Seven years.
Cecilia Araceli was bound to Arzhen Vasiliev for seven long brittle years. And yes, his humiliation was corrosive, like a slow poison poured over her soul in public and private.
His declarations that Ruby Vaiva was his one true love, even as he drenched Cecilia's belongings in his semen. His refusal to stand beside her in public, while letting court gossip paint her as the desperate wife clinging to his fragrance like a lifeline.
But Elara's humiliation… that was something else entirely. It was the systematic dismantling of her worth as a person. Like acid wrapped in silk, a smile that cut deeper than any blade.
It often came in crowded ballrooms, under the glow of crystal chandeliers.
"Oh my, you're wearing white and blue again…?" Elara's voice would ring out, saccharine and carrying, as she glided toward Cecilia in a swirl of perfume. All conversation nearby would hush. "My darling, you need to stop copying Ruby just to get Arzhen's attention. It's so… tacky."
