Chapter 82 The Lonely Life Of Mrs Rockwell

The silk sheets were cold. Genevieve blinked against the dim morning light filtering through the sheer curtains, her fingers reaching toward the empty space beside her. A quiet inhale. The scent of expensive cologne had long faded. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ornate ceiling. Last night should have marked the beginning of something, perhaps not love, but at least companionship. Instead, it was a glaring reminder of what she had signed up for. A marriage built on contracts, not vows.