Chapter 2 Leona Crying in My Arms

I woke to a searing pain between my legs, the memories of last night flooding back like a relentless nightmare—raw and inescapable. My first time. My wedding night. Dominic Hawthorne had treated me as though I were his adversary. It shattered every dream I had ever cherished. The space beside me in bed was already cold. On the snow-white sheet, a single drop of blood—like cinnabar—stood out vividly. I got up, endured the pain as I showered, changed into clean clothes, and stripped the bedsheet. At the top of the staircase, I paused. Below, Dominic Hawthorne sat at the long dining table, reading the newspaper while eating breakfast. Golden morning light poured through the window, illuminating his profile in a warm, almost holy glow. For twelve years, I had loved him in silence. To marry him, to live under the same roof, to share a morning meal—this had once been a dream too bold to imagine, yet one that haunted my soul. Now it had come true, yet I couldn't bring myself to take a single step. His cold, brutal claiming of me the night before haunted me—a constant reminder: I had never truly known this man. "Miss Fairchild, you're awake." As I watched Dominic, the housekeeper had noticed me and greeted me politely from below. She didn't call me "Mrs. Hawthorne," as she had yesterday. She called me "Miss Fairchild." My heart trembled. Though resentment stirred, I suppressed it—knowing my position gave me no right to question. I buried the lingering fear from last night and descended, sitting across from Dominic. The housekeeper brought my meal. I had no appetite and only took a few token bites. Looking up, I saw that Dominic's plate was also nearly untouched. Not sure whether I was trying to ease the tension or salvage a marriage hanging by a thread, I spoke gently, "I'm sorry I woke up late today. From tomorrow on, I'll get up early to make breakfast for you." If there was one thing I could truly call a talent, it was cooking. After speaking, I waited with faint hope. But Dominic dropped his utensils, stood up, his expression still icy. "Let's go. The car's waiting." "Where?" I asked, startled by his apparent irritation. Had I said something wrong? I had never been timid. Yet in front of Dominic Hawthorne, even my breath felt humbled to the dust. By then, he had reached the door and was changing his shoes, not turning back as he said, "The post-wedding visit to your family." I rode with Dominic to Fairchild Manor. Until that moment, I still believed his harshness came from resentment toward the arranged marriage—not because he had discovered I wasn't my sister. But as I followed him inside and saw Leona Fairchild—whom I had personally sent to the airport yesterday—standing in the living room with my parents, her eyes swollen like peaches from hours of crying, I froze. My parents' faces were flushed with anger. I glanced at Dominic. My first thought: he must have found out about the switch and had her brought back. Panic surged through me. In Swan City, Dominic Hawthorne might not command the heavens, but making someone's life difficult? That was effortless. If it were only about me, I could endure it. But now my parents and sister were involved… While guilt and confusion churned within me, wondering how I would explain, I watched Dominic stride forward, pull the sobbing Leona into his arms, and whisper, "Are you okay?" The tenderness in his eyes was unlike anything I had ever seen.