Chapter 14: Shattered Promises
The silence in the Lancaster mansion was louder than any scream Elira could have let out. Her hands trembled as she held the photograph Lyra had found — Zayn… and another woman.
The woman was beautiful. Long, chestnut hair and a smile so familiar that it pierced Elira's memory like a blade. The same woman she had seen once at Zayn's company… the same woman who had whispered something in his ear, only for him to brush it off when Elira asked.
Tears burned behind her eyes, but Elira didn't cry.
Not anymore.
She had done enough crying for Zayn.
She dropped the photo on the mahogany floor and stared at it, as if the woman would crawl out of the image and admit everything.
Lyra stepped into the room slowly. "Elira… do you want to talk?"
"No," Elira whispered. Her voice was cold. Controlled. "Not now."
Lyra didn't push. She left, closing the door behind her.
Elira stood alone, the weight of betrayal pressing on her chest like a stone. She walked to the mirror, the same one she had once stared into when she felt like a ghost in her own marriage.
But this time, her reflection wasn't broken.
It was furious.
She picked up her phone with steady hands and dialed Zayn.
It rang. Once. Twice. He didn't pick up.
She tried again.
"Zayn Lancaster," he answered on the fourth ring. His voice was calm, rehearsed. Like he had no idea that his world was about to implode.
"Elira," she said. "Where are you?"
"Still at the office. Why?"
"Don't lie to me."
There was silence.
"Elira, what's going on?"
"I found the photo, Zayn," she said. "The one of you and her. Don't act dumb."
"…I can explain—"
"No. You don't get to explain over the phone. Come home. Now."
She hung up without another word.
---
*Thirty minutes later…*
The front door creaked open, and Elira stood at the top of the staircase, waiting. Zayn stepped in, his tie loosened, his jacket draped over his arm. But the confidence he usually wore was gone.
"You're home," she said simply.
He looked up at her. "Elira, listen—"
"Who is she?"
He looked away.
"Who is she, Zayn?" Her voice rose.
"Her name is Madeline. She's… someone from my past."
Elira laughed bitterly. "Your past? Then why is there a recent photo of you two looking like a couple?"
"It wasn't supposed to mean anything—"
"But it does, doesn't it? You're cheating on me."
Zayn stepped forward, his voice desperate. "I never wanted to hurt you. I didn't even mean for it to go this far."
"You kissed her," Elira said. "I can see it in your eyes."
He said nothing.
That was all the confirmation she needed.
Her chest ached, but her voice stayed steady. "Why? Why did you marry me if you still had feelings for someone else?"
Zayn exhaled. "It was arranged. You know that."
"No, Zayn. Don't you dare use that as an excuse anymore." She stepped closer to him, tears shining in her eyes. "I tried. I gave you everything. Even when you ignored me, insulted me… I stayed. For this marriage. For your family. For my own dignity. And this… this is what I get?"
Zayn lowered his head. "I didn't expect to care about you."
"What?"
"I hated you at first, yes. Because I thought you were weak. A spoiled girl forced into my life. But you proved me wrong. And that scared me."
Elira was silent.
"I didn't know how to deal with someone who actually cared. I… messed up."
She looked at him, the man she once dreamed would one day love her back. Now, all she saw was a stranger in the skin of her husband.
"Elira, I ended it," Zayn said suddenly. "With her. I swear. Before you found out."
"It's too late."
Zayn stepped closer. "Please. Don't walk away from this."
She stared at him, feeling a storm building inside her. "I won't walk away."
He looked relieved.
"I'll rise from it."
The relief on his face died.
---
*That Night…*
Elira packed a single bag. She wasn't leaving for good — not yet. But she needed space. Space to think. To breathe.
Lyra watched from the hallway, eyes wide. "Where are you going?"
"To grandma's old cottage," Elira said softly. "I need time."
"Zayn is a fool," Lyra muttered. "You deserve better."
Elira nodded. "Maybe I do."
She stepped outside. The air was cold, the night quiet. But her heart, though broken, was burning.
Not with pain anymore — but with power.
She was done being the girl who forgot how to smile.
She was becoming the woman who wouldn't need anyone to remind her how.
---
*At the Cottage…*
Elira sat by the fireplace, reading through her grandmother's letters. One of them stood out tonight — written in the neat cursive she had always admired.
*"My sweet Elira,
When love turns cold, do not chase warmth from hands that burned you.
Let your scars teach you strength.
Let your tears grow gardens where you thought only ruin remained.
You were never made to break.
You were made to rise."*
Elira closed her eyes and whispered, "I hear you, grandma."
Her phone buzzed. A message from Zayn:
*"I'm sorry. I'll wait for you."*
She didn't reply.
Instead, she whispered to herself, "It's my turn now."