ELENA'S POINT OF VIEW
The house felt too big today.
Too quiet. Too empty.
Alex had left for work hours ago, his goodbye as cold and brief as always. The staff moved quietly through the mansion, but they felt like ghosts. Present but invisible.
And me? I was alone.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing in particular. The silence pressed against my ears, heavy and suffocating.
I needed to do something. Anything.
My eyes drifted down to my hand, to the ring sitting perfectly on my finger. The diamond caught the afternoon light streaming through the window, throwing tiny rainbows across the white sheets.
It was beautiful. Expensive. The kind of ring most women dreamed about.
But it felt like a chain.
I twisted it slowly, watching it sparkle. How much did something like this cost? More than I'd ever earned in a year, probably. More than my mother's entire surgery.
I pulled it off carefully, holding it up to the light to examine it more closely. The band was engraved with something. Tiny letters I'd never noticed before.
I squinted, trying to read them.
Then it slipped.
"No!"
I lunged forward, but it was too late. The ring bounced once against the floor and rolled under the bed.
"Perfect," I muttered, dropping to my knees.
I pressed my cheek against the cool floor, peering into the darkness under the bed. I could see the ring glinting a few feet in, just out of reach.
I stretched my arm under, fingers brushing against dust and something solid.
Not the ring.
Something else.
I grabbed it and pulled it.
A box.
Wooden. Old. Covered in a thin layer of dust, as if it had been forgotten for years.
I sat back on my heels, staring at it. The wood was dark, carved with intricate patterns that had faded with time. There was a small lock on the front, but it was broken, hanging loosely.
Curiosity prickled at the back of my neck.
I shouldn't open it.
This wasn't mine. This was Alex's room. Alex's things. Alex's privacy.
But my fingers were already lifting the lid.
Inside, the box was filled with letters.
Dozens of them. Maybe more. Some were folded neatly, others crumpled like they'd been read and reread a thousand times. The paper was yellowed, aged, and fragile.
And beneath the letters, dried roses. Their petals were brown and brittle, but they'd been preserved carefully, pressed flat between the pages.
My heart thudded against my ribs.
I picked up the first letter, unfolding it slowly.
The handwriting was neat. Elegant. Masculine.
Alex's handwriting.
I recognized it from the contract I'd signed.
My eyes scanned the words.
"My dearest Mia,
I don't know how to put into words what you mean to me. You are the light that breaks through my darkness. The air I breathe. The only person who has ever truly seen me.
I love you more than I thought I was capable of loving anyone.
Forever yours,
A."
I stared at the letter, my chest tightening.
Mia.
Who was Mia?
I set the letter down carefully and picked up another.
"Mia,
Every moment without you feels like an eternity. I miss your laugh. I miss the way you look at me like I'm someone worth loving.
Come back to me soon.
A."
Another.
"You asked me once if I believed in soulmates. I didn't. Not until I met you.
You are my everything, Mia.
A."
My hands trembled as I set the letter down.
This wasn't just affection.
This was love.
Deep, consuming, soul-wrenching love.
And it wasn't for me.
I picked up another letter, then another, reading each one faster than the last. They were all the same. Passionate. Tender. Vulnerable.
This was a side of Alex I'd never seen.
A side I didn't know existed.
My throat burned.
Jealousy clawed at my chest, sharp and ugly.
He loved her. Whoever she was. He loved her with everything he had.
And me?
He looked at me like I was an obligation. A burden. A business transaction.
I reached for another letter, but my hand brushed against something else.
A photograph.
I pulled it out carefully.
It was old, the edges worn and faded. The image showed a younger Alex, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four. He was smiling. Actually smiling. Not the cold, controlled expression I was used to, but a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.
His arm was wrapped around someone.
A woman.
But her face was burned out.
Completely destroyed.
The edges of the burn were jagged, deliberate, like someone had held a flame to it until her face was nothing but a blackened hole.
Only her body remained. A slender figure in a white dress, standing close to Alex, her hand resting on his chest.
I stared at the photograph, my heart pounding.
Who was she?
Why did he burn her face?
What happened?
I set the photo down and picked up another letter, desperate for answers.
"Mia,
I wish things were different. I wish I could go back and change everything.
But I can't.
I'll never forgive myself for what happened.
A."
What happened?
The question echoed in my mind, louder and louder.
I picked up another letter. Then another. Reading frantically now, searching for clues.
But none of them explained.
They just showed love. Loss. Regret.
And then I found the last letter.
The handwriting was different. Shakier. More emotional.
"Alex,
I can't do this anymore.
You've changed. You're not the man I fell in love with.
I hope you find peace someday.
Goodbye.
M."
Mia.
Wait, she left him.
Or... did she?
I stared at the letter, my mind spinning.
The burn marks on the photograph. The hidden box. The way Alex was so cold, so closed off.
Something terrible had happened.
And whoever Mia was, she was the reason.
My chest ached.
Not just from jealousy.
But from understanding.
Alex had loved someone. Deeply. Completely.
And he'd lost her.
That's why he was the way he was.
That's why he couldn't look at me with anything but ice.
Because his heart was still buried in this box, under the bed, hidden away where no one could touch it.
I sat there, surrounded by letters and dried roses and the ghost of a woman whose face I'd never see.
And I realized something.
I was jealous.
Not just because he loved her.
But because I wanted him to look at me the way he must have looked at her.
I wanted him to write about me the way he wrote about her.
I wanted...
I stopped myself.
No.
I didn't want that.
I couldn't want that.
This was a contract. A business arrangement. Nothing more.
But my heart didn't care about logic.
It skipped every time Alex walked into a room.
It raced every time his hand brushed mine.
It ached every time he looked at me with those cold, unreadable eyes.
And now, knowing he was capable of love, made it so much worse.
Footsteps.
My head snapped up.
Someone was coming.
I scrambled to gather the letters, shoving them back into the box. My hands shook as I closed the lid and pushed it back under the bed, as far as it would go.
The door opened.
I froze, still on my knees beside the bed.
Alex stepped inside.
He was still in his suit, his tie loosened slightly. His eyes found me immediately, narrowing in confusion.
"What are you doing?"
I stood quickly, brushing dust off my knees. "I... I dropped my ring. I was trying to find it."
His gaze flicked to my bare hand, then back to my face.
I bent down quickly, reaching under the bed, and grabbed the ring I'd completely forgotten about. I held it up, forcing a smile.
"Found it."
He stared at me for a long moment.
Too long.
Like he didn't quite believe me.
Then he looked away, his expression returning to its usual coldness.
"Dinner's ready. Come downstairs."
"Okay."
He turned and walked out without another word.
I stood there, clutching the ring in my hand, my heart still racing.
He didn't suspect anything.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the letters.
About Mia.
About the way Alex had once loved someone so deeply, so completely.
And about how he treated me like I was nothing.
If he could love someone like that, why did he treat me so coldly?
Even if he didn't love me, couldn't he at least treat me like a human being?
I slipped the ring back onto my finger, the weight of it feeling heavier than before.
And as I walked toward the door, I realized something.
I didn't just want to know who Mia was.
I needed to know.
Because until I understood what happened to her, I'd never understand the man I'd married.