Chapter 6: The Weight of Guilt

"I heard from the doctor that her wound is nearly healed. She’s just pretending to be seriously hurt to make the general feel guilty and love her more."

The voices floated through the thin walls, gossip as sharp as a tack. The staff here treated secrets like currency, passing them around over morning coffee and grocery store aisles.

"A trick of self-injury, I heard she went to that biker bar herself—maybe she staged the whole thing."

"But didn’t she almost die?"

"What do you know? She was just faking it—she’s perfectly fine."

"Don’t you know what people are saying outside? What good end can a woman have in the enemy’s hands? It’s already merciful of the general not to toss her out."

In this town, rumors stuck like burrs to socks. It didn’t matter what was true—what mattered was what people believed, and the story they could spin over a potluck casserole.

Because of Marcus’s attitude toward me, the staff at the general’s house never took me seriously.

I went out for some air. Sophie brought me my favorite fruit. When Marcus came in, I accidentally dropped the fruit, and it hit the gossiping old woman. He picked it up and ordered the women to leave.

He was quick about it—his command sharp, eyes flashing like headlights in a storm. The house fell silent, the staff shuffling out with murmured apologies and sidelong glances.

"Why are you still so stubborn?"

He sounded frustrated, as if I were a math problem he couldn’t solve. There was no affection in his words, only the dull ache of disappointment.

I didn’t reply, just complained to Sophie that the fruit here was really sour. He walked up to me and, unexpectedly, took out a Rolex, putting it on my wrist without asking.

The band was cold and heavy, glittering in the sunlight like a promise I never asked for. The face caught the light, spinning rainbows onto my palm. It looked like something from a Christmas commercial—perfect, expensive, and totally wrong for me.

"This watch is top quality, elegant and timeless. It suits you well."

He spoke like he was reciting an ad from a glossy magazine. I could almost hear the jingle—something about lasting value and the gift of time.

I looked up at him. In his deep eyes, there was actually a trace of hope. If it were before, I might have been so happy my eyes filled with tears, but now, I can’t smell the fragrance, and my blinded eye can’t turn red anymore.

All the color had gone out of the world. I stared at him, searching for a feeling that had long since withered, and found nothing but a dull, gray emptiness.

I took off the watch.

"I don’t like these things. Marcus, you’d better give it to Lillian."

My words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. I watched his jaw clench, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he processed the rejection.

He frowned, and I braced myself for him to snap at me, but to my surprise, he just gritted his teeth.

"Fine, I’ll find something else you like."

It was an awkward truce—two strangers trying to bargain with the wreckage of a marriage neither of us really wanted.

I knew, because of that arrow at city hall, he felt guilty toward me—that’s why he acted this way.

Guilt can be a powerful motivator, but it doesn’t change a thing. I wrapped my arms around myself and stared out the window, counting the minutes until this chapter was over.