The silence in the house had a strange weight to it.
Not the peaceful kind.
Not the comforting kind.
But the kind that made every small sound feel louder… sharper… almost unbearable.
Ivy Anderson stood in the kitchen, staring blankly at the cup of tea in her hands. The steam had long disappeared, leaving behind a cold surface—just like the tension that now lingered between her and Carter.
It had been three days.
Three days since their argument.
Three days since Carter had walked out without another word.
And three days since Ivy had stopped expecting him to come back early.
At first, she told herself it didn't matter.
It's just a contract marriage, she reminded herself again and again.
But every night, when she glanced at the empty side of the bed…
It hurt.
More than she wanted to admit.
At the hospital, things were no easier.
"Dr. Ivy, your next patient is waiting," the receptionist informed.
"Send them in," Ivy replied, forcing a professional tone.
She adjusted her coat and took a deep breath.
Here, she was in control.
Here, emotions didn't get in the way.
The patient, an elderly woman, walked in slowly and sat down.
"Doctor," she said kindly, "you look tired. Are you alright?"
Ivy paused for a moment.
Then she smiled faintly.
"I'm fine. Just a little busy."
The woman chuckled softly. "Doctors always say that. But remember, even healers need healing."
Those words lingered.
Even after the patient left.
Meanwhile, Carter sat in his office, staring at the city skyline through the large glass windows.
The world outside moved as usual—cars rushing, people walking, life continuing.
But inside him…
Something felt off.
His phone buzzed on the desk.
A message from his assistant:
"Sir, the board meeting is ready."
Carter ignored it.
Instead, his mind replayed Ivy's words from that night.
"I'm your wife."
His jaw tightened.
Why did that line bother him so much?
It wasn't supposed to.
Everything between them was clearly defined.
A contract.
Boundaries.
No emotions.
No expectations.
So why did it feel like he was the one breaking those rules?
That evening, rain began to fall.
Soft at first.
Then heavier, as if the sky itself couldn't hold back anymore.
Ivy reached home, slightly drenched despite carrying an umbrella.
She pushed the door open—and froze.
The lights were on.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Carter is home.
She stepped inside slowly.
There he was.
Standing near the window, his back facing her, one hand in his pocket.
For a moment, she just watched him.
He looked… distant.
Different.
Almost like a stranger.
"You're early," he said without turning.
Ivy blinked, slightly surprised.
"I could say the same."
He turned then, his eyes meeting hers.
There was something unreadable in them.
"I had nothing important today," he replied.
Ivy placed her bag down quietly.
"Must be nice."
Her tone carried a hint of sarcasm.
Carter noticed.
"Ivy—"
"You don't have to explain," she interrupted. "It's not like I asked you to."
Her words were calm.
Too calm.
And that somehow made them sharper.
Carter exhaled slowly. "You're still upset."
Ivy let out a soft laugh.
"Upset?" she repeated. "No, Carter. I'm just… adjusting."
"To what?"
"To reality."
The air between them grew tense.
"And what reality is that?" he asked.
She looked straight into his eyes.
"That I married a man who disappears without a word… and expects everything to stay the same when he comes back."
Carter's expression hardened.
"I had work."
"For three days?" she shot back. "Without a single message?"
He didn't answer.
Because there wasn't a good answer.
And they both knew it.
Dinner was awkward.
Painfully awkward.
They sat across from each other, eating in silence.
The sound of rain hitting the windows filled the gaps between them.
At one point, Ivy reached for the water glass—but her hand slipped slightly.
Carter noticed immediately.
"You're tired," he said.
"I'm fine."
"You're not eating properly either."
She put the glass down.
"Why do you care?"
The question caught him off guard.
"I—"
"You made it clear, Carter," she continued quietly. "This is just a contract. So let's not pretend otherwise."
His grip tightened on the spoon.
"I never said I don't care."
"You didn't have to," she replied. "Your actions did."
That hit harder than he expected.
Later that night, Ivy stood on the balcony again.
The rain had slowed, leaving behind a cool breeze.
She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ignore the heaviness in her chest.
Why does this hurt so much?
She had agreed to this.
She knew what she was getting into.
So why did it feel like she was losing something that was never hers to begin with?
Behind her, the door opened.
She didn't turn.
She already knew who it was.
Carter stepped out, stopping a few feet away.
For a moment, neither spoke.
"Ivy," he said quietly.
She closed her eyes briefly.
"Yes?"
There was a pause.
As if he was choosing his words carefully.
"I didn't mean to ignore you."
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"But you did," she replied softly.
"I was dealing with something important."
"More important than your wife?"
The question hung in the air.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Carter didn't respond immediately.
And that silence…
That silence was her answer.
Ivy nodded faintly.
"I understand," she said.
"No, you don't."
She turned then, her eyes meeting his.
"Then explain it to me," she challenged. "For once, just… explain."
Carter hesitated.
He wasn't used to this.
To explaining himself.
To being questioned.
To feeling like he owed someone answers.
"I can't," he finally said.
Something broke in her expression.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But quietly.
Deeply.
"Of course," she whispered. "You can't."
For a moment, neither moved.
The distance between them felt larger than ever.
"Ivy," Carter called again, his voice softer this time.
But she shook her head.
"No," she said. "Don't."
He stopped.
"I don't want half-answers," she continued. "And I don't want to feel like I'm forcing you to care."
"You're not forcing anything."
"Then prove it."
Those three words lingered.
Challenging.
Demanding.
Real.
Carter looked at her—really looked this time.
At the exhaustion in her eyes.
At the hurt she was trying to hide.
At the strength she was barely holding onto.
And for the first time…
He felt something unfamiliar.
Guilt.
"I'm trying," he said quietly.
Ivy blinked, surprised.
"Then try harder," she replied.
Her voice wasn't harsh.
It wasn't angry.
It was honest.
And that made it harder to ignore.
A moment later, she walked past him and went inside.
Leaving Carter alone on the balcony.
The cold air brushed against his face, but he barely felt it.
His mind was somewhere else.
On her words.
On her expressions.
On the way she looked at him—
Not with anger…
But with disappointment.
And somehow, that hurt more.
Inside, Ivy sat on the edge of the bed.
Her hands trembled slightly, but she clenched them into fists.
You're stronger than this, she told herself.
Don't fall for something that was never real.
But deep down…
She knew.
It was already too late.
On the other side of the room, Carter stood by the door, watching her silently.
He wanted to say something.
Anything.
But the words refused to come.
Because for the first time in his life—
He didn't know how to fix something with money, power, or control.
This was different.
This was… her.
And she wasn't something he could afford to lose.
Even if he didn't fully understand why yet.