Flash Marriage To My Mysterious Paralyzed Husband

The screen of the phone lit up for the fifth time in two minutes. 8:15 PM.

Clarice Bell stared at the numbers until they blurred. Forty-five minutes. He was forty-five minutes late.

She sat alone at a table for two in the center of Le Coucou. The restaurant hummed with the low, expensive sound of crystal clinking against china and the murmur of people who didn't have to look at prices. Clarice smoothed the napkin over her lap again. Her palms were damp.

A waiter approached. He had the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Would you like some sparkling water while you wait, miss?"

Clarice simply shook her head, offering a tight, dismissive smile in return. She pointed to the existing glass of tap water, a silent indication that she needed nothing more. He'll be here soon.

Clarice placed her hand over the small gift box on the table. It was wrapped in blue paper she had bought at a drugstore. Inside was a watch. It wasn't a Rolex, but it had cost her two months of savings. It was for their three-year anniversary.

The heavy oak doors at the front of the restaurant swung open.

Clarice felt her heart jump into her throat. She stood up, her chair scraping slightly against the floor.

Gavin Mercer walked in.

He looked different. His suit was sharper than the ones he used to wear when they studied together in the cramped library carrels. His hair was styled back. He looked like money.

He didn't look at her.

He turned back toward the door and held it open. His hand lingered on the brass handle, a gesture of care she hadn't seen in months.

A woman walked in under the shelter of his arm.

She was blonde, polished, and wearing a Chanel dress that probably cost more than Clarice's entire apartment. But it was the way Gavin's hand settled on the small of her back that made the air leave Clarice's lungs.

The woman's hand rested protectively over a small, barely visible bump in her stomach.

Clarice stood frozen. Her legs felt like they were filled with lead.

Gavin finally looked up. His eyes scanned the room, found Clarice, and for a second, there was panic. Then, it hardened into something cold. Something resolved.

He guided the woman toward Clarice's table.

They didn't stop. They didn't hesitate. Gavin pulled out a chair for the woman-Tiffany, he had mentioned a Tiffany from work before-and sat her down across from Clarice.

There were no hugs. No "sorry I'm late." Just a suffocating silence.

Tiffany took off her sunglasses. She looked Clarice up and down, her gaze lingering on the off-brand polyester dress Clarice wore. She let out a small, sharp breath through her nose. A laugh.

Clarice felt the blood drain from her face. She looked at Gavin.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked from Gavin's cold face to Tiffany's mocking smirk, her question dying in her throat.