I woke up to the soft morning light streaming through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. As I groggily reached for my phone to check the time, I realized it was still early—only 6:28 AM. Unable to fall back asleep, I decided to take in the surroundings of our new room.
The space was expansive, with light brown walls that gave off a cozy cottage-like vibe. Vintage furniture adorned the room, including a small couch placed next to a tall window adorned with flowing white velvet curtains. Lush green plants were strategically placed around the room, adding a touch of nature and freshness to the atmosphere. Three white bookshelves stood proudly, awaiting the arrival of our beloved book collection.
A spacious walk-in closet beckoned to me, with its multiple sections and compartments, designed to accommodate all our clothes, shoes, and accessories. Nearby, a beautifully decorated dressing table caught my eye, adorned with twinkling fairy lights that emitted a gentle, enchanting glow. And above it all hung a magnificent crystal chandelier, casting a warm and inviting ambiance throughout the room.
But amidst my observations, a nagging feeling tugged at my consciousness. Something seemed off—something important that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Then, it hit me like a bolt of lightning.
Our room.
I turned my gaze towards him, still deep in peaceful slumber, his hand resting on my waist, anchoring me to the bed. Panic surged through me as I realized the implications of our current situation. This wasn't just a room; it was our room. Together.
The realization hit me like a ton of bricks, and I let out an involuntary scream—a mixture of surprise, confusion, and perhaps a tinge of excitement. It wasn't intentional; the moment had simply overwhelmed me.
"What happened, Sage? Are you alright? Did something happen?" he asked, cupping my face in his hands, concern etched across his features.
I couldn't articulate a coherent response, caught off guard by his gentle touch. Instead, I found myself fixating on the peculiar habit he had developed—cupping my face whenever he was worried or wanted to offer comfort. It was an endearing gesture, one that I couldn't help but appreciate.
Lost in my own thoughts, I momentarily ignored his question, turning my attention to the insistent ringing of my phone. I reached for it, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
Glancing at the screen, I saw that it was an incoming call, and my heart skipped a beat. It was then that I realized the time. 6:30 AM. A wave of embarrassment washed over me, realizing that I had inadvertently disturbed his sleep.
Before I could explain myself, he tightened his grip on my arm and gently turned me towards him, seeking an answer for my sudden outburst.
"Sage, I understand that this may be overwhelming," he began, his voice laced with empathy, but I interrupted him, unable to suppress my inappropriate response.
"That's what she said," the words slipped out, and I instantly regretted them, my hand flying to cover my mouth as I wished for the ground to swallow me whole.
I couldn't believe I had blurted out such a remark. The inappropriate humor had gotten the best of me, and I desperately hoped he wouldn't think less of me because of it.
For a moment, he stared at me, his eyes wide, jaw dropping in surprise. And then, unexpectedly, he burst into laughter—an authentic, genuine laughter that seemed to bubble up from the depths of his soul. His laughter was contagious, and I couldn't help but join in, relief washing over me.
In that instant, our differences, our animosity, and our insecurities melted away, replaced by genuine joy and a shared moment of laughter. It was a rare and precious occurrence—one I hoped would mark the beginning of a new chapter in our relationship.
As our laughter subsided, I couldn't help but hope that this moment of connection and happiness would endure, that it would become a foundation for the future. Together, we faced uncertainties, but in that moment, all I wanted was for this fleeting happiness to last forever.
As the sun shone brightly in the sky, its warm rays illuminated the room, creating a serene and welcoming atmosphere. Wade, formerly known as Maxwell, woke up to the sound of their laughter echoing through the space, filling the air with joy and happiness. Sage, formerly Sage, became aware of the situation unfolding, causing a rush of emotions to wash over her. She instinctively tried to conceal her true feelings, attempting to maintain her composure.
As she made a subtle movement to get up, Wade gently reached out, his hand grasping hers, pulling her closer to him. Their proximity and the tender touch conveyed a sense of intimacy and closeness between them. Sage, raising an eyebrow, silently urged him to speak, not willing to engage in any further conversation. Sensing her guardedness, Wade softly uttered, "Will you please make me breakfast?" Anxious about how she would react to his request, he couldn't help but wonder if this was merely an excuse to interact with her. Despite his lack of culinary skills, he hoped she would consider his plea.
Sage's response came off more aggressive than she intended, her voice laced with frustration. "Why should I?" she retorted, her tone reflecting her dissatisfaction. Her mind questioned why he couldn't hire maids to prepare their meals. Did he expect her to fulfill traditional wifely duties? She vehemently rejected the notion, knowing full well that she led a busy life and often struggled to find time to eat herself, let alone cook for him.
"Well, because you're my wife, aren't wives supposed to do these kinds of things?" Wade responded, regretting his words as soon as they left his mouth. He hastily covered his mouth, horror evident in his eyes. It was out of character for him to hold such traditional views on gender roles, and he quickly realized his mistake. He understood that their relationship was a partnership built on equality, and he didn't want to impose outdated expectations.
Before he could apologize, Sage's expression caught him off guard. He was momentarily rendered speechless, unable to find the right words to convey his remorse. As he observed her poised hand hovering near his face, he instinctively closed his eyes, anticipating a slap. However, to his surprise, nothing happened. When he dared to open his eyes, he found Sage reaching for a bottle of water from his side of the bed. Relief washed over him, mixed with confusion. "Aren't you angry with me?" he asked, his voice soft, still wary of her reaction.
Sage closed her eyes and let out a sigh before responding, her tone calmer but tinged with disappointment and anger. "No, I didn't expect anything less from you. As I said before, like father, like son," she replied, her words carrying an undercurrent of complex emotions that Wade struggled to decipher.
He inwardly acknowledged the validity of her response, understanding that his behavior had mirrored his father's insensitivity and traditional beliefs. He had hurt her, and it weighed heavily on his conscience.
"Besides," Sage continued, her anger simmering, "you made it clear last night that this marriage is nothing more than a deal to you. You pitied me and my father," she added, her voice conveying not only anger but also an underlying emotion that eluded Wade's grasp.
Suddenly, their conversation flashed back to the events of the previous evening, just hours before the wedding. Wade, plagued by guilt and uncertainty, sought solace in alcohol. He found himself at a nearby pub, ordering a Martini to temporarily drown his troubles. Lost in his thoughts, he was taken aback when he recognized the familiar voice of Emily James, his former girlfriend and a fellow member of the Russian Mafia.
Their relationship had been orchestrated by his father, leveraging Emily's affection for him to strike a deal. Once the transaction was complete, Wade broke up with Emily, revealing that their relationship had been part of his father's manipulative plan all along. However, Emily refused to accept the truth, even going so far as to falsely claim she was carrying Wade's child.
As Wade sat at the bar, trying to ignore Emily's approach, she intoxicatedly slurred, "Hello, Wade," her words laced with a seductive tone. Annoyed and repulsed by her presence, he attempted to push her away, but before he could react, a punch landed on his face, knocking him to the floor. A blond-headed young man, whom Emily referred to as her girlfriend, expressed his outrage, accusing Wade of kissing his partner.
Amid the chaos, Wade's bodyguard swiftly intervened, escorting both parties out of the bar, impervious to their futile threats and protests. Emily's parting words resonated in Wade's mind, as she spitefully uttered, "I hope your wife enjoys the gift she will be receiving soon."
Panic surged through Wade's veins as he sprinted to his car, driving recklessly, narrowly avoiding collisions with trees. His sole focus was on reaching Sage, his SAGE, praying fervently to keep her safe. After what felt like an eternity, he arrived at their destination, only to be confronted by a heart-stopping scene: Sage standing before him, covered in red.