ruth

The early morning light filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow in the room.

It was 6 AM, and I had already risen from my sleep, dressed in the same attire from the previous day.

I was prepared to leave Ethan's house, eager to step out into a new day and distance myself from the complexities of our fabricated life.

However, my intentions were interrupted by a voice that sliced through the quiet. "Are you running away?" The question hung in the air, stopping me in my tracks.

Slowly, I turned to face Ethan, who stood before me, clad in a night shirt and messy hair that somehow made him look even handsome.

In his hands, he held a cup of steaming coffee, wisps of steam curling upwards as if mirroring the tendrils of my thoughts.

His presence, unexpected yet oddly fitting, gave me pause. Rays of sun danced upon him, transforming his figure into something almost ethereal.

He looked like a fragment of a dream, a figure suspended between reality and the realm of imagination.

As our gazes met, I found myself captivated by the tableau before me.

There was a sense of vulnerability in his appearance, a rawness that contrasted with the carefully constructed facade he often portrayed.

It was as if the early morning light had stripped away the layers, revealing a side of him that was rarely seen.

The memories of the events that transpired the previous night surged forth, replaying in her mind like a vivid reel of images.

A shiver rippled through her body, the sensation a strange mixture of cold and something far more visceral.

She attempted to attribute the shiver to the morning chill, dismissing the fluttering in her chest as mere coincidence.

Yet, deep down, she knew that the true source of her unease lay elsewhere.

Her heart contradicted the rationalizations she attempted to conjure. It raced with a rhythm that defied explanation, its tempo quickening at the recollection of his touch.

The memory of his hands encircling her waist had left an indelible impression, a phantom sensation that still lingered on her skin.

The subtle imprint of his grip seemed to echo within her, a tactile memory that defied the boundaries of time.

And then there was the scent—the rich, alluring scent of his cologne that seemed to linger in her senses.

The memory of it was inexplicably vivid, an olfactory trigger that invoked a cascade of emotions within her.

It was as if she could still feel his proximity, as if his presence was etched into the very air around her.

Above all, she found herself yearning for the warmth that had enveloped her last night.

"Why would I run away?" The words slipped from her lips in a retort, a defensive response to his inquiry.

Her voice carried a touch of defiance, a shield against the vulnerability that threatened to seep through her façade.

She met his gaze, her eyes steady despite the rapid drumming of her heart.

The playful jab followed, her words laced with a teasing edge.

"You do closely resemble a beast, but don't worry, I've gotten used to seeing you." The remark was accompanied by a casual shrug, an attempt to deflect attention away from the truth that lay beneath her words.

In reality, her heart raced not from the idea of running away but from being discovered in a moment of introspection.

The blush that teased at the edges of her cheeks was a giveaway, a physical manifestation of the emotions she tried to suppress.

And ruth should not be thinking of her fake husband as an angel.

She has to get away from him.

"I am going to get my things from my house," she explained. It is a good excuse. And she does have to get her things from her house, just not this early in the morning.

before ruth could make her escape Ethan caught her hand.

"You are not going anywhere."