Morning light spilled through the curtains, soft and golden, too peaceful for the storm inside me. I blinked against it, the silence pressing down on me like a weight. The other side of the bed was empty. Of course it was.
"You're his wife now," I whispered to my reflection as I stood before the mirror. My hair was a mess, my eyes puffy from crying. "Act like one. Smile. Don't make things worse."
The words sounded ridiculous even to my own ears, but I needed something, anything to hold myself together.
Downstairs, the house felt too big, every step echoing. I found the kitchen and, after a moment of hesitation, started making breakfast. The smell of coffee and toasted bread filled the air, a small comfort in the emptiness.
I set the table, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles from the placemats. My stomach fluttered nervously as I heard the front door open.
Alex entered, his hair perfectly combed, suit immaculate, expression unreadable. He didn't even glance my way as he dropped his car keys on the counter.
"Good morning," I managed, forcing a smile. "I made breakfast."
His eyes flickered toward the food, steaming eggs, fresh toast, then back to me. Something dark and distant moved behind them.
"I'm not hungry," he said flatly.
My throat tightened. "You should at least..."
"Ava," he interrupted, his tone like ice. "You don't have to pretend. We both know this isn't what you want."
And with that, he walked away, leaving me standing in a kitchen that suddenly felt colder than ever.
The sound of the front door slamming echoed through the halls like a final verdict. Alex was gone, off to whatever kingdom of business or power he ruled over, leaving behind the faint scent of cologne and the ghost of everything he didn't say.
I stood in the kitchen, staring at the untouched plate of breakfast. The eggs had gone cold. The toast had curled at the edges. Just like me, warm for a moment, then forgotten.
"He doesn't eat in the mornings," a soft voice said behind me.
I turned, startled, and found a woman standing near the doorway. Middle-aged, dressed neatly in a black uniform and white apron. Her face was kind, though her eyes were sharp, the kind that saw too much and said too little.
"Oh...I didn't hear you come in," I stammered, embarrassed at being caught looking like a fool.
"You must be Mrs. Matteo," she said with a faint smile, her tone respectful but distant. "I'm Martha. I've worked here since Mr. Alex was a boy."
"Nice to meet you," I said, though my voice came out softer than I intended.
Her eyes drifted to the breakfast table. "That was sweet of you, dear. No one's cooked for him in a long time."
I frowned. "He doesn't eat breakfast?"
"Not since…" She hesitated, then shook her head quickly. "He prefers coffee and silence. You'll learn his ways soon enough."
Not since what? I wanted to ask, but something in her tone made me stop.
Instead, I managed a polite nod. "I'll just… clean this up then."
"I'll take care of it, ma'am," she said quickly, stepping forward. "Why don't you rest a bit? It takes time to get used to this house."
Her words sounded kind, but underneath, there was something else , a quiet warning, maybe.
"Thank you," I murmured, giving her a small smile before slipping out of the kitchen.
......
The house was too quiet. Every tick of the grandfather clock sounded louder than my own heartbeat.
I wandered through the endless corridors, fingers brushing the smooth, cold walls. Portraits of stern men and elegant women lined the hallways, all of them staring down at me like I didn't belong.
Maybe I didn't.
My feet stopped in front of a door at the far end of the west wing, slightly ajar, unlike the others. A draft of air carried with it the faint scent of old perfume, soft and floral, lingering like a memory that refused to die.
My hand trembled as I pushed the door open.
The room was drenched in shadows and silence.
A large canopy bed sat against the far wall, untouched, its sheets perfectly arranged. On the vanity lay an assortment of objects: a pearl necklace, a silver brush, and a framed photograph turned face down.
My curiosity won. I reached for the frame and slowly turned it over.
The breath caught in my throat.
It was Alex. Younger, softer. His arm was wrapped around a woman with bright eyes and a smile that seemed to light up the whole picture. They looked in love , deeply, foolishly in love.
A name was engraved on the silver frame: "To Alex, Forever Yours, Lila."
Lila.
My heart ached with an emotion I couldn't name. Sadness? Guilt? Maybe both. I shouldn't be here, shouldn't be touching this, but I couldn't look away. This was the first glimpse of Alex that wasn't cold, distant, or cruel.
I trailed my fingers over the edge of the photo, tracing the woman's smile. "Who were you?" I whispered. "And what happened to you?"
"Put that down."
The voice froze me where I stood.
Slowly, I turned. Alex was at the door, his jacket gone, his tie loose, eyes burning with fury.
"I... I was just..."
"I said, put it down." His tone was low, dangerous. Each word landed like a blow.
I set the photo back on the vanity, my fingers trembling. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"To what?" he snapped, stepping closer. "Invade my privacy? Walk into rooms that aren't yours?"
"I was just looking around! I didn't know..."
"You didn't know because you don't belong here!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the room. The air grew heavy, suffocating.
I flinched, my throat tightening. The photograph lay between us, a silent witness.
His chest heaved as he stared at me, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to something darker...pain. He picked up the frame, his fingers brushing over the woman's face. His voice dropped, soft but broken.
"You have no idea what you just touched."
My heart clenched. I wanted to say something...anything... but no words came.
He turned away, his shoulders rigid, his back to me. "Get out, Ava."
I did.
I fled down the corridor, my vision blurring with guilt and confusion. In my room, I leaned against the door, my breath coming in shaky bursts. My chest ached with something I didn't understand.
Later that night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the image of that woman's smile burned into my mind.
Somewhere in the mansion, I knew Alex was awake too, holding onto her memory like a lifeline.
And for the first time, I realized that maybe his cruelty wasn't born from arrogance.
Maybe it was born from loss.
And I didn't know which was worse.