ELENA'S POINT OF VIEW
The mansion was too quiet when I walked through the front door.
My feet ached. My shoulders burned. My entire body felt like it had been put through a machine and spit out broken.
I set my bag down by the entrance, wincing as I rolled my shoulder. Every muscle screamed in protest.
Today has been hell.
Marco's voice still echoed in my head. "You walk like you're going to the grocery store."
Lena's frustrated sighs. "You're overthinking. Stop trying so hard."
The other models' whispers. "She's not going to last a week."
I closed my eyes, willing the memories away.
A sound drew my attention.
The dining room.
I walked slowly toward it, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
Alex sat at the head of the table, his suit jacket draped over the chair beside him. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. He looked like he'd come straight from work, just like me.
But unlike me, he looked composed. Untouchable. Perfect.
He glanced up when I entered.
"You're late," he said flatly.
Not "How was your day?" or "Are you alright?"
Just "You're late."
I bit back the frustration rising in my throat. "I'm sorry."
He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
I sat.
The staff had already set the table. White plates. Silver cutlery. A meal that probably costs more than I used to make in a week.
I picked up my fork mechanically.
We ate in silence.
The only sounds were the quiet clink of silverware against porcelain and my own shallow breathing.
I could feel Alex's eyes on me occasionally. Watching. Observing.
I kept my head down, forcing myself to chew and swallow even though I had no appetite.
"Where were you today?"
His voice cut through the silence like a blade.
I looked up. "I went for modeling training."
His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Modeling training?"
"Yes. You told your parents I was a model, remember? So I thought I should actually learn how to be one."
He set down his fork, studying me with those cold, unreadable eyes. "I see. How did it go?"
I forced a smile. Keep my voice light. Respectful. "It went well. Everything's good."
Lie.
It was a complete lie.
But I couldn't tell him the truth. I couldn't tell him that I'd been humiliated. Mocked. Corrected over and over until I wanted to disappear.
Because he'd told me once, in that cold, cutting voice of his: "Don't embarrass the family."
If he knew I was failing, he'd make me stop. Or worse, he'd look at me with that disappointment I couldn't bear to see.
Alex stared at me for a long moment, like he didn't quite believe me.
But he didn't push.
"Good," he said finally.
Silence fell again.
I picked at my food, moving it around my plate more than eating it. My stomach was in knots. My chest felt tight.
After a few minutes, I couldn't take it anymore.
I set down my fork. "I'm not hungry anymore."
I started to stand.
"Sit."
His voice was sharp. Cold. Final.
I froze halfway out of my chair.
"I didn't ask if you were hungry," he continued, his tone like ice. "Sit down."
Slowly, I lowered myself back into the chair. My hands folded in my lap. My head bowed slightly.
Respectful. Obedient.
Even though every part of me wanted to scream.
Alex leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on me.
"You need to watch how you act around me, Elena."
I looked up at him, confused. "What?"
"Don't behave like you own this house," he said, his voice cutting. "Don't walk away from the table whenever you feel like it. You're my wife. Act like it."
The words hit me like a slap.
I tried to hold it together. I really did.
But everything came crashing down at once.
The exhausting, humiliating day at Blake Modeling. Marco yelled at me. Lena sighs in frustration. The other models were laughing behind my back.
And now Alex. Sitting there. Looking at me like I was an inconvenience. A burden. A mistake.
And the letters.
God, the letters.
The ones I'd found under the bed. The ones he'd written to Mia. Full of love and passion and vulnerability I'd never seen from him.
He'd loved her.
Truly, deeply, completely loved her.
And me?
He couldn't even be kind to me.
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.
Then another.
I didn't make a sound. Just sat there, tears falling silently, my hands trembling in my lap.
Alex was mid-sentence, about to say something else.
But he stopped.
His eyes locked on my face. On the tears.
The coldness in his expression cracked. Just slightly.
Silence.
He didn't say anything. Didn't ask what was wrong. Didn't apologize.
He just reached across the table.
Picked up a tissue from the holder between us.
And held it out to me.
I stared at it.
At his hand. At the tissue.
This wasn't something Alex did. He didn't comfort. He didn't offer kindness. He didn't care.
But here he was.
Slowly, I took the tissue from his hand, my fingers brushing his for just a second.
"Thank you," I whispered.
I wiped my face quickly, trying to pull myself together. Trying to stop the tears that wouldn't stop coming.
Alex pulled his hand back. His jaw was tight. His expression was unreadable again.
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor.
He adjusted his suit jacket, his movements precise and controlled.
"When you're done," he said quietly, his voice softer than before but still distant, "go rest."
He didn't wait for me to respond.
He turned and walked away.
I heard his footsteps echo down the hallway. Then the sound of a door closing.
His study.
He'd left me alone.
I sat there at the long, empty table, clutching the tissue in my hand.
The dining room felt enormous. Too big. Too quiet.
I looked down at the tissue, damp from my tears.
Such a small thing.
But from Alex, it felt like everything.
I stood slowly, my legs shaky, and walked toward the stairs.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
When I reached our bedroom, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, exhaling slowly.
My body ached. My heart ached.
But I couldn't stop thinking about that moment.
He'd seen me crying.
And he'd given me a tissue.
He'd told me to rest.
It wasn't much. It wasn't love. It wasn't warmth.
But it was something.
I changed into comfortable clothes, too exhausted to shower. Then I lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
The silence pressed in around me.
I thought about the letters again. About Mia. About how Alex had loved her so completely.
And I wondered what had happened to her. Why had he burned her face out of the photograph? Why did he keep the letters hidden under the bed like a secret too painful to throw away?
I needed to see them again.
Maybe I'd missed something. Some clues. Some answers.
I sat up slowly and slid off the bed.
I walked over to the side where I'd found the box before.
Knelt down.
And reached under the bed.
My hand searched the empty space. Left. Right. Further back.
Nothing.
My heart started pounding.
I leaned down, pressing my cheek against the cool floor, peering into the darkness under the bed.
Nothing.
The box was gone.
Completely gone.
Panic flooded through me, cold and sharp.
I sat back on my heels, my hands trembling.
Did Alex move it?
Did he know I'd found it?
Did he know I'd read the letters?
My mind raced.
Maybe he moved it somewhere else. Maybe it was just a coincidence.
But deep down, I knew.
He knew.
Alex knew.
I stood up slowly, backing away from the bed like it might swallow me whole.
My chest felt tight. My breathing, shallow.
The box was gone.
And if Alex knew I'd seen it... I didn't know what he'd do.