The silence in the penthouse was suffocating.
Elena sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, her fingers curled around the hem of her sweater. The walls were cold, the marble floor colder. But nothing — nothing — felt as icy as the man she had just married.
Aiden.
He hadn't spoken a word since they arrived.
He had walked in, tossed his keys on the crystal counter, and vanished into another room like she didn't exist. As if she was part of the furniture—there but invisible.
She stood up, heart pounding.
"You're not here as a wife. You're here because I needed you. Don't forget that," his voice echoed from earlier.
But she was a woman of pride. A woman who had swallowed her dreams just to save her mother.
She couldn't let him walk over her.
She stepped into the hallway, the silence stretching around her. She found him on the balcony, phone in hand, talking in low, clipped tones.
She heard a name.
"Clarissa."
Her chest tightened.
He ended the call and turned — dark eyes meeting hers. A storm brewed behind them, quiet but dangerous.
"You don't knock?" he said, voice sharp.
She didn't flinch. "I live here too, remember?"
He scoffed, brushing past her. "You live where I let you."
She followed him. "Why did you marry me, really?"
He stopped. Slowly turned.
His jaw clenched. "Because you were convenient. Because I needed someone disposable."
The words slapped her harder than a hand.
But she smiled — not kindly, not sweetly.
"I may be disposable," she said, voice low, "but even disposable things can cut deep."
Then she walked away.
Leaving him staring at her with something unfamiliar in his eyes.
Not hate.
Not anger.
But a flicker of surprise.
Maybe even… respect?