my feelings again? I won’t let him.

"No one, Matthew. Since you think I am so ugly, you should be glad I am using makeup to make some improvements," I snarl.

He steps closer. "I never said you were ugly," he says, his voice low, almost too calm. "At least not on the outside. Now, inside is a different story."

I quietly apply some eyeshadow, my heart sinking in my chest. His calm, almost casual delivery only makes the sting of his words worse.

He saunters in and sits on the bed so he is directly behind me. I can’t avoid looking at him as long as I am looking in the mirror.

Bastard...

"New dress?" he asks.

"Yes. What, Matthew? Do you have something to say about it? Are you going to tell me it looks like a potato sack on my body?" I scoff.

Matthew’s reflection meets mine in the mirror, his eyes darkening slightly. "Actually, it looks good on you."

I pause mid-stroke with my mascara wand, unsure if I’ve heard him correctly. A compliment? From Matthew?

"Don’t look so shocked," he says, leaning back on his elbows. "I can acknowledge when something looks nice without it meaning anything."

I resume applying my mascara, trying to keep my hand steady. "Well, thank you. I think."

We fall into an uneasy silence again. I can still feel his eyes on me, watching my every movement. It’s unnerving how his gaze alone can make my skin feel too tight.

I uncap my lipstick—a deep berry shade I rarely wear—and lean closer to the mirror. My hand trembles slightly as I trace the outline of my bottom lip, hyperaware of Matthew’s unwavering gaze.

"You missed a spot," Matthew says, his voice dropping to a velvet-rough tone.

I freeze, lipstick hovering just above my upper lip. "Where?"

He rises from the bed in one fluid motion, and before I can react, he’s standing directly behind me. Our eyes lock in the mirror. For a breathless moment, neither of us moves.

"Right..." His hand reaches around, fingers grazing my chin as he tilts my face slightly. "There."

His touch is light but deliberate, the pad of his thumb brushing against the corner of my mouth. I try to ignore the warmth radiating from his body, how his chest is nearly touching my back.

"I can fix it myself," I whisper, but I don’t pull away.

"I know you can." His breath fans against my ear, stirring loose strands of hair. "But sometimes it’s easier when someone else does it for you."

He takes the lipstick from me. I watch, mesmerized, as he removes the cap again, twisting the tube until the rich color emerges.

"Hold still," he commands softly.

I comply, parting my lips slightly as he leans in. His face is so close that I can see the faint stubble along his jaw, count each dark eyelash as his gaze focuses intently on my mouth. With surprising gentleness, he applies the color to the spot I apparently missed, his movements precise and careful.

My pulse quickens, and I find myself holding my breath.

"There," he murmurs, his voice rougher than before. He caps the lipstick but doesn’t move away. "Perfect."

Our eyes meet again in the mirror.

"We should..." I swallow hard, trying to regain my composure. "We should probably get going. Don’t want to be late."

"No," he agrees, though he makes no move to step back. His hand comes to rest on my bare shoulder, the weight of it burning through my skin. "We wouldn’t want that."

His fingers trace an idle pattern along my collarbone, and I fight to keep my expression neutral even as goosebumps erupt across my skin.

"I...I bought a present for Hailey," I breathe to fill the silence.

"Did you?" Matthew’s voice remains low, his fingers still tracing that maddening pattern on my skin. "What did you get her?"

I try to focus on the question rather than the sensation of his touch. "A vintage camera. She mentioned photography the last time I saw her."

His eyebrow arches in surprise. "You remembered that?"

"I pay attention," I say, finally finding the strength to step away from his touch. I turn to face him directly, no longer hiding behind our reflections. "Despite what you think of me, I do care about your family."

He doesn’t respond. He takes his hands off me and backs away. "Yeah, well. Let’s go. Dad hates it when people are late."