The Accidental Son-in-law Is A Genius

Module 5 - A KNOCK AT NIGHT

Once the tub was filled and the water steaming with a faint lavender scent, Clarke returned to the bedroom to inform her. 

Winifred had been lying on the bed, scrolling through her phone, but she got up reluctantly and went to the bathroom. Clarke followed with his usual expression of calm but weariness.

As she sank into the warm water, she leaned her head back against the tub’s edge, closing her eyes briefly. “You’re so slow,” she muttered, barely audible but pointed enough to sting.

Clarke didn’t respond. He grabbed the sponge and dipped it into the soapy water. As he began gently sponging her back, he caught the faintest shift in her posture, almost like a sigh.

Winifred opened her eyes slightly, watching him from the corner of her gaze. Up close, Clarke’s face was striking, handsome in a way that seemed effortless. His strong jawline and quiet intensity really caught her off guard.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the series of events that had led to this point.

The pub. That night.

She hadn’t gone there by choice; it was her ex, her rich boyfriend, who’d asked her to meet him there. She thought it was just another of his extravagant whims. She had no idea he was planning to propose.

And then, somehow, things had spiraled. She still couldn’t fully piece together the night. One moment, she was sipping her drink; the next, she woke up in a bed that wasn’t hers. 

Clarke’s bed.

The scandal that followed had been swift and merciless. Her reputation had been shredded overnight.

Her family, her manager, her fans, the world had demanded she marry Clarke to save face, to avoid the disgrace that would have ruined them. And before she knew it, there she was… married to him. The man she blamed for her fall from grace.

She clenched her jaw, staring at the man now carefully sponging her arm. He was so damn meticulous, so maddeningly patient. How could someone so gentle be the cause of her ruin?

Because of Clarke, she had almost lost everything. Because of her, he had nearly lost everything too. Yet here they were, bound together in a loveless marriage forged from a single night’s mistake.

To her, Clarke wasn’t just a reminder of that night. He was a spawn of bad luck in her life.

“Are you done yet?” she snapped, breaking the silence.

Clarke blinked, startled, and nodded. “Almost, Winifred.”

“Good. Hurry up,” she said curtly, turning her head away as if looking at him any longer would burn her.

Clarke sighed softly and continued, his movements steady and precise, saying nothing.

—

Clarke placed the sponge on the edge of the tub and stood up when he was done. He wiped his hands on a towel. 

Winifred had barely moved. Her eyes were now closed as she sank deeper into the water, her head resting against the tub's edge. Her frustration had simmered down to quiet exhaustion, and for the first time, she seemed at ease.

He hesitated, then cleared his throat softly. "I think you should lie down after this. Let me give you a massage. You'll feel better."

Winifred opened one eye, staring at him as though he had suggested something ridiculous. "What?"

Clarke shrugged. "You're clearly tense. A massage might help. Trust me, you'll feel better."

She snorted lightly, like she didn’t care. But after a moment, she muttered, "Whatever," and waved him off dismissively.

---

Back in the bedroom, wrapped in a toweling bathrobe and with her hair tucked under a soft towel, Winifred flopped onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh, lying on her stomach. Clarke stood by the bedside, his hands folded nervously, and then began kneading her shoulders.

At first, she remained stiff, her body tense under his touch. Clarke worked slowly, his fingers pressing gently into her muscles. 

He felt the way her body resisted, the way she flinched ever so slightly when his hands moved lower down her back. It wasn’t just tension; it was discomfort, an invisible wall between them.

He knew why.

He looked at her carefully. 

Winifred’s breathing gradually slowed, her body softening against his hands. Her shoulders slackened, and her expression, previously tight with irritation now smoothed out as she succumbed to fatigue. 

Soon, her breaths were soft and even. She had fallen asleep.

Clarke continued the massage for a little while longer. He thought a lot as he worked. Not like he could stop the thoughts from swirling in his head.

He needed to know what had happened that night.

That night at the bar had been a blur for him as much as it had been for her. Waking up to see a woman beside him, a woman he didn’t know, had thrown him into chaos. 

But the scandal that followed because of her identity in the entertainment world demanded responsibility. And Clarke, ever the gentleman, had taken it.

But he didn’t know her. Not truly. And she didn’t know him.

There was so much about himself he had kept hidden. Who he really was. What his past entailed. His wealth. His family. She didn’t know any of it, and now wasn’t the time to bring it up.

Winifred stirred slightly, and he pulled his hands back, tucking the blanket around her carefully before stepping away. He had questions… so many. But no answers.

“I’ll find out.” 

As he left the room, the house was quiet, the stillness settling around him like a heavy blanket. Clarke wandered downstairs, still deep in thought, when the sudden shrill sound of the doorbell shattered the silence.

It was late, far too late for visitors.

Clarke glanced up the staircase instinctively, making sure Winifred hadn’t been disturbed. Then he walked to the door and opened it cautiously, peering outside.

What he saw froze him in place.

Standing on the porch was a figure he hadn’t expected to see here. Not right now and not anytime close. His throat tightened, and his grip on the doorframe steadied him.

The man standing there gave him a small, casual smirk.

“Duke,” Clarke whispered hoarsely, his voice barely above a breath. Stepping out onto the porch, he pulled the door closed behind him. He glanced around the yard, scanning the shadows for anything, or anyone, else. No one. “What are you doing here?”