Chapter 137 Workaholic?
On the other hand, Luke tried to become good, to become a better person.
He genuinely tried to play the role of the devoted husband, and uphold the display of a ‘happy life’.
But, things weren’t as smooth and delightful as he perceived them.
Every time he looked at Peach, he saw the top of her head as she bowed over another set of ‘urgent’ documents.
He was beside her, on the table, stroking her hair, “Peach-”
She raised her one, dismissive finger, “Just a second, Luke.”
Curling his hand in a powerless fist, he exhaled to show his disappointment and rose from the table, walking away.
Her jaw clenched, resenting the resonance of his retreating footsteps.
She struggled to get her work done as quickly as possible to get back to her husband.
“Done-”
By the time she was done, the moment she lifted her head with a grin, he was no longer there and went to sleep.
Forming her lips in a thin line, she slammed her hand on the table, “Fuck,”
Cursing under her breath, she quickly changed into her revealing nightwear and climbed under the covers.
“Luke~” She cooed, her voice a melodic lure. Her fingers traced a path up his arm, seeking warmth.
He didn't move. He felt like a statue.
“I am tired, Peach. You aren’t the only one with a career to maintain.”
He brushed her hand off as if it were a stray hair on his sleeve. She remained stunned, eyes narrowing with disheartened feelings.
The distance between them wasn't just physical anymore- it was an abyss.
The next evening, the tension finally snapped.
Luke had finished packing. Two suitcases stood by the door like silent sentinels, ready for a detached honeymoon that was already rotting.
“Hello? Peach? Where are you? I have done packing. We are going to be late for our flight-”
“... About that…” She paused, nervousness creeping, “We have to delay it for a few days. Just a few. I promise. I will get it done and-”
He didn't yell. He didn't even hang up. He just set the phone down, he decided to not let it ruin his mood.
“A few days, just… a few.” He whispered to himself, trying to be considerate and convince himself.
Placing the suitcase away and coming down to prepare dinner for them himself so it could reduce the strain his wife was carrying all day.
Not rupturing his mood, it’s not like they canceled the honeymoon, right? And texted Peach who left over 20 texts, apologizing for delaying.
He ignored all of them and asked.
Luke: When will you be home?
Peach: At 6:30 or so. I am sorry.
Luke: Okay. I am waiting for you.
He waited, and waited.
The breaking point didn't come with a bang. It came with a 7:00 PM dinner that went cold on the table.
Luke sat at the head of the mahogany table, two plates of untouched lobster tail between them. He watched the clock.
7:15. 7:45. 8:30.
When the front door finally clicked open at 10, Luke didn't move.
He didn't even look up as Peach hurried into the dining room, her phone pressed to her ear, holding an apologetic expression.
Hair disheveled, dress slightly uneven, her voice a frantic whisper about ‘quarterly projections’ and ‘overseas logistics.’, stopping midway.
She clicked the phone shut, breathless, "Luke, I’m so sorry. The board meeting ran over, and then Papa needed me to-"
"Sit down, Peach," Luke’s voice was terrifyingly calm, hands closed dominantly, eyes at the empty table.
"I-I can't, darling. I have to finish this report by midnight-"
"I said," Luke stood up, the chair screeching against the marble floor like a scream in the dead silent room, staring at her strict.
"Sit. Down."
Peach froze. The folder in her hand felt suddenly heavy, her heart pounded rapidly against her ribcage.
She sat quietly, gaze lowered with hesitation, fidgeting her fingers around her dress.
"I’m doing this for our future. For the legacy." She said expectantly.
"The legacy?" Luke let out a sharp, mocking laugh. He walked toward her, his shadow stretching long across the table.
"You aren't doing this for us.” He was right behind her, hand on her shoulder in a warning grip that startled her.
His nail dug onto her skin, drying her throat when he leaned down dangerously closer, sensing her body tensing by the seriousness.
“You’re doing this because you are a servant to a man who doesn't even love you enough to let you have a wedding week."
“N-No, that’s not it…” She stammered, her grip on her dress tightened, teeth pressed together powerlessly.
Luke leaned over her, his hands slamming onto the table on either side of her plate. The silverware rattled while his hot breath struck her neck.
Her body shivered, not daring to raise her eyes when his strenuous aura overpowered her, leaving her powerless.
"I didn't marry a successor, Peach. I married a woman. I married a woman who promised me a life."
He reached out, his fingers hooking under her chin, forcing her to look at the raw, uncontrollable frustration in his hazel eyes, glaring at her.
"We are the one who got married but Arabella is enjoying her honeymoon. "
"Is that what this is about?" Peach hissed, twisting out of his grip, rising from the seat, discontented where this was leading.
"You’re still comparing me to her? You’re still measuring our marriage against her performance?"
"I am measuring our marriage against the fact that I am alone!" Luke growled. Peach jumped in dread, gripping the table for support when she witnessed him losing his barely existing patience.
The sound vibrated through the room, silencing the ticking clock.
"I am working! I am trying to prove I am worth the title!"
"You want a title? I have one for you." Luke stepped into her space, his chest heaving, towering over her intimidated form.
"You are a wife, Peach. My wife.”
He grabbed the file she had dropped on the table and flung it across the room. Paper exploded everywhere, fluttering down like white feathers.
“Start acting like one before I decide this 'arrangement' is no longer worth investing." Luke threatened, his eyes darkening, hitting her where it hurts the most.
“Don’t prove me right, Peach. Don’t prove that you really are unlovable. Always were and will be.”
Peach gasped, her body trembled with instant apprehension. The threat brought prickling tears in the corner as she shook her head in denial.
“N-No,” She stuttered, reaching out for his shirt, voice cracking, "You- you wouldn't."
"Try me," he whispered, his voice dropping to a lethal, cold register, tilting her world in one statement that shut her down.
"Go back to your files. Go back to your Papa. But don't expect me to be here when you finally decide to look up from your desk."
He turned on his heel and walked into the darkness of the hallway.
Peach stood alone in the wreckage of her career, the silence of the mansion closing, suffocating her.
As she watched Luke walk away, she saw her second chance slipping away.