~Alistiar's POV~
"Have you settled your things?" she asked, turning her attention to Clara.
For a second, I thought I had misheard her.
Settled… where?
The question echoed in my head as a cold, unsettling feeling crept into my chest, trying to understand what had just been said.
"Yes, Mom," Clara replied, her smile bright and sharp as a blade.
My mother-in-law turned to Alex, her voice dripping with saccharine command. "Take care of Clara, Alexander. Even after I leave, I expect her to be looked after properly."
"Okay, Mom," he murmured, his head dipping in that familiar, submissive nod.
Clara shifted, moving even closer to her "benefactor" on the sofa. She didn't spare me a single glance; she ignored my existence so completely it was as if I were a ghost haunting my own living room. I didn't wait for her to acknowledge me. I offered a stiff, polite bow to my mother-in-law and excused myself, my heart hammering against my ribs as I retreated upstairs.
In our bedroom, I sat down on the small sofa by the window. I didn't move. I didn't cry. I just sat there, staring at nothing, letting the silence wrap around me.
A few minutes later, the door opened.
Alex came in.
He closed it behind him and stood there for a moment, like he didn't know where to begin. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, filled with guilt.
"I'm sorry, babe," he said. "I should have informed you that she was coming along with me. I shouldn't have let you walk into that unprepared."
"It's okay," I replied quietly.
I stood up. "I'm going to shower."
He reached for me, stepping closer. "It's not okay," he said quickly. "I know it's not. Babe, trust me, I tried to stop her. I told her Clara shouldn't come. She wouldn't listen. You know how she is."
"I know," I said.
I looked at him. "Have you eaten?"
He blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Alis—"
"Have you eaten?" I repeated.
He moved to wrap an arm around my waist. I stepped back, gently. "Answer me."
He sighed. "I'm fine."
"Okay."
I turned toward the bathroom without another word.
As the door closed behind me, I leaned my hands against the sink and looked at my reflection. What was there left to say, when every word I spoke disappeared the moment it left my mouth?
I turned on the shower and stepped under the water, letting it drown out everything I couldn't say aloud.
~Alexander's POV~
The moment my mother told me not to bring Alis, my first instinct was to refuse. To hang up. To do the opposite of what she asked and take my husband with me anyway.
But instinct and reality were two different things.
I knew my mother. I knew the way her words could be polite on the surface and cruel underneath. I knew the looks she gave Alis when she thought I wasn't paying attention.
The way she spoke about him to me. The way she made it clear, again and again, that she would never see him as family.
Every time she warned me not to bring him along, I tried to fix it. I tried to talk to her, to explain, to soften the edges. I told myself that if I just tried harder, she would eventually change.
She never did.
I loved my mother. And I loved my husband. Being forced to stand between them felt like being pulled apart from the inside.
When the conference ended earlier than expected, my first instinct was to leave the city and return to Alis. I wanted to be back with my husband to see him, to hold him. But my mother stopped me, insisting I stay the night. In the end, I agreed, telling myself it would only be one evening.
It was close to the time I planned to leave when Clara arrived.
That was when the unease in my chest deepened.
My mother asked me to stay a little longer. She said it had been too long since we'd spent time together as a family. I told her I couldn't. I reminded her that I had promised my husband I would be home today.
Her expression hardened.
She brought up the husband she had never accepted and questioned why I kept calling him my husband. Then she asked, coldly, what exactly was he offering me.
I stopped her immediately. I told her not to start.
She had never once said to Alis's face that she didn't want us together. Not directly. Not in words. But everything she did toward him spoke louder than any confession ever could.
And that frightened me the most, because I knew Alis. When things became too heavy, he didn't argue or fight back. He withdrew. He went quiet. He found a way to step away from the pain instead of confronting it.
I made it clear to her that I wasn't staying. Not because I didn't care about family, but because I had already stayed longer than I'd planned. She needed to stop saying it had "been a while" since we'd spent time together, as if I hadn't been doing everything I could to balance both sides of my life.
She looked at me for a long moment, then said calmly, "If you insist on going back, Clara will go with you."
I shook my head immediately. "No," I said. "I can't do that. Alis won't like it."
Her expression hardened. "Then stay," she replied. "Stay a few more days if you can't take her with you."
We went back and forth. I tried to reason with her. I told her it wasn't fair, that it would hurt Alis, that I was already struggling to keep the peace. I told her Clara didn't need to come, that this would only cause problems.
She didn't listen.
She never did.
In the end, it became clear she wouldn't change her mind. Either I stayed longer, breaking my promise to my husband, or I went home with Clara. Staying felt worse. At least if Clara came along, I could still be there for Alis, even if it wasn't how I wanted things to happen.
I gave in.
The moment I made that decision, guilt settled heavily in my chest. I reached for my phone to call Alis, to explain, to soften the shock before he had to see it for himself. But my mother stopped me. She took my phone from my hand and told me I wouldn't be using it. Then she added that she would be coming with us.
I tried to argue. I told her this wasn't right, that Alis deserved to know. But she didn't listen. She simply stated it like a final decision. In the end, I had no choice.
She didn't return my phone until we were already home.
By then, it was too late.
When we arrived, the staff informed me that Alis wasn't home.
I reached for my phone.
My mother immediately told me not to call him, insisting I wait and let him find out everything on his own when he returned.
I looked at her and shook my head. "This is my home," I said quietly. "And the trouble you've already caused is enough."
I called Alis.
He answered and said he was on his way back.
The moment he walked in and saw my mother, the look on his face told me everything before he said a word. My chest tightened, and I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes.
Then he noticed Clara had come back with me as well, and I knew exactly what he felt. Betrayal.
I knew Alis was hurt. I could see it in his eyes, feel it in the silence that stretched between us. And no matter how many times I told myself that I had tried, that I had fought as much as I could, it didn't change the fact that I had failed him again.
I didn't even know where to begin making it right.
All I knew was that I had tried.
And that somehow, trying still wasn't enough.
I undressed quietly and stepped into the bathroom. Steam clung to the air, fogging the mirror, the sound of running water filling the space. Alis was in the shower.
The moment he noticed me, he reached out and shut off the water. The silence that followed was deafening.
When he stepped out, his eyes were red-rimmed and his skin was flushed, he looked as though he had been crying under the spray, letting the water hide his tears. He tried to act natural, avoiding my gaze as he reached for a towel.
"I'm done," he said, his voice thick and brittle. "You can shower now."
He tried to brush past me, but I couldn't let him go. I reached out, my hands trembling as I grabbed him by his waist, pulling his damp, trembling body back against mine. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, the scent of his soap and the heat of his skin making my heart ache.
"Please, babe... forgive me," I whispered against his skin. "Please."
He went still in my arms, but he didn't lean back. He didn't melt into me like he usually did.
"Why is it so hard for you?" he asked, his voice a ghost of a whisper. "Why is it so hard for you to admit that your mother doesn't like me?"
The words hit me harder…