I closed the bedroom door softly behind me, but even inside this room — this beautiful, cold, suffocating room — I couldn't breathe.
My clothes were still damp from dinner.
My skin still stung from humiliation.
My heart still trembled from every word Riyan's family threw at me.
I walked to the mirror and stared at the girl standing inside it.
She looked tired.
Lost.
Like someone who had lived ten years in a single day.
I wiped my cheeks quickly, refusing to let tears win.
"I can't break," I whispered to my reflection.
"Not here. Not now."
But strength felt like a language I had forgotten.
I changed into dry clothes — the only spare pair I had — and sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the envelope of hospital receipts.
My mother's surgery…
that was the only reason I was here.
Everything else was background noise. Painful, humiliating noise.
I lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling as the lights formed blurry halos above my eyes.
Sleep didn't come.
Instead, memories from the dinner replayed endlessly:
"This girl?"
"Doesn't match our status."
"What were you thinking?"
And Riyan's voice, calm and sharp:
"If you can't handle tonight, you won't survive what comes next."
My chest tightened painfully.
Why did he hate me enough to say something like that… yet pay for my mother's life?
Why did he look at me like I had personally ruined something for him?
And then—
My phone buzzed.
A faint vibration against the silence.
I frowned.
Only two people ever messaged me: the hospital and an old school friend.
Neither texted at night.
I picked it up.
Unknown Number:
"Why did you marry him?"
My fingers stiffened.
Before I could reply, another message blinked on the screen:
"Do you think he'll forgive you just because you agreed to be his wife?"
My heart dropped.
Forgive…?
Forgive me for what?
I typed quickly:
"Who is this?"
No response came.
Instead, a third message appeared — this one colder, sharper, dripping with something close to hatred:
"You ruined his brother's life.
Don't pretend you don't remember."
My breath stopped.
Brother?
Ruined?
My hands trembled.
No—no, this was wrong.
A misunderstanding.
A sick joke.
I had never even met Riyan's brother.
I barely knew anything about his family.
I typed again with unsteady hands:
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Tell me who you are."
The typing dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then reappeared.
Finally—
"Ask your husband."
The screen went black.
Silence swallowed the room like a wave crashing over my head.
I sat frozen, staring at the blank display, my pulse pounding in my ears.
Ask my husband?
Riyan?
The man who wouldn't even look at me unless it was to remind me of my place?
What was I supposed to ask?
What sin did he believe I committed?
What past was he punishing me for?
What story did he hear… that I never lived?
My throat tightened.
I pulled my knees to my chest, hugging them as the truth twisted like a knife:
I wasn't just trapped in a marriage.
I was trapped in a crime someone believed I committed —
a crime I didn't even know existed.
Tears finally slipped down my cheeks, soft and soundless.
I didn't cry for myself.
I cried for the terrifying possibility that this wasn't a misunderstanding.
That someone — maybe Riyan, maybe his family — had been waiting for years to make me pay for something I couldn't remember.
Or something I didn't do.
When the door suddenly clicked as if someone paused outside in the hallway, I froze.
A shadow lingered.
Then footsteps walked away.
I didn't know if it was Riyan.
I didn't know if he heard me cry.
I didn't know anything anymore.
Except one thing:
This marriage wasn't just punishment.
It was a secret I had been dragged into —
and I had no idea how to survive it.