Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 45: She Hates Me

Sarah

"Your family is very nice," I remark, gazing out the window as we drive back home, the headlights casting fleeting shadows on the road ahead.

"Yes," Matthew replies, his voice steady but distant.

"I wish...I wish mine were like this," I confess, my words trailing off into the quiet hum of the car engine.

Matthew turns his head slightly to look at me. "Your father treats you like a damn princess, Sarah," he says, his tone carrying an edge that cuts through the air.

Jeez...why does he say it like it’s a criminal offense? His words linger, heavy and accusatory.

I hesitate, choosing my words carefully before breaking the silence again. "Yes, that’s true, but..." I begin, my voice tinged with uncertainty.

"But what?" he interjects impatiently, his eyes fixed on the road, yet his mind clearly elsewhere.

"It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it," I say and look out the window.

We don’t talk for the rest of the drive.

Once we got home, it was already very late, so I got dressed and got in bed. I feel the mattress dip beside me as Matthew silently lies down next to me.

I lie on my side, staring at the wall, my back turned to Matthew. The room is quiet except for the occasional creak of the house settling and the soft rustling of sheets as he shifts beside me. He’s close—close enough that I can feel his warmth, but there’s a distance between us that isn’t physical. It’s heavier than the silence, pressing down on me like an unseen weight.

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. "Goodnight, Matthew." I whisper

For a moment, I think he won’t answer. But then, his voice comes, low and tired. "Why did you say that earlier?"

I wrinkle my forehead in confusion. "What do you mean?" I ask, without turning to face him.

"Why did you say you wish your family was like mine? What’s wrong with your own?" he asks.

I feel a shift in bed again, as if he had moved even closer to me.

I swallow hard, my fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. I don’t know how to explain it—not in a way he’ll understand. Not in a way that won’t sound ungrateful.

"Nothing’s wrong," I say instead, my voice quiet, careful. "I just meant... your family feels different."

Matthew exhales sharply, and I feel his warm breath at the back of my neck. "Different how?"

I hesitate. "Your family is...warm and welcoming. They laugh together. They don’t...expect anything in return for their kindness."

He’s silent for a long time, and I wonder if I’ve said too much. Maybe I have. Maybe he thinks I’m being dramatic.

"You think your father expects things from you?" His voice is softer now, but there’s something beneath it. Something sharp.

I press my lips together. I don’t really want to have this conversation.

"It doesn’t matter, Matthew," I whisper, turning onto my other side so I’m facing him now. His face is shadowed in the dim light, but I can see the tension in his jaw and the way his brows are drawn together.

"I want to know," he says, watching me closely.

I exhale slowly. "Yes. My father has high expectations of me, especially now that he handed me the company. And my mother..." I hesitate.

"What about your mother?" he urges me.

"I think she hates me," I blurt out.

Matthew’s expression darkens, his brows furrowing as he studies me. "What?" he asks.

I bite the inside of my cheek, regretting the words the moment they leave my mouth. But now that they’re out, I can’t take them back.

"She doesn’t hate you," Matthew says, as if it’s a fact. As if he knows.

I huff out a humorless laugh. "You don’t know her, Matthew."

He doesn’t look away. "Why do you think she hates you?"

That shouldn’t make my chest tighten the way it does. This was the first time since our wedding night he had shown interest in knowing me. "She always looks at me like I ruined her life. Like she wishes I wasn’t here." My voice cracks on the last word.

Matthew doesn’t answer right away. His hand twitches like he wants to reach for me, but he doesn’t.

"Marishka raised me. She took care of me, consoled me when I got heard, fed me when I was hungry. My mother came to visit me in the nursery from time to time, but now that I look back, it seems like she did it out of obligation," I say.

"I see," Matthew says.

I search his face for some kind of reaction, but his expression is carefully guarded. He’s listening, but I don’t know what he’s thinking.

For some reason, that unsettles me.

"I know it sounds ridiculous," I say, a bitter edge creeping into my tone. "I have everything I could ever need, right? A father who gives me the world. A mother who—" I pause, swallowing hard.

Matthew’s jaw tightens, his fingers clenching slightly in the sheets. "My family adores you."

I blink at him. "They do?" I ask hopefully.

"Yes. Believe it or not. I am surprised by it too. You fooled them quite nicely." He chuckles dryly.

"I didn’t pretend, Matthew. I like them a lot," I say. "But I know you don’t believe me or trust me," I add bitterly.

Matthew exhales through his nose, his expression unreadable. "It’s not about trust," he says finally.

I scoff, turning onto my back to stare at the ceiling. "Then what is it about?"

He hesitates. "You grew up in a world where people always expect something in return. It makes me wonder what you want from me."

His words sting more than they should. I turn my head to look at him, my heart tightening in my chest. "I don’t want anything from you, Matthew," I whisper. "At least, nothing you aren’t willing to give."

His gaze darkens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "You say that now."

I frown. "And what does that mean?"

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from my face before pulling his hand back like he touched fire. "You’re hard to figure out, Sarah," he admits.

A bitter smile tugs at my lips. "Likewise."

Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. He’s still close, close enough that I can feel his warmth, but there’s still that invisible wall between us.

But suddenly, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer.

I stiffen in surprise, my breath catching as his warmth surrounds me. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm—like he’s anchoring me, or maybe himself.

"Matthew?" My voice is barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t say anything right away. His chin rests lightly against the top of my head, his breathing slow and steady. "I am cold," he murmurs, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.

I swallow hard, my heart pounding against my ribs.