Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You Chapter 86: Stay Away

Matthew

I hold Sarah close as we slowly move with the music. "You are too stiff," I say

"Sorry," she breathes.

I soften my gaze. "It’s okay. Do you want to leave?"

"My mom will have my head if we leave early," she says, pouting.

I chuckle. "Maybe it’s ti you stopped worrying about what your mother thinks of you."

She rests her cheek on my chest. "Yeah, you are probably right."

"I usually am," I say.

She scoffs against my chest, but I feel the way her body relaxes a little more in my arms. "Don’t get cocky."

"Too late," I murmur, my lips brushing her hair.

We dance for a few monts more, and I find myself enjoying the warmth of her body against mine.

"I think I am ready to leave," Sarah whispers against my chest.

"Alright. Let’s go then," I say, pulling back.

"I need to go to the ladies’ room first," she tells .

I nod. "Okay, I will wait right here."

She gives a small smile and slips away through the crowd, her dress swaying with each step.

I stand near the edge of the dance floor, watching her disappear into the hallway, my eyes instinctively scanning the room. The lights are dim, golden and warm, but sothing about Rodrigo’s smile earlier keeps showing up in my head.

I hate that guy.

I’m still scanning the crowd when every light in the ballroom abruptly cuts out. The music stops mid-note, plunging us into complete darkness.

"What the hell?" soone nearby mutters.

For a mont, there’s a collective pause, like everyone’s waiting for the lights to flicker back on. Then cos the nervous laughter, the murmurs rising into a concerned buzz. Phones start lighting up around , small blue-white constellations in the darkness.

"Ladies and gentlen," a staff mber’s voice calls out, "please remain calm. We’re experiencing a temporary power outage. Our generators should kick in montarily."

I imdiately think of Sarah. She’s alone sowhere in this darkness.

I pull out my phone, activating the flashlight as I push through the confused crowd. "Excuse ," I mutter, shouldering past a cluster of people standing frozen on the dance floor.

"Sarah!" I call out, trying to keep my voice steady. A few guests glance my way, but most are too preoccupied with their own confusion to care.

No answer.

I pick up my pace, almost running now, past tables, chairs, startled guests. The further I go, the quieter it gets. The noise of the ballroom fades behind , replaced by the eerie hum of ergency lights flickering faintly along the floor.

I round the corner into the hallway.

"Sarah?" My voice echoes off the marble walls. Still no response.

I tried to call her phone, but it went straight to voicemail.

"Sarah!" I call again, my voice bouncing back to , hollow and unanswered.

A waiter hurries past, clutching a flashlight. "Sir, we’re asking guests to return to the ballroom until—"

"My wife," I cut him off. "She went to the bathroom right before the lights went out."

He hesitates, then points down the corridor. "Won’s restroom is at the end of this hall, to the left."

I nod my thanks and press forward, my phone’s flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.

As I approach the end of the hallway, I notice sothing on the floor. I crouch down, my fingers brushing against the cool tal of Sarah’s hairpin—the one I gave her, the one she’d carefully placed in her hair hours ago. My stomach tightens.

"Sarah?" I call out, louder now, urgency bleeding into my voice.

I stand, slipping the hairpin into my pocket, and continue toward the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness beyond. I push it open slowly.

"Sarah, are you in here?" I ask.

I hear the sound of soone sobbing.

My heart stops.

"Sarah?" I step further in.

The lights co on then. Sarah is crumpled against the wall, her green dress pooled around her like spilled paint. Her face is turned away from , hair falling across her cheek in disarray. The silver hairpin’s absence now makes terrible sense.

Rodrigo hovers above her. His back is to , one hand braced against the wall, the other reaching for her face.

"Get away from her," I growl, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears.

Rodrigo turns slowly, a practiced smile already forming on his lips. "Ah, Matthew. There seems to be a misunderstanding. Your wife was feeling faint when the lights—"

I cross the distance between us in two strides, grabbing him by his crisp white shirt collar. "I said get away from her."

His face changes then, the polite veneer dropping away like a mask. His eyes harden, calculating, assessing with cold precision. "You Aricans," he says quietly, "always so dramatic."

Sarah makes a small, broken sound, and my attention snaps to her. Her makeup is sared, mascara tracking dark rivers down her cheeks. There’s a red mark blooming on her cheekbone.

Sothing primal and violent surges through .

"Matthew," Sarah whispers, her voice trembling. "Please, just get out of here."

Rodrigo’s lips curl into a smirk. "Listen to your wife, Matthew. Take her ho. She’s clearly unwell."

I can feel my knuckles going white where I grip his shirt. Every instinct screams at to slam his head against the wall, to make him pay for whatever he’s done, for the terror in Sarah’s eyes.

"I guess you got this. I will get back to the party." Rodrigo looks at Sarah. "Feel better, my dear." And with that, he leaves.

I turn to Sarah, kneeling beside her. "Can you stand?"

She nods shakily, reaching for my hand. I help her to her feet, wrapping my arm protectively around her waist. Her entire body is trembling.

"I...I am sorry. I didn’t an..."

"Shh...it’s okay. Don’t be sorry," I soothe, pulling her into my arms.

"I freaked out when the lights went out," she says. "And Rodrigo..."

"Did he do sothing to you?" I interrupt.

She shakes her head. "No...I an, I don’t think so. Not tonight anyway."

I freeze.

Not tonight?

"What do you an? Did he do sothing to you before?" I ask carefully.

Sarah looks confused for a mont. "Huh? Oh, I don’t think so. I don’t know why I said that."

I study her face carefully, my mind racing.

"Sarah," I say softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "you said ’not tonight.’ That’s not sothing you just say without aning to."

She blinks, swaying slightly in my arms. "I—my head’s all foggy. Maybe I hit it? I’m not sure. Everything’s kind of... blurry."

My gut twists. Sothing is wrong—very wrong. It’s not just fear or shock on her face. It’s confusion, like she’s trying to rember sothing.

"We’re going to the hospital," I say firmly, guiding her gently toward the hallway.

"No," she murmurs, tugging weakly against . "It’s just stress, I think."

I stop walking and turn to face her, holding her shoulders gently. "Sarah, look at . This isn’t just stress. Sothing happened. I can see it all over you."

Her eyes search mine, glassy and unfocused. "I don’t want to cause a scene. My mom... the party—"

"To hell with the party," I say, more harshly than intended. I soften my voice.

She frowns. "Fine. But it’s not necessary."

I lead her out of the bathroom, shielding her with my body as best I can. The hallway is mostly empty now, the distant buzz of concerned voices from the ballroom echoing faintly behind us. I slip us through a side exit and into the cool night air, guiding her toward the car.

Once we’re inside and I’ve started driving, Sarah leans her head against the window, the streetlights washing her pale face in gold every few seconds.

"Sarah," I say quietly, keeping my eyes on the road. "Do you rember anything? Anything at all about Rodrigo?"

She doesn’t respond imdiately. I glance over to see her staring out the window, her reflection ghostly in the glass.

"I rember..." she starts, then stops. Her hand moves to her temple, rubbing slowly. "I rember being afraid of him. When I was little."

My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. "Why were you afraid of him?"

"I don’t know." Her voice sounds small, distant. "I just rember wanting to hide whenever he ca to visit Dad."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady the rage building inside . "Did he ever... touch you? When you were a child?"

Sarah turns to look at , her eyes wide and confused. "I don’t—I can’t rember. There’s just this... darkness. Like a blank space where mories should be."

The implications of what she’s saying hit like a physical blow. I’ve read about this—traumatic amnesia. The mind protecting itself by burying what it can’t face.

If that bastard touched her...

"I don’t want to go to the hospital," she says suddenly. "Please, just take ho."

Part of wants to argue, to insist on getting her checked out. But the fragility in her voice stops .

"Okay," I concede. "But if you start feeling worse, we’re going. No argunts."

She nods, leaning back against the seat. "Thank you."

When we arrive ho, I help her inside, my arm steady around her waist. She moves like soone much older, each step careful and asured.

"I want to take a shower," she says, her voice flat.

I nod, watching as she makes her way to the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the apartnt monts later.

While she’s in the shower, I call Marishka. She answers on the third ring.

"Matthew? Is everything alright? You two disappeared—"

"We had to leave," I cut in. "I sent the driver to get you."

"Is everything okay?" The alarm in Marishka’s voice is imdiate.

"Yeah. She wasn’t feeling well." I say.

I will need to ask her about Rodrigo when she gets ho.