The sky was already darkening by the time Estelle reached home. She climbed down from the cab, said her thanks and walked towards the gate. The moment the gate was pushed aside, her chest tightened. Blaise's car was parked in front of the house. Her knees shook lightly. Her breathing became heavy.
Why am I scared?
She wondered, but every step she took felt heavier than usual. It was like a weight was placed on her shoulder, making her movement harder. She gripped the strap of her bag so tightly that her knuckles whitened.
Why do I feel like I'm about to be punished again?
She tried to steady herself, and reminded herself that she had been to her mother's house, that she had eaten, that she had rested and nothing more happened, but the fear crawling under her skin was stubborn, a warning she couldn't ignore.
When she reached the front door, she paused and took a deep breath before pushing the door open.
Blaise was already there, standing near the sofa with that same calm, unreadable expression she had grown to hate. He looked composed, almost effortless, yet his presence alone was enough to make her stomach twist.
Slowly, she walked toward the stairs to go to the bedroom, each step careful, hoping to disappear into the safety of her own space.
"Where have you been?" Blaise's voice sliced through the silence. He didn't raise his voice. Absolutely not yet, but there was a sharp edge beneath that calmness that made her flinch.
"I… I went to my mother's" she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Blaise's piercing gaze locked on her face. He didn't say anything for a long moment, letting the silence stretch between them. Estelle's stomach turned. She felt as if she were under inspection, each second of stillness a judgment.
"You went to your mother's?" he finally repeated, slow and deliberate, as though confirming a suspicion.
"Yes" she whispered again, her voice trembling.
He exhaled a controlled, and quiet sound. "I see…"
Her chest tightened further. Something in his tone told her that he wasn't done. He was gathering words, calculating, and that thought alone made her want to sink into the floor and disappear.
"There will be a gala and… it's this weekend" he said suddenly, taking a step forward. "You'll be representing me."
Estelle froze mid-step, her hand still on the railings. "I… I can't. I'm not feeling well" she managed, her voice shaking despite her effort to appear firm.
Blaise tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowed. "You're not going?"
"I'm… very tired. I need rest" she said, trying to make her words final.
He leaned forward, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Just as he was about to say something, she opened her mouth and asked, "What about her?" Her voice was low. "Why can't she attend in my place?"
Blaise's eyebrow shot up instinctively. "Is she… my wife?" he asked flatly.
"Oh, so you know that you have a wife" she spat. She could feel the anger building up from the depth of her heart. "And you… you go behind my back to cheat on me? Why don't you just divorce me and marry her?"
He didn't flinch. "If I wanted to marry her, it would have been a long time ago" he said.
"What?" She looked at him, a surprise look on her face. "So you don't have any plans on marrying her?"
Blaise's dark eyes bore into her. He leaned closer, his presence heavy and suffocating. "And how is that any of your business? Do you have the right to dictate my choices?"
"I'm saying… I'm very tired. I need peace. I need rest" she said firmly, trying to reclaim her voice, though her hands shook and her knees threatened to give way.
She turned to walk away, but his hand shot out, gripping her wrist with a force that made her flinch. "You're not done talking. You have no right to walk out on me"
Estelle's shoulders dropped, her body trembling, not from fear this time, but from exhaustion. "I'm tired, Blaise… I'm very tired. Please just let me be" she whispered.
She had no strength to argue, or to fight, or to even think. The gala, the masquerade of social duties, the representation…it all felt like chains she could not lift. She had no right to escape, yet every fiber of her being screamed for release.
"You've started letting me attend your galas?" she asked quietly, more to herself than him. "I'm… your wife. I should have a choice. I'm tired. I cannot do this."
Before he could respond, the sharp buzz of his phone on the couch broke the tension. Both of them glanced at it. The name on the screen made her chest tighten: Lyra
"Lyra… so, that's her name?" A bitter and painful smile tugged at her lips.
"That's none of your business" he said, frustration creeping into his voice. "Go to the room. I'll come talk to you later"
She pulled her arm from his grip and turned to leave, but she paused after taking a few steps. "There's nothing to discuss. Don't come disturb me…or I'll move to the guest room" Her voice was steady now and cold, leaving no room for argument.
Without waiting for his reply, she walked away. She could hear his muttered curses trailing after her, but she didn't turn. She didn't need to hear them.
She stepped into the bathroom, stripped off the day's tension under the warm spray of the shower, letting the water run over her bruised body, over her aching mind. Each drop felt like a small comfort, washing away the fear, if only for a moment.
Later, she climbed into bed, pulling the covers tightly around her. She closed her eyes and let herself feel every ounce of exhaustion; emotionally, physically, mentally. Her heart was beating very fast, scared that Blaise would come for her.
If it were to be before, she would have waited to hear what he wanted to say with his mistress, but tonight, she didn't care.