The morning light spilled into the grand dining room, casting a judgmental glare on Cathleen as the guests streamed in. Eyes darted her way, and whispers hung in the air unspoken. The tousled hair, the flush on her cheeks, the slight disarray of her silk robe-all silent testimonies to the stormy scene that just happened a few moments ago before Xavier opened that door.
Cathleen's gaze flickered toward the bathroom door, longing for a minute to collect herself and wash away the evidence. But Xavier was there; his presence was a wall she could not bypass. His hand, firm on her lower back, made a claim that spoke volumes. Cathleen could feel the spill of Xavier's sperm as she shifted a bit. Xavier knew she was uncomfortable, but he wanted everyone to know she was his and didn't want to hide that they were now fucking just like every couple should.
"Baby, I would like to start my day with your butternut soup." Xavier's voice, smooth and demanding, broke through the murmurs. His father, in an echo of approval, said, "Same here; that is my favorite."
A wave of shame crashed over her, heating her skin. This was a game for Xavier, a demonstration of dominance. She had found pleasure in everything Xavier does to her-how he spanks her ass and how he fucks her until she is seated-but this public display twisted it into something crass.
"Can I help you with anything?" Finn's mother's inquiry sliced through Cathleen's reverie.
"Please." Cathleen nodded, grateful for an escape, even if momentary. Together, they arranged the breakfast spread-an array of pastries, fruits, and cheeses-with precision, a reflection of Cathleen's meticulous nature.
"Here," Cathleen handed a platter of freshly baked croissants to Finn's mother, who accepted it with a warm smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Their task completed, they joined the table, where chatter circled like vultures, hungry for scandal. Cathleen's sharp tongue lay in wait, ready to strike at any provocation. But for now, she sat, her posture perfect-the picture of a lady not to be trifled with.
The cutlery clinked against the fine china, an orchestrated symphony to the tension tightening around them. Each bite, each sip, a silent battleground.
Cathleen's fingers tightened around her utensil, the silver gleaming like the edge of a blade under scrutiny. She felt their eyes on her, probing and judging, as if her skin itself betrayed the secrets before they walked into the house, where Xavier was mercilessly fucking her without holding back.
"Married life must be a thrill," Edward Knight's voice slithered into the conversation, his gaze heavy upon Cathleen. "God knows I wanted you with Finn, but he chased after Avery. A damn shame."
Cathleen's throat was constricted, the weight of past betrayals pressing down like a vise. She searched for words, but found none. Accusations had long since become her shadow, following her every step, whispering blame for a sin not her own. She didn't understand why people would always blame a woman; she was cheated on, not the other way around. She didn't cheat on Finn, and she also didn't know her husband was Finn's uncle. Why is everyone blaming her?
Xavier's hand found its way to her knee under the table-a possession more than comfort. His voice cut through the murmured judgments, as cold as winter ice. "I believe you came here to eat, not to interrogate my wife, right?"
Finn's gaze burned into her, a reminder of what could have been. He pushed a fork through his eggs, the yolk leaking out like a wound. His appetite was gone, lost in the mess of what was taken from him. His uncle's touch on her, the faint flush on her cheeks, screamed louder than any words could. He knew they had just finished fucking and didn't want to hide it from anyone.
Old Mr. Knight leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a peculiar interest. "Cathy, how far along are you?" The question hung in the air, a noose awaiting her neck.
Cathleen froze. The spoon she held trembled slightly, a telltale sign of her inner turmoil. "Excuse me?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
The old man leaned back, the corners of his mouth twitching with unvoiced suspicions. He said no more, letting the implications simmer amidst the clinking of china and the quiet hum of tension that wrapped around them like chains.
Cathleen's gaze swept over the breakfast table, a battlefield of silverware and porcelain. No one reacted to the old man's probing question; they chewed and sipped as if the words were just another hum in the morning's soundtrack. Yet, a stone of anxiety settled in her stomach. Why would he think she was pregnant?
"Am I missing something here?" Her voice cut through the mundane clatter, sharp, demanding attention.
The room hushed. Xavier's grip on her knee tightened imperceptibly, an unspoken command to tread carefully. The air thickened with tension, with each breath feeling like inhaling molasses.
"Um normally that means you are pregnant; Father has a way of spotting that." Finn's mother says: "You are glowing; Father is right. How far are you?" Cathleen froze. Her mouth moved, but she didn't know what to say.
"No, I am not pregnant." She says her lawyer instincts were kicking in, ready to cross-examine every last one of them.
Old Mr. Knight's eyes held a glint of something unreadable as he toyed with a piece of toast. "Just an observation," he muttered, not meeting her stare.
"Observations should be based on facts, not fantasies," Cathleen snapped back, her tone laced with venom. Her heart raced, blood pounding in her ears like war drums.
"Maybe it's hope," Xavier mumbled, but his voice carried a darkness that sent shivers down her spine.
"Hope can go fuck itself," she retorted, slamming her spoon down and making China dance. Her cheeks were flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. She can't be pregnant! Not with him still fucking around; hell, he's not even husband material; of course, he fucks her well, but having a baby! Am I pregnant? Nah, never! I can't possibly be pregnant with that man. I don't even know what I feel for him, hate? or just fulfilling wifely duties? Cathleen thought.
"Language, dear," Xavier's mother chided from across the table, her eyes narrowing at Cathleen's outburst.
"Apologies," Cathleen said through gritted teeth, the apology tasting more like acid than remorse.
"Perhaps we should all focus on our meal," Xavier suggested, but the words felt hollow, failing to mask the undercurrents swirling beneath the surface.
Cathleen's mind whirled. Was this their way of binding her to a future she hadn't chosen? She pushed back her chair, standing abruptly. "If you'll excuse me."
"Where are you going?" Xavier's voice was a whip-crack, attempting to reel her back in.
"To clear my head," she declared, refusing to be corralled by his dominance or anyone else's expectations. With each step away from the table, she felt a sliver of control return, even as the specter of Old Mr. Knight's insinuation loomed over her.