The True Aim Of Our Marriage Novel by Bridget Morton _ Novel





The True Aim Of Our Marriage Chapter 01

Cynthia Gorman went to the base to deliver some documents that her husband, Theodore Johansen, had left behind at home.
She had just reached the edge of the training field when she spotted a group of officers gathered together. It seemed they were holding some kind of social event, the atmosphere lively.
Theodore was in the middle of it all, surrounded by his colleagues. From the looks of it, he’d lost a game and was now being goaded into a round of truth-telling.
Someone piped up, “General Johansen, come on, tell us—what’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told?”
The rowdy crowd quieted down a little, all eyes fixed on this major general known for his strict discipline and unshakable honesty.
Theodore fell silent for a moment, his profile half-shadowed by the light. He picked up his mug of tea, took a slow sip, and finally spoke—his voice low but clear enough to reach Cynthia just as she stepped into the doorway.
“Someone once asked me if I had unrequited love.
“I lied and told her no.”
Cynthia’s mind went blank. She froze, her blood turning to ice.
Cynthia was hailed as the most gorgeous girl in Atlanta—hot, wild, and untamable, like a red rose in full bloom.
During the wildest year of her time overseas, her father sent her an urgent telegram, summoning her home. The message was cold and brief: “Return immediately. Marry Theodore.”
Theodore was the most promising young officer on the base. He was cool, reserved, and disciplined to the point of austerity—her complete opposite.
Cynthia had used every trick she knew to sabotage the marriage.
She still remembered the day she had finally relented.
Theodore had walked up to her and gently taken her hand.
There had been a tiny cut on her fingertip, one she hadn’t even noticed. But he saw it immediately. From the pocket of his uniform, he had pulled out a first-aid kit, disinfected the wound, and placed a bandage over it.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
Then he lifted his gaze, steady and patient. “I don’t care what trouble you cause or how big a mess you make. I can handle all of that. The only thing I care about is if you’re hurt.”
The tenderness of that moment had shaken Cynthia to her core. It hit the most vulnerable part of her heart, crumbling her walls.
Her voice had gone hoarse when she heard herself say, “Theodore, I’ll marry you.”
She saw a faint light flicker in his deep eyes.
“But before that, I have to ask you something.” Cynthia’s pride and possessiveness flared. “Do you have any unrequited love? My man has to belong only to me. Whether it’s past, present, or future, he shall love no one but me.”
Theodore had met her gaze without wavering. “No. You’re my one and only.”
Reassured, Cynthia married him.
She always thought she’d thawed his heart with her passion—until now.
He lied?
He had unrequited love?
Then why did he tell her no?
Why did he marry her at all?
A chill rose from the soles of her feet, crawling through her body until she was trembling as if submerged in a frozen lake.
She was about to storm over and demand answers when suddenly, a security officer rushed to Theodore’s side and whispered something in his ear.
Theodore’s usual calmness was gone.
Without excusing himself, he shot to his feet, grabbed his uniform jacket from the back of his chair, and dashed off so fast a gust of wind followed in his wake.
He didn’t even notice Cynthia standing in the doorway.
As he passed by, his shoulder slammed into hers, hard, but he didn’t seem to feel it at all. It was like every sense in him had shut down except the one driving him forward.
Cynthia staggered from the impact, her shoulder throbbing—but the pain in her heart was far worse.
Gritting her teeth against the pain and the flood of doubts, she instinctively followed him.
The car finally stopped outside an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.
Theodore rushed inside with the security officer. Cynthia trailed behind, keeping to the shadows.
Inside, a vicious-looking kidnapper was holding a girl hostage with a knife pressed to her throat.
The girl wore a simple dress, tears streaming down her face. She looked so fragile that she might faint at any second.
The moment Theodore saw her, his face drained of color, and his voice trembled a bit. “Let her go!”
The kidnapper sneered, “I knew I grabbed the right person! Theodore, everyone out there says you pamper that arrogant wife of yours, but I know who you really care about. It’s her—Victoria Newell!”
Victoria? Cynthia’s heart plummeted.
The kidnapper kept on barking, “Last time at the border, you slaughtered my men! Today, you’re gonna taste the same pain!”
Theodore’s knuckles turned white, but his voice stayed calm. “You want revenge? Come at me. Let her go—take me instead!”
“Let her go? Sure!” The kidnapper kicked a gleaming knife toward Theodore, the blade clattering to the floor at his feet. “Stab yourself in the heart, right now! Then maybe I’ll let her go!”
Without hesitation, Theodore bent down, picked up the knife, and drove it toward his own chest.
Hidden in the shadows, Cynthia dug her nails into her palms to keep herself from screaming.
He actually … hurt himself for another woman without a moment’s doubt?!

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