Tulip stood frozen at the doorway, her fingers gripping the fabric of her dress as if it were the only thing holding her together. Her home, her supposed safe haven, was now tainted by the sight of her husband, Julian, standing in the living room with another woman. Not just standing. Holding her hand. As if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. This marriage had never been warm, not even before Julian had been deployed. It was a rushed, forced union tangled in rumors and unspoken resentment. But even then, he had never once touched her. Now, he was back, and the first thing he did was bring another woman into their home?
Tulip swallowed hard, her throat dry. She wanted to speak, to demand an explanation, but her voice felt locked behind the lump forming in her chest. Instead, she followed them in silence as Julian led the woman further inside, completely unfazed by her presence.
Finally, she found her voice. "Who is she?" she asked, her tone barely above a whisper.
Julian paused and turned slightly, his eyes unreadable. "Oh," he said, almost as an afterthought. Then, with a casual smile, he looked at the woman beside him. "My bad, I forgot to introduce you two. Tulip, this is Isla. My wife."
The words hit her like a slap. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she wondered if she had misheard him. Isla extended her hand with a polite smile. "You must be Tulip?"
Tulip's gaze dropped to the outstretched hand but didn't move to take it. Instead, she lifted her eyes to Julian, searching his face for any sign that this was some cruel joke. "Wife?" she echoed, her voice unsteady.
Julian scoffed as if her disbelief amused him. "Yes, wife. You heard me."
She took a shaky step forward. "But you're already married. To me."
Julian let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. Isla, standing beside him, smiled as if the whole thing was some amusing misunderstanding. "Yeah, right…" Julian muttered, before turning his back on her once again.
Tulip felt her stomach twist. The air in the house, the house they were supposed to share, suddenly felt suffocating. She clenched her fists at her sides, trying to steady herself. "Julian!" she called out, her voice louder this time, filled with desperation and disbelief.
He finally turned around, his face darkening with impatience. "What?" he snapped.
Tulip's nails dug into her palms. "Are you joking?"
Julian's jaw tightened. "Do I look like I'm joking? You actually think this marriage is real?" He let out a humorless laugh before his expression turned ice cold. "After all, you trapped me into it."
Tulip felt the floor shift beneath her. "What? What trap? I don't—"
"Save it." Julian cut her off, his voice sharp. "I don't care what you say. I don't care about you. I am married to the woman I love. You? You're just a name on a piece of paper. Isla is my real wife."
His words sliced through her like a knife. For a year, she had held onto whatever dignity she had, honoring a marriage that had never been hers, to begin with. She had kept her vows, even when she hadn't wanted to marry him in the first place. And yet, here he was, looking at her as if she was nothing more than a ghost in her own home.
Julian exhaled, his tone turning almost bored. "If you want to stay here, fine. We won't stop you. Just stay out of our way. But if you want to leave? You know where the door is."
Tulip stood there, her heart cracking under the weight of his indifference. The walls of the house blurred as unshed tears burned behind her eyes.
For the first time since their marriage, she realized something with absolute clarity—she had never truly belonged here.