The Stranger I Married-Chapter 37: Humiliation

Ella barely slept a wink.

The hours crawled by in agonizing silence, her mind replaying every second of last night’s encounter with Nicholas like a broken record. Every glance, every smirk, every teasing word still clung to her skin, making it impossible to forget.

By the time the sun finally rose, she felt like a mess—tired, flustered, and far too aware of the man sitting across from her at the coffee shop.

Nicholas looked as composed as ever. Not a single trace of the night before lingered on him. He was dressed in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark hair slightly tousled—like he hadn’t even bothered to run a comb through it.

The glasses were gone.

Like they’d never existed.

Ella kept her eyes fixed on her lukewarm latte, stirring it aimlessly. She could feel his gaze flick toward her every now and then—calculated, patient.

Waiting.

He knew exactly why she was avoiding him.

But he didn’t say a word.

He barely spoke at all—just sipped his coffee, scrolling through his phone between bites of a croissant, his sharp features drawn into their usual mask of cool detachment.

Ella should’ve been relieved. The distance. The silence.

Instead, it only made her chest ache.

By the time Nicholas stood abruptly, shrugging into his jacket, she still hadn’t managed to look him in the eye.

"I’ll be out the whole day," he said casually, checking his watch. "Take care of yourself, dolcezza."

Ella’s heart clenched at the pet name, heat rushing up her neck.

"Okay," she muttered, not trusting herself to say more.

Nicholas paused for half a second, like he was waiting for something.

But Ella kept her eyes firmly glued to her coffee.

When the bell above the door jingled as he walked out, she let out a long, shaky breath—her spoon clattering onto the saucer.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Ella stared at her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair back into a simple ponytail.

She had made up her mind.

She couldn’t keep living like this—trapped in some endless, suffocating limbo where Nicholas haunted her every breath. The longer she stayed under his roof, the more dangerous this thing between them would become.

She needed to stand on her own two feet again.

No more lingering in the shadows.

No more waiting for someone to save her.

Her heart squeezed painfully at the thought—because some traitorous part of her wanted Nicholas to save her.

To take care of her.

To keep looking at her the way he had last night—like he wanted to devour her whole.

Ella shook the thought away, grabbed her bag, and headed out.

The city was loud and bustling, but all Ella could hear was the hollow thud of rejection after rejection ringing in her ears.

She had been to six places already.

None of them were hiring.

The few that were barely glanced at her resume before turning her away.

Her stomach growled as she walked down the street, clutching her bag tighter. The little money Nicholas had given her was running out fast—and she refused to ask him for more.

By midday, her feet ached, and the weight of failure sat heavy on her chest.

Maybe this was a mistake.

Maybe she really was pathetic—just like her stepmother always told her.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed where she was going until the scent of freshly baked pastries drifted toward her.

She glanced up.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

The coffee shop was one of the most luxurious in the city—a place she used to dream of visiting back when her father still remembered she existed.

Through the large windows, she could see elegantly dressed people sipping espresso, laughing, living lives she no longer belonged to.

Ella turned quickly, ready to walk away—when a cruel, familiar laugh stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Well, well, well..."

Her whole body stiffened.

That voice.

Slowly, she turned around.

Her stepsister, Clara, stood by the entrance—draped in designer clothes, her blonde curls perfectly styled, a smug smile curving her red-painted lips.

And next to her...

Ella’s heart stopped.

Adrian.

Her ex-boyfriend.

The man who once told her he loved her.

Now standing side by side with the girl who had made her life a living hell since she lost everything.

Ella’s stomach twisted painfully as Adrian’s cold blue eyes flicked toward her—flat, disinterested.

Like she was nothing.

Clara’s smirk stretched wider, venom glinting in her eyes.

"Didn’t expect to see you here, little stepsister." Her voice dripped with mock sympathy. "What are you doing? Looking for discarded pastries?"

Ella’s nails dug into her palms, every muscle in her body tensing.

Don’t let her get to you.

Clara’s eyes swept over her cheap clothes—the faded jeans, the scuffed shoes—like she was something stuck to the bottom of her designer heels.

"You know," Clara drawled, looping her arm through Adrian’s possessively, "Adrian always said you’d end up like this. Wandering around like a stray." Her smile sharpened. "Guess he was right."

Ella’s heart clenched painfully.

She could feel Adrian watching her—his mouth set in that cold, cruel line she had once mistaken for indifference.

He hadn’t always been like this.

There was a time he used to hold her hand. Whisper promises in the dark.

Now he just stood there, letting Clara tear her apart.

Like he enjoyed it.

Ella’s throat burned.

"Go to hell, Clara."

Clara’s eyes flashed dangerously.

"Oh, sweetheart..." She stepped closer, voice low and syrupy. "You’re already there."

Before Ella could react, Clara’s hand shot out—her takeaway cup tipping forward.

Cold coffee splashed over Ella’s hair, dripping down her face and soaking into her shirt.

Gasps echoed from nearby tables, but no one moved.

No one ever did when it came to the Richards family.

Ella stood frozen—coffee trickling down her cheeks, burning against her scalp.

Clara’s smirk twisted crueler.

"There." Her voice was soft, mocking. "Now you really look like the gutter rat you are."

Ella’s fingers curled into fists at her sides, her whole body trembling with humiliation.

But she refused to let the tears fall.

Not in front of them.

Not ever.

Clara leaned in closer, lowering her voice so only Ella could hear.

"I’ll help you, you know." Her lips curved. "If you get down on your knees and lick it clean."

Ella’s stomach lurched.

Her breath caught painfully in her chest.

For a split second, she could actually feel herself breaking—splintering into a thousand tiny pieces.

But then...

She saw Adrian.

Watching.

Silent.

Cold.

Not lifting a single finger to stop it.

Ella’s heart hardened.

Slowly, she straightened—her coffee-soaked shirt sticking to her skin, hair clinging to her face.

Clara was waiting—smiling like she had already won.

But Ella smiled back.

A small, bitter smile that made Clara’s smirk flicker.

"You want me on my knees, Clara?" Ella’s voice was steady—quieter, but sharper than steel. "That’s never going to happen."

Clara’s face twisted in fury, but Ella didn’t give her the satisfaction of watching her explode.

She turned sharply on her heel and walked away—head high, spine straight—even as the coffee dripped down her face.

Even as her heart cracked wide open.

By the time Ella stumbled back into Nicholas’s apartment, her legs were shaking.

She slammed the door shut behind her, breathing hard.

Her clothes were still damp. Her hair sticky with coffee.

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Not yet.

Not when she still felt the ghost of Clara’s laughter echoing in her ears.

Not when Adrian’s cold blue eyes were still carved into her chest like a scar.

She stood in the middle of the room—shaking, breathless—until her knees finally buckled.

Ella sank to the floor.

And then, finally...

She cried.

But not just from humiliation.

From anger.

From hatred.

From the bone-deep ache of being nothing.

Hours later, the door creaked open.

Ella didn’t look up.

She felt him before she saw him—the quiet heat of Nicholas’s presence filling the room.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then, soft and dangerous— ƒгeewebnovёl.com

"Who did this to you?"

Ella’s breath caught.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.

She wiped at her tear-streaked face, shaking her head quickly.

"It’s nothing."

Nicholas crouched down slowly in front of her—his dark eyes locked on hers.

"Don’t lie to me, Ella."

His voice was low—deadly calm.

Ella’s heart stumbled.

For one wild second, she thought about telling him everything.

About Clara.

About Adrian.

About how much it hurt.

But then she saw the glint in Nicholas’s eyes.

The storm brewing beneath the surface.

If she told him...

He wouldn’t just listen.

He would destroy them.

And something inside her—something dark, something bitter—wanted to let him.