He Is My Husband

The Morgan estate was an epitome of grandeur, its study no exception. The room was a sprawling space of polished mahogany, walls lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the faint aroma of aged leather hung in the air. A roaring fire crackled in the corner, though the warmth of the flames couldn't melt the tension brewing inside. Arthur Morgan, the patriarch, sat behind his imposing desk, his voice a low growl cutting through the air like a knife.

"Four years, Caleb," Arthur said, his tone heavy with expectation.

"You've been married for four years. It's time you step up and do your duty-continue the family line."

From the other side of the room, Caleb leaned casually against a grand fireplace, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up. The flickering firelight cast sharp shadows over his chiseled features. His expression was one of barely concealed disdain as he swirled the whiskey in his glass.

"Why," he drawled, his voice low and laced with mockery, "should I have children with a woman I don't love?"

Outside the heavy doors, Elara froze mid-step. She had been on her way to the study to call them for dinner, her hand raised to knock, but Caleb's words stopped her cold. Her breath hitched, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs. Her fingers trembled as she dropped her hand to her side, the cold weight of his indifference settling over her like a shroud.

Inside, Arthur leaned forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing.

"Watch your tongue, boy," he barked.

"Elara is your wife-an honorable, loyal woman. You owe her respect."

Caleb let out a bitter laugh, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Respect?" he repeated, his tone dripping with irony. He straightened, setting the glass down on a nearby table with deliberate force.

"Let me make it clear: Elara and I will never have a child. You can drop this idea now."

Arthur's fist slammed onto the desk, making the lamp rattle. "You ungrateful fool! Your arrogance will be your downfall! This isn't just about you; it's about this family, our legacy!"

The sound of a glass shattering against the wall silenced Arthur's tirade. Elara jumped at the noise, stepping back instinctively. In her haste, she pressed herself against a nearby credenza, her side scraping against its sharp corner. The sudden sting of pain spread across her waist, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her chest. Tears welled in her eyes, though she quickly wiped them away, forcing herself to stay quiet.

As her vision blurs with tears, she remembers the message she received only days before from Sienna Blackwell, the woman who had been an unspoken presence in her marriage since the beginning. Elara closes her eyes, replaying the image of the sonogram Sienna had sent, along with the cutting words:

"I feel sorry for you, Elara. You may have Caleb in name, but his heart is mine. And soon, we'll have what you'll never have-a child, a real family."

Elara's throat tightens, recalling how Sienna's cruelty had been there from the very start. Her thoughts swirled back to a moment that had haunted her since the first night of their marriage. That night, she had received a text from Sienna Blackwell, Caleb's lover. The message was simple-a photo, a mirror selfie. Sienna stood in casual silk pajamas, her smirk smug as ever. But it wasn't her that caught Elara's attention-it was the figure in the background, back turned, clad only in a towel. Caleb. He stood by a massive window, the city lights spilling across his toned, familiar frame.

The implication had been unmistakable, and Sienna's accompanying words had burned into Elara's mind:

"Good luck with your husband, Mrs. Morgan. You have the ring, but I have his heart-and so much more."

Even now, four years later, the image was seared into her memory. Sienna hadn't stopped. Over the years, there had been more messages, more taunts, each one a cruel reminder of where Caleb's affections truly lay. And through it all, Elara had clung to a fragile hope, convincing herself that if she worked hard enough, loved deeply enough, she could win him over.

But now, as his words from moments ago echoed in her mind, that hope felt like a cruel joke and finally that hope had died tonight.

The sound of the study door creaking open yanked her back to the present. Caleb's imposing frame filled the doorway, his black attire stark against the warm hues of the room. His sharp, piercing gaze swept over her, and his lips curled into a mocking smile.