Oops, Married A Gentleman Simp

After I married into a rich family as my older sister's stand-in, my powerful husband didn't touch me for six months.

Then I overheard his friend.

"You chased her ten years just to marry her, and you still won't touch her?"

He looked down, smiling bitter. "I have a problem... I'm scared I'd scare her off."

That night I stormed into his room and slapped the divorce papers on the nightstand. "Two choices—sleep with me or sign."

He ripped the papers apart and pinned me to the wall, something wild breaking loose in his eyes.

"Third choice... I make sure you can't get out of bed tomorrow."

Late night.

I grabbed the thin dress I'd set aside and went to Leon Lowell's door.

After the wedding, he said he didn't want to mess with my sleep and moved to the next room.

Sounds sweet. Reality? Two weeks married and we hadn't even held hands.

I pushed the door open.

He'd just showered—his hair still dripping, a towel at the back of his neck. He stopped when he saw me on the bed.

"What are you doing here?"

Flat. Always flat.

I didn't answer. Just watched him.

The robe hung loose—chest half-covered, faint abs, sharp nose, long fingers, clean lines.

A face like that shouldn't disappoint anyone.

Yet six months in, our marriage felt like a display case. Pretty. Empty.

Not tonight.

I was done waiting.

"I'm here to sleep," I said. "You there, me here—what's the point of being married?"

I wanted an answer.

He paused. His eyes moved over my dress. Two seconds.

"Fine."

'That's it?'

Now I was the one thrown off.

He walked over. Calm, steady—but the air tightened anyway.

Only a dim night-light. He lay down. Cool damp skin brushed my face.

My heartbeat stumbled.

I wrapped my arms around his waist.

His entire body locked.

He lowered his head, voice rough. "Do you want me to... help you?"

Before finishing, he opened the drawer like muscle memory.

I already knew.

Yep. A finger cot.

Heat shot straight to my chest. I snatched it and threw it at his face.

"Help me? That's what you think this is? We've been married six months! Are you ever gonna stop hiding and actually be my husband?"

My voice cracked sharp.

Too dark to see his face, but I felt his stare—heavy, impossible to read.

The more I thought about it, the worse it got.

"Leon, if you can't, just say it! You think you're the only guy alive? Like nobody else would want me?"

We were married. Why did I always sound like I was begging while he acted like he was doing charity work?

His throat tightened. "That's not... what I meant."

But he still didn't come closer.

Even when he finally leaned down to kiss me—hand on my cheek—third time, fourth time...

I was ready.

He still stopped.

Every time he pulled back like there was a line he refused to cross.

My heart went cold.