My Dominant Husband

Daphne placed the photo frame inside her suitcase, her fingers trembling as they brushed over the glass. It was the last picture she had taken with Arnold—her husband. Tears streamed down her face, and she couldn’t make them stop. Packing her belongings felt like tearing away pieces of herself. She took a final look around the room, the walls heavy with memories of the life she had shared with Arnold. The love, the laughter, the stolen moments in the quiet of the night when the world was asleep. It was still so hard to believe he was gone, leaving only echoes in his wake. The day she told him he would be a father was etched into her mind, a memory she replayed endlessly. The way his face had lit up with pure joy, his laughter filling the room. "We’re having a baby," she had whispered, and Arnold had swept her into his arms, his kisses leaving her breathless. He spent that whole night talking about the nursery, the room he would fill with toys, and the stories he would tell their child. He was so excited he could barely sleep, his dreams spilling into their waking hours. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she remembered that time, a smile breaking through her tears. A loud honk from outside pulled her back to reality. The car was here. It was time to go. Daphne walked down the stairs, her suitcase dragging behind her, feeling as heavy as her heart. Everything was packed, yet she felt emptier than ever. The reality of her situation pressed down on her: Xavier, Arnold’s twin brother, was now her husband. She had signed the papers, becoming Mrs. Xavier Harris, a name that still felt foreign on her tongue. She would never have agreed to this if it hadn’t been for Arnold’s father, who insisted on the arrangement. He wanted a safe environment for her and the baby, his concern a constant, hovering presence. Arnold had always obeyed his father, never once going against his wishes. Perhaps it was out of respect or fear, but now, Daphne found herself doing the same. She had to think about her child, wanting the same safety that Arnold’s father promised. But what kind of future could she have with Xavier? The suitcase got stuck at the doorstep, and she struggled to pull it free. Suddenly, a strong, veiny hand gripped the handle and yanked it effortlessly. She looked up to see Xavier. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, he stared at her, his gaze lingering on her tear-streaked face. She waited, hoping for a word, a gesture, something to break the tension. But he simply picked up the suitcase and carried it to the car, saying nothing. Daphne couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. His face was so much like Arnold’s—same sharp jawline, same intense eyes—yet there were differences. Xavier’s hair was longer, more untamed, and he bore tattoos that wound up his muscular arms. And then there was the hardness in his expression, a coldness that Arnold never had. He climbed into the driver’s seat, and Daphne walked to the passenger side, opening the door and slipping inside. "I...thought...you weren’t...coming," she stammered, hesitantly locking the car door. Last night, Xavier had called to tell her the driver would pick her up in the morning, so seeing him there was unexpected. "As if...I had a...choice," Xavier muttered, his voice icy as he started the engine. The tension between them was palpable, an almost tangible thing that filled the car. Daphne sighed, turning her gaze to the window, watching as the landscape blurred by. This was going to be harder than she’d imagined. She placed a protective hand on her belly, her small bump barely visible, but she already felt a deep connection to the life growing inside her. A faint smile tugged at her lips. This baby was her lifeline. The last time she had seen this house was the day she married into the Harris family. She and Arnold had lived there briefly, until he could afford a place of their own—a cozy home they had dreamed of filling with the sounds of their child’s laughter. Now, nearly two years later, she was returning, and it felt like stepping back into a different life. Xavier braked suddenly, and Daphne was jolted forward, gripping the dashboard for support. They had arrived. The servants hurried out to take her luggage as she stepped out of the car. She turned to say something to Xavier, but he was already driving away, leaving her standing there, feeling abandoned all over again. Her thoughts drifted to Arnold. He had been everything Xavier was not—gentle, kind, always wearing that easy smile. Despite his family’s wealth, Arnold had chosen a simpler life, one focused on his passion for writing. It hadn’t been easy; success was slow in coming. But with perseverance, Arnold’s words found an audience, and his writing career began to flourish. Inside, the servants took her luggage to what had once been Arnold’s room. Daphne looked around, the space filled with ghostly memories. She sat on the edge of the bed, the silence of the large house pressing down on her. Hours passed before she heard voices from the living area. She walked out and saw Arnold’s father, Richard . "Daphne," he greeted her warmly, handing his coat to a servant. He walked over, pulling her into a gentle hug. "Hello, Dad," she replied, her voice soft. She had always wished he could have been her real father. "So, do you like it here?" he asked, settling onto the couch and removing his socks. She sat across from him, her hands folded in her lap. "It’s...nice," she murmured, watching as he took a sip of water. "Did he just leave you here?" Richard asked, a frown creasing his forehead. He was referring to Xavier, and Daphne didn’t know how to respond. Xavier’s coldness was something she wasn’t sure how to explain. Her silence was answer enough. Richard sighed. "By the way, where were you?" she asked, trying to change the subject. She knew he had retired from the business world years ago, but his presence at home had always been steady, a comforting constant. "A conference," he replied with a chuckle. "They pulled me back to be the main guest. Old habits die hard, I suppose." His smile was warm, and for a moment, Daphne felt a small measure of comfort. But then Xavier walked in, his tie already loosened. "Good evening, Dad," Xavier said curtly, not even glancing in Daphne’s direction as he made his way upstairs. Daphne’s heart tightened, a familiar pang. His face was so much like Arnold’s, yet so different in every way that mattered. "Sorry about him," Richard said, trying to lighten the mood. "He's a little... you know..." He trailed off, and Daphne managed a small, uneasy smile. Nothing could change the fact that she and Xavier were tied together, not by love, but by circumstances—by the child she carried, Arnold’s child, the one thing they both had to protect. After dinner, Daphne retreated to her room, trying to find solace in the quiet. But from down the hall, she could hear voices—Richard ’s and Xavier’s—coming from Xavier’s room. "Did you even ask her about her well-being?" Richard ’s voice was stern, filled with a father’s disappointment. Xavier, who had been lying down, sat up straight. "Xavier, get your act together. That's not why we brought her here!" Richard 's tone was sharper this time, cutting through Xavier’s usual indifference. Xavier blinked, his gaze dropping to the floor, guilt flashing across his face for a moment. "I convinced her to marry because you wanted me to!" Xavier shot back, frustration evident in his voice. Richard ’s expression softened, but his eyes remained firm. "And it’s for the best," he said quietly. "Until we find out who killed Arnold, we need to protect this family." Xavier looked up sharply, his face a mask of shock and confusion. "Do you think I don’t know that?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Daphne, however, heard none of this. She remained in her room, her thoughts still on the baby and the uncertain future ahead of her. She had no idea of the danger that lurked just outside her awareness or the secrets that were being kept to shield her from a truth that could shatter her world all over again. For now, all she could do was take things one day at a time, unaware that the shadows of her past were still very much alive, lingering just out of sight.