Xander, dressed in a fresh shirt, a laptop in hand, approached the bed where Luna sat curled against a pillow. Before he could speak, she stood and met him halfway.
"One minute," she said coolly. "I'll sleep on the bed, so please use the sofa."
He blinked, thrown by the bluntness. "What do you mean?"
"I mean what I said." Her voice was calm, sharp. "I'll sleep here."
Xander's jaw tightened. "This is my room."
"And you're the one who married me and brought me here," she replied, her tone even but laced with quiet resentment.
His eyes darkened. "I am helpless."
She crossed her arms. "So am I."
Xander stepped closer. "Maybe you don't understand—"
"No," she cut him off, climbing onto the bed with sudden defiance. "You don't understand."
He scoffed. "Why should I sleep on the sofa? We're married. Isn't it normal to share a bed?"
Luna shot him a look of pure distaste. "Seriously?"
"Yes," he said, voice firm. "If you want distance, you sleep on the sofa."
"I've never slept on a sofa," she muttered flatly, shoving a pillow into his chest.
Xander's eyes narrowed. He took the pillow without another word, turned, and stalked toward the sofa. He tossed it down with more force than necessary, then sat, his movements rigid with restrained anger.
Luna, meanwhile, lay down slowly on the bed, her face turned away. A long breath escaped her lips as memories surfaced—Xander's hand sliding the ring onto her finger, the meaningless promise it now represented. The ache was dull but constant.
Eventually, sleep pulled her under, her breathing soft, her body still.
But Xander didn't sleep.
His phone rang, slicing through the silence. He answered, and Perry's voice came through in a panic.
"Xander, come quickly. We need to take Dimple to the hospital."
The world tilted.
Moments later, Xander was cradling Dimple in his arms, her limp form terrifyingly still. Blood stained his hands. He didn't pause. He only drove.
Xander and Perry paced the hallway outside the exam room, nerves frayed.
"How did this happen?" Xander demanded, rounding on Perry. "You were with her—how didn't you know?"
Perry looked down, ashamed. "She… she did it because of you."
Xander froze. "What?"
Perry's voice shook. "She loves you." He looked like he regretted saying it the moment the words left his lips.
Xander lifted a hand, palm up—a silent command to stop.
Still, Perry pushed on, voice thick. "She was crying last night. I didn't know it was this bad. I… I fell asleep. And then…"
The nurse emerged. Perry rushed forward. "How is she?"
"She's stable," the nurse said, "but this is a police matter now. It was a suicide attempt."
Xander's voice was low, steady. "I'll speak to the police."
The nurse nodded and walked away.
Xander handled the necessary calls swiftly, but something in his demeanor—tight-lipped, haunted—made Perry uneasy.
Inside, Dimple stirred. Perry entered quietly, while Xander stood at the threshold. He watched her in silence, then turned to Perry.
"Take care of her."
And just like that, he left.
Morning sunlight streamed through the curtains as Xander entered the house. His mother, Miley, was in prayer. She looked up, alarmed.
"Where were you?"
"There was an emergency."
Miley's voice sharpened. "Even so—you left your bride. It was your wedding night."
Xander said nothing.
Her eyes narrowed. "You were gone all night."
He didn't deny it. "Yes."
Disappointment flashed across her face. "Go," she snapped.
Luna sat rigid in a chair, a scattering of papers before her, pen in hand. She didn't glance up when Xander entered. He looked exhausted, but neither of them spoke.
Her pen scratched against the paper, louder than it should've been.
He sank into the bed. She didn't ask where he'd been.
Later, Luna walked into the kitchen and stopped short.
Dimple sat at the table, a bandage wrapped around her wrist, holding a cup of tea.
Their eyes met.
"How was your night?" Dimple asked with a faint, almost mocking smile.
Luna's lips curved into a brilliant smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Very romantic. Like nothing I've ever experienced before."
Dimple's smile faltered for a second. "Good."
Luna tilted her head. "Something good happen to you?"
Dimple's voice was airy, her eyes too bright. "Yes. Xander was with me. Who was with you?"
Luna's smile didn't waver. Her voice was smooth, unwavering. "I was with myself. And that's all I needed."
Dimple stared at her, the silence thick.
Then she said softly, almost to herself, "On your wedding night, the bride is alone, and the groom is with someone else."
Luna's eyes narrowed just slightly, but her expression remained serene.
Luna stormed into the bedroom, her breath short with fury. Xander stood near the mirror, buttoning up his crisp white shirt. The air tensed the moment she stepped in.
"Chill," Xander said, barely glancing her way as she marched toward him.
"I'm not even surprised anymore," Luna snapped, her voice rising. "Of course. Beautiful Dimple is here, staying in your house, and yet you married me."
Xander sighed and looked at her, irritation flickering in his eyes. "What are you talking about now?"
"You have a mistress, Xander! Dimple! And still, you married me?" she yelled, her fists clenched at her sides.
Xander ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to hold back his temper. After a pause, he said flatly, "Let me tell you something. Dimple is my sister."
Luna let out a bitter, almost sarcastic laugh. "Your sister? Do you remember what you said to me the first time we met? That you'd treat me like a sister too. Look how that turned out—you married me."
"What exactly are you trying to say?" Xander asked, turning to reach for a watch from the drawer.
Luna stepped forward and slammed the drawer shut before he could grab it. Her voice was sharp. "If she's your sister, why were you with her all night?"
Xander's eyes flashed as he turned to face her fully.
"Look," Luna continued, voice trembling but strong, "I don't even care who you're with. I just want to know—if there's someone else, why marry me at all? Why ruin my life in the process?"
Before she could take another breath, Xander grabbed her wrists and yanked her closer. Luna gasped at the sudden movement but didn't flinch.
"Don't just throw out every thought that comes into your mouth," Xander growled, his tone low but dangerous.
Luna glared up at him, defiant. "So what if I do?"
She tried to pull her wrists free, but his grip was firm.
Xander exhaled sharply. "Dimple hurt her wrist last night. I took her to the hospital. Perry came with us."
His words hung in the air for a moment. Then he released her with a push, nothing harsh—just enough to put distance between them. He turned, grabbed his watch from the now-closed drawer, and walked out of the room without another word.