Chapter 4: Midnight Ultimatums and a Shadow at the Window

Not to mention our marriage is just for show—even if it were real, he has no right to yell at me. The staff watched, waiting to see who’d blink first.

"My business isn’t your concern. You just need to do your own duties." I turned away, signaling the end of the conversation. If he wanted to play the authority card, he’d have to try harder.

I rolled my eyes and left, too tired to argue. How did someone this stiff become valedictorian? Maybe they should add common sense to the curriculum.

Maybe I should suggest to Dad that in future scholarships, character and conduct should count as much as grades. Maybe then we’d get fewer Carters and more real partners.

Behind me, Grandma Carter’s voice rang out, all hurt. "Carter, look, she won’t even listen to you. Who knows how she’ll treat me in the future." Her words were pure melodrama—like she was auditioning for a soap opera. I just kept walking.

Emily chimed in, "Yeah, Carter, she’s way too bossy." She sounded smug, like she’d just scored a point. I ignored her, focusing on the hallway ahead.

Mrs. Lin glanced at me, saw I was calm, and said nothing. We’d been through worse together. She knew when to let things slide.

With the envoys still in town, it wasn’t time to make a scene. I’d put up with this for a few more days. Soon enough, this charade would be over.

Late at night, I’d just lain down when I heard a commotion outside my door. The voices were muffled but urgent. Trouble never took a night off in this house.

I threw on a hoodie, opened the door, and saw Carter being blocked by the security detail. He was red-faced, arms waving, arguing with the Secret Service guys. They stood like statues, unmoved by his ranting.

"Move! This is between husband and wife—how dare you staff get in the way!" His voice echoed down the hallway, waking half the house. I sighed, rubbing my temples.

I yawned, thinking Dad was right—I really did have bad luck. Out of dozens of eligible guys, I just had to draw this one. At least he’s not a criminal.

"Carter, what do you think you’re doing, yelling in the middle of the night?" I crossed my arms, waiting for an answer. He looked at me, frustration etched on his face.

Carter saw me come out and snapped, "Rosalie, what’s the meaning of this? We’re married, and I can’t even enter the bedroom?" His voice cracked, equal parts anger and embarrassment. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

I covered my mouth and laughed. "Mrs. Lin, tell Carter the rules." I turned to Mrs. Lin, who stepped forward with the authority of a Supreme Court judge.

Mrs. Lin stepped forward, all formal, and said, "According to the rules, the groom can only stay in the guest suite. Without the bride’s invitation, he can’t enter the main suite. If the groom wishes to see the bride, he needs her permission. Even though the wedding was rushed and the suite isn’t finished, proper etiquette must still be followed." The staff nodded in agreement. Carter glared, but knew he was outnumbered.

Listening to Mrs. Lin, I couldn’t help but feel helpless. This isn’t a marriage—it’s still President and citizen. No matter how hard I tried, the gap between us felt insurmountable.

No matter how good the relationship is, it can’t survive all this drama. I wondered if we’d ever find common ground—or if we were doomed from the start.

Carter’s face turned red with anger. "Fine, Rosalie, if you don’t let me in tonight, don’t regret it later!" He stormed off, footsteps echoing down the hall. I watched him go, feeling oddly relieved.

He stormed off, probably heading to Emily for comfort. I pictured him knocking on her door, looking for sympathy. Part of me hoped she’d turn him away.

"From now on, Carter is not allowed in the main suite," I said. My voice was firm, leaving no room for debate. The security team straightened, ready to enforce my orders.

The security team nodded and stood guard outside. I yawned and went back to bed. For the first time all day, I felt safe.

Suddenly, I heard a soft thud at the window, and my heart skipped a beat. I froze, every muscle tense. The city was usually loud, but this was different—a sound too close, too deliberate.

I sat up, about to call for help, when a hand covered my mouth and nose. Panic surged through me. I tried to scream, but the hand was firm, gentle but unyielding. My mind raced with possibilities—kidnapping, assassination, or worse.

"Don’t make a sound—it’s me." The voice was low, familiar. Relief washed over me, mingled with annoyance. Only in this family could breaking and entering pass for a late-night visit.