After saving Richard Blake's life, the house returned to silence — as if nothing had happened.No one thanked her.No one looked her way.
That night, as Elena folded the thin blanket over herself in the tiny room she now called hers, the door creaked open. Zain stood there, cold and unreadable.
"This room is too small," he said. "Sleep in mine."
She blinked. "What?"
He didn't repeat himself. Just turned and walked away.
Later, Elena quietly stepped into his room. It was dark and silent. She didn't say a word. Neither did he. She curled up on the sofa at the far end. Zain took the bed.No warmth passed between them—just shared air and the quiet understanding of a broken peace.
That night passed without incident.
The next day, the Blake family gathered for lunch. Laughter echoed faintly through the hall as dishes were placed on the long dining table.
Elena hesitated at the doorway, then slowly stepped inside and sat at the end.
A silence fell over the table.
One by one, the family stood up and left.
No explanation. No eye contact. No dignity.
Just quiet, brutal rejection.
She stared at the untouched food, her throat tight, her hands shaking. Then she stood up… and walked away, her vision blurred with tears.
From across the hallway, Zain had seen it happen. He didn't speak, but a few minutes later, he told a maid quietly, "Take lunch to her. Make sure she eats."
That afternoon, when Zain left for a meeting, the house once again turned cold.
His aunt found Elena folding sheets in the hallway. Her expression twisted with disdain.
"You think saving Richard gets you a place here?"
Before Elena could speak, a bucket of ice-cold water hit her skin like knives.
She gasped, shivering instantly.
"Filth doesn't belong in this house," the aunt snapped, dragging her by the arm.
Moments later, the gates slammed shut behind her.
Soaking. Humiliated. Fever already beginning to rise in her bones… Elena stood alone on the sidewalk outside the mansion.
No one came. Not for a long while.
By the time Zain returned, dusk had settled over the estate. Something felt wrong.
"Where's Elena?" he asked sharply.
His aunt shrugged. "Probably ran away. She wasn't built for this life."
Zain didn't answer. He turned and left.
Anger pulsed in his veins as he drove down the nearby road. Headlights scanned the shadows.
Then he saw her.
Elena. Soaked. Pale. Trembling.
Curled against a wall like a child abandoned.
"Damn it," he muttered, slamming the door open and rushing to her.
Her eyes barely opened when he wrapped his coat around her.
"I've got you," he whispered, lifting her gently into his arms.
Back at the mansion, he placed her on the bed with care. Maids hovered nearby, watching nervously.
"Who did this?" he demanded.
One of the younger maids spoke hesitantly. "It was Madam… She threw her out."
Zain's jaw clenched.
From the doorway, he stared down the hall.
"No one speaks to her. No one touches her. If anyone disrespects her again… they'll answer to me."
He turned and shut the door behind him.
Inside the room, Elena lay motionless, her back turned to him. Her clothes were dry now, but her eyes were hollow. She didn't speak. She didn't cry. She just stared into the dark.
Later that night, Zain returned with a tray of warm food and something else—a small stack of old storybooks.
He placed them on the nightstand.
"I know you like to read," he said softly.
Still, she didn't answer.
He didn't expect her to.
He wasn't sure what he was doing either.
But for the first time… he came not with threats, but with care.
As he left the room, Elena finally blinked—not in fear.
But in confusion.
Something inside her softened. For just a moment, she thought — maybe he isn't as cruel as I believed.
He brought her food. He brought her books. He remembered.
But then, like a blade through her chest, the truth returned:
He forced me into this marriage.
And just like that, any warmth that had begun to grow… froze again.
She turned her face to the wall, burying her heart beneath the weight of reality.
Because no matter what he gave her now… he had taken everything first.
Her parents. Her friends. Her dreams of becoming a doctor. Her freedom. Her smile.
And in this mansion filled with power and silence… she remained a prisoner.
Not just in a room, But in a life she never chose.
Some nights, she dreamed of running. Of slipping away in the dark, vanishing into a world where no one knew her name.
But every time the thought crept in, so did his voice—etched into her memory like a warning:
"If leave you… your family dies."
She clenched the edge of the blanket tighter.
Even escape… came at a price she couldn't pay.
So she stayed. Not for herself. But for the people she loved.
And the warmth that had started to melt her heart…froze completely once again.