I was the hottest damn widow in the entire county.
Didn’t matter I had a kid clinging to my hip—men still lined up like it was a damn auction.
But the pantry was empty, not a grain of cornmeal left.
I looked at my daughter with that pitiful look only the starving can master. “Mama’s hungry,” I whispered, lips trembling.
Winnie, all five years and fierce of her, waved her tiny hand like she ran the world.
“Marry him, Mama. If Daddy’s watching from heaven, he wouldn’t want us starving to death.”
So I said yes. Next day, I was in a rented wedding wagon, veil and all, headed to marry some guy I barely knew.
Midway down the dirt trail, the wagon jolted to a stop.
Someone yanked the curtains open.
And there he was—Ethan Shaw, my goddamn husband. Supposed to be dead on the battlefield.
He was gripping Winnie by the back of her overalls, smiling with clenched teeth.
“Your daddy ain’t around, so you figured you’d steal your mama, huh?”
I shrank back in the wagon, heart in my throat. My red veil slipped and hit the dusty floor.
Ethan Shaw stood in front of me like a mountain of a man, blocking out every bit of daylight.
Winnie’s face went pale. “We’re screwed, Mama. Daddy came back from the dead. He’s a ghost! A real pissed-off one!”
Motherly instincts kicked in. I pointed at Ethan with a trembling finger.
“You—let go of my kid! You monster, you damn devil, get away from us!”
But Ethan just grinned, that cocky bastard, all white teeth and heat. One arm pulled me straight into his chest like I weighed nothing.
“God, Nina. I missed you.”
His arms were solid steel wrapped in skin, searing through the fabric of my dress like fire.
Winnie thrashed around like a wildcat.
“Creep! You faker! How dare you pretend to be my daddy and touch my mama! Let her go!”
Ethan leaned down, locked eyes with her.
She blinked. Stared. Slowly reached out and poked his cheek.
“…It’s really you? You’re… not dead?”
A soldier nearby cleared his throat.
“Captain, where to now?”
Ethan tossed Winnie into the man’s arms like a sack of potatoes.
“Watch my daughter. I’ve got a wedding night to finish.”
I was the youngest daughter in my family—also the dumb one, apparently. Got sick as a kid, brain never quite caught up.
At seventeen, my old man tried to sell me to some flea-infested old bastard with a festering neck and piss-yellow teeth.
Even I knew he gave me the creeps.
So I ran.
No one thought I could—everyone assumed I was too slow, too sweet, too damn simple.
But I ran till my feet bled, till the cold creek water numbed the pain.
That’s where Ethan Shaw found me.
He looked like sin—broad chest, mean eyes, jaw carved from anger and oak.
“Daddy, she’s awake!” I heard Winnie chirp behind him.
He had his sleeves rolled up, arms like tree trunks, face unreadable.
I flinched, barely whispered, “Where… where am I?”
Winnie danced around like she’d won the county fair.
“You’re at my house! Are you a fairy or somethin’?”
I stammered. “No… no, I’m not…”
Ethan shut her down real quick, pushing her toward the door.
“Go play with Ellie. This ain’t your business.”
Once Winnie skipped off, it was just me and Ethan.
I sat on the edge of the bed, wringing the hem of my dress, too scared to look at him.
“Was it you who… saved me? Thank you.”
His voice was deep and rough, like whiskey soaked in gunpowder.
“No big deal. Where’s home? I’ll take you back.”
Just the word “home” made me gag.
That creepy old man’s face flashed before my eyes.
I looked up at Ethan. He was sweaty, sunburned, rough from work.
But damn if he wasn’t the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on.
I reached for his arm, desperate.
“Please don’t take me back. My father’s selling me to Old Hank. I can wash your clothes, I can cook—I’ll take good care of you.”
That last line? Something my father said to Hank, like I was a damn puppy.
Ethan raised an eyebrow, eyes fixed on my pale hand clutching his sun-browned arm.
“You…”
Before he could finish, I rushed out:
“Do you have a wife? If not—I could be her. Just don’t send me back.”
He swallowed hard, eyes still locked on my hand.
“…I’ve got a daughter.”
I tilted my head. “I don’t mind.”
A long pause.
Then he pulled his arm away gently.
“You can stay. For now.”
After that night, I stayed at Ethan Shaw’s place.
The house was tiny—just two beds. Winnie and I shared the room in back; Ethan slept out front like some grumpy bear with a rifle. He had a few acres of farmland and stuck to the grind like clockwork: out at sunrise, back at dusk, dirt on his hands and muscles in motion.
I stayed home, cleaned up after him, taught Winnie her ABCs, braided her hair in cute little knots, and stitched up dresses from scraps. It wasn’t much, but it felt like something real.
Winnie wasn’t actually his daughter—she was his dead brother’s kid—but Ethan raised her like his own. And now she was mine too.
But folks in town talk. Especially when there’s a new pretty face and no ring on her finger.
Every time I went down to the river to wash clothes, I heard it—sharp-tongued gossip bouncing off the creek stones:
“That the gal Ethan bought from somewhere back East?”
“Skin like porcelain—bet she cost a fortune.”
“She looks like trouble. My husband damn near snapped his neck watchin’ her bend over that washbin. Dirty old bastard.”
I kept my head down, scrubbing so hard the skin on my palms went raw. I wanted to scream that Ethan didn’t buy me. He gave me a roof. I gave him chores. That’s it. Fair deal.
But one look at their mean little eyes, and I swallowed it all down.
Mrs. Lee was the ringleader—richest woman in town ‘cause her daughter made a name for herself up in D.C., running some fancy tea trade or whatever. No one dared cross her.
She strutted up the riverbank, loud and smug. “Ain’t said a word, has she? Maybe the girl’s slow. Hah!”
Someone else chimed in, “Pretty don’t mean smart. Might be dumb as a mule.”
I dropped my laundry stick, stood up straight, and met their stares. “I’m not stupid.”
Mrs. Lee cupped her ear. “What’s that? Mosquito buzzin’?”
I clenched my jaw, squared my shoulders just like Ethan did when he was pissed, and shouted:
“I said I’m not stupid! And I’m not some mail-order bride Ethan bought off a damn catalog!”
And then I punched her. Or maybe she punched me first. Doesn’t matter.
I came home bruised up, hiding welts beneath layers of patched-up fabric. Didn’t leave my room all day.
By the time the sun dipped low and the sky went bloody pink, Ethan had chopped a full cord of wood, wiped sweat off his brow with a rag, and started supper like clockwork.
Usually I helped. Not tonight.
“Nina! Dinner!” he called from the kitchen.
I muttered, “Not hungry.”
He raised a brow, turned to Winnie, who was outside playing with mud. “What’s wrong with her?”
Winnie twisted her pigtails. “Auntie’s grumpy. Didn’t even braid my hair today.”
Ethan set down his basket and walked to the back room. He raised a fist, about to push the door open—but paused. Then knocked.
“Nina, I’m coming in.”
I was curled up in the corner like a kicked dog. At the sound of his voice, I dove under the blanket.
“Don’t—don’t come in.”
Silence. Then the blanket lifted anyway. I peeked out and met Ethan’s dark, stormy gaze.
Yelping, I buried myself again.
He grabbed the quilt and pulled, slow but firm. My face and neck were covered in scratches. Purple, raw, angry.
His jaw tightened. He reached out—calloused fingertips brushed my cheek. I flinched.
“Who did this?”
“I got into it with Mrs. Lee and her girls,” I whispered. “They said I was dumb… said you bought me… I couldn’t take it.”
Tears welled again, falling fast and hot. I didn’t even care.
Ethan growled. “Stop crying.”
I bit my lip hard, choking back the sobs.
“…Shit,” he muttered, voice softening. He tilted my chin up and wiped the tears from my face.
“I’ll go get medicine.”
He came back with a couple tins—one white cream, one bottle of brown oil.
“This one’s for open skin. The oil’s for bruises. It’ll sting.”
I nodded like a good girl.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said, stepping away.
I dabbed the cold cream on my cheek. It tingled but didn’t hurt. Then I stripped down, leaving only my underslip. Bruises lined my thighs and ribs.
I tried rubbing the oil in, but my back—especially my waist—was impossible to reach.
“…Ethan? Can you help?”
He opened the door and instantly froze, eyes darting away from the curve of my back and the flash of red fabric.
“What the hell are you doin’?”
“I can’t reach it,” I said, all pitiful. “Can you just… help?”
His throat bobbed. He poured some oil into his palms, rubbed them together, then came over.
“Go easy,” I warned.
He glanced at my bare waist, his entire body coiled like a spring.
“I’ll try,” he said, voice deep as thunder.
His hands landed on me—warm, rough, slow. Circling the bruises like he was trying to erase them with heat and pressure.
It hurt like hell.
I hissed, tears slipping again. Tried to squirm away.
He locked me in his arms. “Don’t move. If I don’t break it up, it’ll swell worse tomorrow.”
I didn’t care. I kicked. He pinned me down. I bit his arm.
Ethan didn’t even flinch. Just arched a brow.
“Still got some fight left in you, huh?”
When he finally finished, I was dripping with sweat, gasping.
“You jerk,” I muttered.
He raised his bitten arm, checking the tiny crescent of teeth marks. Smirking.
“Damn. You bite like a Chihuahua.”
When I woke up the next morning, the pain had dulled to a manageable throb, and even the red marks on my cheek were fading.
I gathered up the laundry and headed toward the creek. No way was I gonna let Ethan and Winnie walk around in dirty clothes.
As I got closer, I could already hear the loud, raspy chatter of the local women—Mrs. Lee and her pack of gossiping hens. My stomach twisted, but I kept walking, picking a spot farther away and squatting down to start scrubbing with the paddle.
Their voices dipped, but I didn’t dare look up. I kept my head low and told myself, Don’t start nothing today. Just keep your damn head down.
“Look who came crawling back,” one of them barked. “Guess we didn’t hit her hard enough yesterday.”
“She really thinks that face of hers is for seducing folks. Should’ve clawed it up good.”
“I didn’t seduce anyone,” I mumbled, trying to keep my voice steady. “I stay home all day. I only come here to wash clothes.”
“What did you say?”
“She said she didn’t seduce anyone. You deaf or just dumb?”
The sudden shadow overhead made me freeze. I slowly looked up—and saw Ethan Shaw towering above them in his rough linen shirt, muscles tensed, eyes blazing.
“You’re the ones who hurt my wife yesterday?” he growled.
The man was built like a freight train, and his voice? Pure thunder. Even Mrs. Lee, usually all bark and bite, backed off a step.
“She’s not some stranger I bought off a wagon,” he snapped. “Nina is my wife. You mess with her again, talk shit about her again, I swear on everything you’ll wish I just yelled.”
He didn’t raise his fist. He didn’t have to.
Turns out Ethan Shaw didn’t just look scary—he was scary.
After that little showdown, none of those women dared so much as side-eye me. Life in the village suddenly felt a hell of a lot more peaceful.
Ethan wasn’t just scary. He was kind. He took me in, fed me, protected me, stood up for me when no one else would.
I needed to repay him somehow.
But I couldn’t do much. I could wash clothes, and I was decent at braiding hair. That was about it.
Feeling helpless, I sat on the porch with my chin on my knees. Winnie ran over, all energy and sunshine, hugging my arm.
“Auntie Nina, you look sad.”
“I am,” I admitted softly, blinking fast to hold back tears. “Your dad’s been so good to me, but I don’t know how to thank him.”
Winnie scrunched her little nose and nodded like she was solving a puzzle.
“Ever since you came, Daddy’s been acting weird at night. He stays up late, walks around a lot. One time, I got up to pee and heard him in the other room—he was panting real hard.”
My heart twisted.
It had to be the stress. He used to only have to worry about feeding Winnie. Now he had me to take care of, too. No wonder the man couldn’t sleep.
Winnie couldn’t stand seeing me upset. She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out a worn little booklet and held it out proudly.
“Here! I stole this from Tommy. He said it’s super special—he and the boys hide it under the floorboards. I haven’t even looked at it yet. You can have it.”
Curious, I took the booklet and flipped it open.
First page: a naked man and woman tangled together, lips locked, limbs everywhere.
Every page showed something new. Something…intense.
I stared, wide-eyed. My face flushed hot. But I didn’t close it.
I studied it.
So… this is what men want.
Maybe I finally knew how to repay Ethan Shaw.
Winnie was out cold, snoring softly with her arm draped over her stuffed rabbit.
I slipped out of bed and slowly peeled off my nightgown, leaving just a lavender camisole clinging to my skin. My heart thudded in my chest like it might jump out.
The cabin’s outer room was barely big enough to hold the narrow bed where Ethan slept. He looked almost cramped on it, one arm slung over his head.
I crept closer, the moonlight cutting through the shutters and casting just enough light to catch the outline of his jaw. Strong. Sharp. There was a faint scar at the edge of his brow, only making him look more dangerous.
The blanket moved slightly with his breathing. He was awake. Or… something was going on.
I cleared my throat. “Ethan?”
He bolted upright like a soldier on alert, eyes sharp, deadly serious—until they dropped to my camisole.
Then silence.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, voice low and gravelly.
“I… I just wanted to thank you. For helping me. I thought… maybe you’ve been working too hard lately and—”
I fumbled like an idiot. Words weren’t cutting it.
So I climbed onto the bed, onto him, my bare legs straddling his. My hands shook, but I reached for his chest, mimicking what I saw in that booklet.
His breath hitched. One second.
Then his hand clamped around my wrist like a vice.
“Ow—Ethan, I didn’t mean to—”
He didn’t let go.
Instead, he pulled me closer, wrapped a thick arm around my waist, his eyes dark and burning.
Then he whispered against my ear, his lips brushing my skin:
“You sure about this, Nina? ’Cause once we start, there’s no turning back.”
I swallowed hard.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
It was barely spring, but my body was burning like I’d been dropped into a damn furnace.
And Ethan Shaw? That man wasn’t anywhere near done setting me on fire.
I whimpered, pushing a shaky hand against his chest, breathless.
“I—it’s too much… I can’t…”
He didn’t stop. Just looked down at me, eyes dark, lips parted, then reached for my camisole. His fingers grazed my skin and sent another jolt racing through me.
I thought it would be like in that damn picture book—romantic, soft, magical.
But no. It hurt.
Like something inside me was being torn wide open.
Ethan moved like a starved wolf who’d finally caught something warm-blooded and helpless. Rough, hungry, relentless. He pinned me down like I’d slip away otherwise and changed positions like a man possessed.
I cried out, voice soft and breaking, begging him over and over. But mercy didn’t live in his body that night. He just kept holding me close, murmuring things between clenched teeth, his hands never still.
Maybe it was the moonlight softening the room, or maybe I was just losing my mind—but something in him shifted. That rage in his eyes melted, turned to something slower, deeper. Like a river that had found its bed and wouldn’t stop flowing.
And in the middle of it, he whispered against my skin, voice rough as gravel,
“Goddamn, Nina… you’re made to ruin a man.”
I woke up sore as hell, every damn muscle aching. My legs didn’t even feel like they were attached to my body anymore.
Before I even opened my eyes, I heard Winnie’s chirpy little voice echoing through the cabin.
“Daddy, why’s Mama still asleep? I want my braids!”
“Shhh,” Ethan muttered. “She’s tired from last night. Let her rest a little longer.”
Winnie wasn’t buying it. That little girl was sharp as a tack.
“Why’s she tired?” she pressed.
Ethan paused. I swear to God his ears turned red.
“Grown-up stuff. Not your business. And hey—don’t call her Aunt Nina anymore. She’s your mama now.”
Winnie gasped like it was Christmas morning.
“Really? For real?! Yay! My mama’s way prettier than Ellie’s mom, like ten thousand times prettier!”
Ethan chuckled, trying to hide it behind a cough.
“Mhm. Now listen—Daddy’s gotta go work the field. You stay with your mama, help take care of her, alright? No running off chasing squirrels.”
“I will!” she beamed, swinging her braids like a prize.
After he left, I rolled out of bed, groaning. My back ached like I’d been trampled by horses.
That bastard.
He’d turned into some insatiable beast.
It wasn’t just that one night. After that, Ethan Shaw couldn’t get enough. No matter how hard he worked during the day—hauling logs, plowing fields—he’d still come crawling into my bed with that same damn look.
I tried slapping him once. He didn’t even flinch. Just caught my hand and kissed my fingers, murmuring,
“If I die, I want it to be on top of you.”
The worst part? He meant it.
And that’s how a year flew by—me dodging him under the sheets, him grinning like a devil.
But then came the draft.
Word spread that Prince Victor had teamed up with the Roland Clan—full-blown rebellion. And our sweet old President was too busy playing politics in D.C. to lift a finger. So the generals—old ones like Whitaker—got called up again to lead.
Recruiters flooded every town. Any man with working limbs got scooped up. No questions asked.
And Ethan? The dumbass got caught.
He went into town to buy me rouge and came back wearing a goddamn uniform.
He never came home.
Three years. Nothing. Not a letter. Not a whisper.
Ethan ran a calloused thumb over my cheekbone, watching me too closely.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I turned toward him, locking eyes with those deep, unreadable ones. He looked familiar—but off. Like a ghost I hadn’t fully buried.
“…Ethan Shaw?”
He blinked. Just once. And then nodded.
Something inside me broke loose and slammed into my chest. Pain, relief, disbelief—all of it at once. But I didn’t say a word. I just reached out and grabbed the corner of his coat, clutching it like it was the only solid thing in the world.
The carriage hit a bump, but I barely noticed.
Then the curtain was yanked open.
A soldier—the same one who’d called Ethan “General” earlier—poked his head in.
“Sir. Princess Helena’s requesting you.”
Ethan’s jaw tensed. “For what?”
“She won’t eat. Says she won’t touch a thing till she sees you.”
Ethan cursed under his breath, that familiar growl returning to his voice.
Still, he made a move to get up.
But I didn’t let go.
My fingers clung to his jacket like claws. I didn’t say anything, but my grip told him everything.
He looked down at my hand. His expression softened, eyebrows lifting.
“I won’t be long,” he said.
I didn’t believe him.
And my eyes told him that, too.
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