The morning light streamed through the tall glass windows of the Reid mansion, gilding the marble floors and gleaming off the silver cutlery. Yet despite the beauty, the long dining table felt emptier than ever.
Elena sat at one end, her hands folded neatly on her lap, while servants moved quietly around her, setting plates of eggs, toast, and fruit she no longer had the appetite for.
The chair at the other end remained empty.
Alexander had left early again. No note, no message, no goodbye. Just silence.
She stared at the untouched plate before her, her chest tightening. This wasn't a marriage. It was an arrangement sealed with cold signatures and colder stares.
She whispered to herself, almost bitterly, "So this is what it means to be a Reid wife… dining with ghosts."
---
The butler, Mr. Harris, cleared his throat softly. "Madam, would you like me to prepare a tray for your husband at the office?"
Elena shook her head. "No. He wouldn't eat it. He hardly even notices I exist."
Her words slipped out sharper than she intended, and the butler bowed his head, wisely saying nothing more.
Elena forced herself to pick at the toast, chewing mechanically. The sound of her own breathing was louder than anything else in the vast room. Even the clink of her fork against the plate echoed like a reminder of how alone she was.
Every morning was the same. She rose, dressed, and walked into a room too big for one person. Every morning, Alexander left earlier than dawn, leaving her to a table meant for twenty.
It wasn't loneliness anymore—it was humiliation.
---
After breakfast, Elena wandered into the garden. The roses were blooming, red and proud, almost mocking her. She knelt to touch one, the thorn pricking her finger. A bead of blood welled up, startling her.
She pressed the wound gently, whispering, "Even beauty has thorns."
A voice startled her. "Talking to flowers now?"
Her head snapped up. Alexander stood a few feet away, tall and sharp in his tailored suit, his eyes cool as ever.
Her lips parted in surprise. "You're still here? I thought you left for the office."
"I forgot a file," he said simply, his gaze flicking to her bleeding finger. For a moment, his brows furrowed. "You should be more careful."
Before she could reply, he stepped forward, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wrapped it around her finger in one smooth motion.
Elena froze. His touch was warm, startlingly gentle. Her heart betrayed her, thundering against her ribs.
"There," he said, tying the knot with precision. But instead of letting go, his hand lingered for a fraction longer than necessary. His eyes met hers, and for that one stolen heartbeat, she saw something raw in them.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
He released her hand and straightened. "Don't play with things that can hurt you."
Her voice trembled as she whispered, "Some things are worth the risk."
Something flickered in his expression—pain, anger, maybe longing—but he turned away before she could read it. "Don't wait for me at breakfast anymore," he said coldly. "I won't be there."
The words struck harder than the thorn.
---
That night, Elena sat at the same lonely table, her meal untouched. She thought of her family—the way her mother had clutched her hands, begging her to accept this marriage to save them. She thought of her sister, the one who was supposed to be here instead.
Her chest tightened. "I gave up everything for this. And still… I'm invisible."
The maids glanced at her with pity, but no one dared speak.
---
The next morning, she made a decision.
When the servants laid out breakfast, she rose before even touching it. "Take it away," she said softly. "I won't eat here again. Not like this."
They hesitated, surprised.
Elena forced a small smile. "I'll eat in the garden. At least the roses keep me company."
And so she did. Day after day, she moved her breakfast to the garden table, beneath the arch of climbing roses. It wasn't the same as companionship, but it was less suffocating than staring at Alexander's empty chair.
---
One morning, as she sipped her tea among the roses, she felt eyes on her. She looked up and froze.
Alexander stood at the balcony of his study, watching her.
He wasn't frowning. He wasn't scowling. He was… unreadable, his gaze locked on her with something deeper than indifference.
When he noticed her staring back, he quickly turned away, disappearing into his study.
But Elena's heart refused to calm.
For the first time, she realized that though Alexander left her alone at the table, he hadn't stopped watching.
And maybe—just maybe—his cold silence wasn't as empty as it seemed.