His Game

IMOGEN'S POV

I remained in the room, steeling myself for war. Because that was what it was now. When the sky started to darken.

I cleaned up the room. Starting by getting rid of all the white blankets. The house probably had servants, but I wanted to do it myself. It made me feel something amidst the numbness that was settling in my chest.

Once I had gotten rid of the dusty white blankets, I folded them into a corner and entered the bathroom to wash my face.

The bathroom was surprisingly clean. Even the mirror that showed my reflection looked like it had been wiped till it glowed.

I let down my hair and stripped out of the red gown. I then entered the bathtub and tore open the valve. The water was cold—the chilly kind. But I embraced the reaction my body gave.

When it filled the tub halfway, I stopped the running water and laid my head on one side of the tub to think.

What move would Elijah pull next? With how erratic he was, I could almost guess his next move.

His mistress would move in. I chuckled, knowing it wasn't a far-fetched thought. It was something that could and would definitely happen.

But Elijah would know that pushing me to my limit was a risky game. He didn't know if I would break or explode. So he would try to soften the blow. I wonder what he would propose.

He seemed to think his family's money and influence were enough to keep me trapped in this marriage. So, what else could possibly be on the table?

Knock!

The bathroom door was open, so I didn't mishear. Someone was at the door. Perhaps it was Elijah again.

"Who is there?" My voice was raspy from all the crying.

"It's Elijah." My husband answered. "Your mom brought a bag. Filled with your clothes." He informed me.

She had visited, and she didn't even try to talk to me. Was it the guilt of our conversation, or did she simply not want to face me?

"She came?" I asked.

"No." He replied. "She sent someone."

A shrill chuckle escaped my nostrils and lips. "Leave it there. I'll come for it."

I heard Elijah sigh. The doorknob twisted again. Luckily, I had not been stupid enough to leave it open.

"Imogen, you can't coop yourself there all day. Have you even eaten?"

I wanted to sink into the water and breathe it all in my lungs. That was how aggravating it was to hear him speak like he gave two fucks about me.

"I do think it is any of your concern if I choose to starve myself. I'm certain my appetite will vanish the second I lay my eyes on you."

"I'm only asking because your mother begged me to ensure you didn't starve yourself." He retorted, telling me again that he didn't care. "Dinner is almost ready. Suppose you need the strength to keep on hating me. Come to the table and eat or starve. I don't care."

I stayed silent, listening as footsteps disappeared. When I couldn't hear the rhythmic sound of his shoes hitting the tiled floor, I let out a bitter laugh.

"As if I would starve myself for a man like you." I mused.

Rising out of the bathtub, I unclogged the drain and watched the now milky water disappear into the drain.

I reached for a bath robe to dry myself off, wrapping it around my slender frame.

When my skin wasn't covered in droplets, I proceeded to walk out of the bathroom door.

I didn't stop till I reached the front door of the room. I pressed my ear against the doors, unwilling to trust that there wasn't a chance that Elijah was lurking there, waiting for me to open the door so he could swing in, catching me off guard.

But I had given the man too much credit. He wasn't there.

Knowing I was safe, I opened the door, peering cautiously into the hallway, half-expecting Elijah to be still lurking nearby. Seeing no sign of him, I exhaled slowly and stepped out, my gaze fixed on the box lying in front of the opened door.

It's the same box I carried with me to college, filled with memories of a time before Elijah's betrayal, before this suffocating marriage.

My heart clenched just thinking about it.

I proceeded to wheel the box inside, carrying it to the bed and unzipping it.

Clothes were a majority of what was inside, but as I sifted through the contents, I saw old photographs. Many of which were of me and Elijah through the years.

Was this why my mother sent them? To remind me that once upon a time, the past had been beautiful.

I picked out an evening dress. A knee length gown that had been in my possession for over two years because I couldn't be bothered to try too hard. I slipped into a pair of slippers, and then I left the room.

I found my way to the dining room, the box of memories weighing heavily on my mind like my mother had wanted it to as I tried to find my way to the dining room. I followed the aroma of what had to be rice, and I eventually stumbled upon the dining room.

Elijah looked surprised to see me, his plate already full opposite the empty one next to him.

My plate, I presumed.

Ignoring his stare, I sat down, meeting his eyes with determination.

"I didn't think you would come," he muttered.

"Well, you thought wrong," I said flatly. "I'm not letting you ruin my appetite."

A servant at the corner hurried over.

"Mrs. Rossi," she greeted as she brought a massive bowl towards my plate and served. "I am Maggie. The housekeeper."

I looked at the food—fried rice. I nodded, managing to force a smile on my lips for Maggie's sake. "It is nice to meet you, Maggie. Although I would appreciate it if you just called me Imogen."

"Oh," the woman said, taken aback. She quickly composed herself. "Sure thing, Mistress Imogen."

I gave a grateful smile and started to dig into my food.

But someone was not so pleased.

"Maggie, could you excuse us?" Elijah's voice broke the silence.

I glanced up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise at his sudden request.

Maggie paused as if waiting for my response. Elijah gave her the look, seeing her hesitation. Perhaps realizing that her job was at risk, she nodded and left the room.

As soon as Maggie was gone, Elijah turned to me, his expression unreadable.

"What was that?" He asked.

"What was what?" I continued eating.

"The shit you just pulled with the housekeeper." Elijah retorted. "I understand that you are miserable. But you are still my wife."

"Maybe outside these walls. Not here. Not after what you did to me." I let him see my neck as I spoke.

I expected some sort of guilt on his part. But there was nothing at all.

Instead, Elijah started a conversation of his own. "I wanted to talk to you. About our arrangement."

I grinned. He wasn't even going to wait for the dust to settle? Did he despise me that much?

"What arrangements?" I dared to ask, knowing I would regret it.

Elijah sighed, his eyes avoiding mine. "I've been thinking," he began slowly, "that perhaps it's best if we... well, if we come up with some sort of arrangement."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "You already mentioned, and I asked, what kind of arrangement would that be?"

He hesitated as if unsure how to proceed. "I propose that we continue to be married in name only," he explained, finally meeting my gaze. "But in reality, we are both free to live our lives as we please. We can love, or... have relations with whomever we choose."

I blinked in surprise, processing his words. "So you're suggesting an open marriage?" I clarified.

There was no shock or disbelief this time around. I was expecting even worse.

Elijah nodded, his eyes hinting that he was a desperate man. "Yes, something like that. As long as we keep it discreet, maintain appearances, and don't cause any scandal."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. After everything that had happened, he was proposing this?

"And what if I refuse?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Elijah's expression hardened, his tone turning cold. "Then we continue as we have been, trapped in this farce of a marriage until my father kicks the bucket."

I felt a surge of frustration at his callousness, but I knew there was little I could do about it. Mr. Rossi's influence loomed over us like a dark cloud, dictating the terms of our lives.

"I suppose you are right," I agreed, my voice devoid of emotion. "An open marriage it will be. Draft a legal document stating our consent, and I'll sign it. It's not like I have much of a choice, anyway."