Chapter 3: The Morning After
Sunlight filtered gently through the floor-length curtains, casting golden lines across the marble floor. The room was quiet—too quiet. Elira stirred beneath the heavy sheets of her new bedroom. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and for a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then it hit her—she was married.
To *Zayn Kael*.
The man who couldn't even look her in the eyes at their wedding. The man whose silence had sliced deeper than any insult. The man who didn't love her… and made no effort to hide it.
She sat up slowly, her eyes scanning the opulent bedroom—dark wood furniture, bookshelves lined with untouched volumes, and a cold fireplace. Everything was perfect, yet it felt like a stranger's home.
Her gaze fell on the untouched pillow beside her. *He hadn't even stayed the night.*
She sighed and swung her legs off the bed, grounding herself with the cold floor. *No tears, Elira Not today.*
Downstairs, the scent of fresh coffee drifted through the hallway. She followed it to the grand dining room, where a maid politely bowed and gestured toward the table.
"He left early," she said gently, seeing the disappointment on Elira's face.
"Of course he did," Elira whispered with a weak smile.
Zayn sat behind the wheel of his black Mercedes, staring at the city skyline. He hadn't been able to sleep, so he left before sunrise, as always. Routine gave him comfort. Elira's presence, however, was a disruption—one he didn't ask for.
But he couldn't forget her expression as she said "I do." That flicker of something—hope? Pain?
His jaw tightened.
*He didn't want to care.*
He had built walls around himself for a reason. He had married her for his family, for duty. Not for love.
And yet, something about her haunted him.
Later that afternoon, Elira found herself walking through the garden, alone. The Kael estate was enormous, but every corner reminded her that she didn't belong.
She heard footsteps behind her. She turned, half-hoping it was Zayn.
It wasn't.
It was Lyra, Zayn's younger sister, bright-eyed and full of curiosity. "Hey," she greeted. "You're… brave, you know."
Elira tilted her head, surprised. "Brave?"
Lyra smiled knowingly. "To marry him. Zayn's… well, you'll find out."
Elira smiled back. "I already am."
Lyra's eyes softened. "But I think he'll come around. He's not heartless, just… wounded."
Elira didn't ask why. She wasn't ready for Zayn's story. She hadn't even figured out her own yet.
Dinner was quiet.
Zayn came home late and barely acknowledged her. They sat across the table, silence growing like a third presence between them.
She tried. "How was your day?"
"Fine," he replied, not looking up.
She chewed slowly, gathering courage. "Do you always leave before sunrise?"
He paused, then finally looked at her. His eyes were tired but sharp. "I didn't think you'd notice."
She smiled faintly. "I notice more than you think."
A flicker of something crossed his face—surprise? Regret?
But it was gone before she could name it.
They finished dinner in silence. When he stood to leave, she followed him to the hallway.
"Zayn," she said softly.
He stopped.
"I know you didn't want this," she whispered. "But I'm not your enemy."
He didn't respond, but he didn't walk away either.
"I'm not asking for love," she continued, her voice steady despite the sting in her chest. "Just… kindness. Until we figure this out."
A long pause. Then he nodded slightly—so slight it was almost invisible.
But to her, it was everything.
That night, she sat by the window, staring at the stars. She remembered her mother's words: "Real love doesn't come wrapped in perfection, it comes in pieces—sharp and soft. You choose whether to hold on or walk away."
And Elira? She wasn't walking away.
Not yet.