Aida left the office later than usual. Not because she wanted to, but because the day refused to end cleanly. Meetings bled into each other. Decisions stacked. Voices demanded clarity. By the time she shut her laptop, her head throbbed faintly, her chest tight in a way she didn't like.
She was gathering her things when Sharon appeared at the doorway.
"You're working too hard," Sharon said lightly, leaning against the frame as though she owned the place.
Aida looked up. "Someone has to."
Sharon's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I just worry about you. Power can be lonely."
Aida returned the smile, smaller, practiced. "I'm fine."
Sharon's gaze drifted to the framed photo on Aida's desk, slightly turned away. Julius's face. Handsome, composed, convincing.
"You're lucky," Sharon said softly, almost teasing. "A man like that… still choosing you despite everything."
Aida paused, fingers tightening on her bag strap. "Despite what?"
Sharon laughed lightly. "Oh, ambition. Men get insecure when women rise too fast."
Aida closed her laptop with a firm click. "Excuse me."
She brushed past, heart thudding, and whispered, "Night."
"Night to you too," Sharon said, the words sweet but with an edge that pricked.
By the time Aida got home, the house no longer smelled like hers. The scent hit her first: sweet, deliberate perfume that clung to the air like it had every right to be there.
She froze just inside the door. Laughter floated from the living room.
A woman sat on the couch, legs crossed elegantly, wine glass balanced in one hand. Eyes sharp, lips curling with amusement.
"Oh," the woman said slowly, "you must be Aida."
Aida's chest tightened. "Who… are you?" Her fingers clenched.
The woman rose, smoothing her dress. "Relax. If Julius didn't tell you, that's on him. Not me."
Julius appeared then, irritation etched into his face. "Why are you home so early?"
"This isn't early?" She said looking at the beautifully sophisticated clock designed to the wall, "Why is she here?" Aida asked, voice shaking despite herself.
The woman chuckled. "She asks questions. That's… brave."
"Get out," Aida said quietly, trembling. "Please. Just leave."
The woman glanced at Julius. "See? Tame your dog."
"Tame your d…og?, did she just call me a dog."
He looked at the girl and pointed to the door.
She shrugged, picked up her purse, and leaned close as she passed. "You should thank me. I remind him what he deserves."
The door closed behind her.
Silence.
Then Julius turned. Calm. Controlled. "What's wrong with you? Do you enjoy embarrassing me?"
"I came home to another woman," Aida whispered.
"And?" he shot back. "You're never here."
"That's because I'm working," she said. "Paying bills…holding everything together." Her chest felt tight, each word a careful balance.
He stepped closer. "You push me. You ignore me. You think your work makes you better than me."
Her eyes widened. "I just want…"
Before she could finish, his hand struck her. Hard. Her head hit the cold wall, pain flashing white behind her eyes. Her chest tightened, each breath sharp and shallow.
"Ouchhhh!" The cry tore from her throat as she collapsed, clutching her chest. Tears streamed down her face, body trembling, every nerve alive with fire. The room tilted around her, and the hollow ache inside felt as deep as the bruises forming on her arms.
"Look what you made me do!" he shouted. "Stop acting stupid. You always play the victim!"
"I just… I just want to be… I want us!" she coughed, sobbing harder. "I want you to be my partner!"
"Partner?" he bellowed. "You come home tired, cold, acting superior. What do you expect?"
He paced. "You're the reason I cheat."
The words cut deeper than the strike.
"You push me to do this," he continued, voice cold. "And then act shocked when I react."
Her body shook violently, shoulders caving, pain crushing her chest until breathing became a chore.
"And since you think you're the man of the house," he added, voice low, "send me money tonight. I need it."
She looked at him through tears, unable to speak.
"You owe me. For everything. For being handsome. For being…" He paused, smirking. "…the price." He walked away.
The house went quiet.
Aida stayed on the floor, sobbing. Not just physical pain, but a hollow ache deeper than the bruises forming along her arms. She pressed her palms to her chest, whispered a prayer, and let herself weep until exhaustion blurred her tears into numbness.
The next morning
She awoke before the alarm. Stiff, sore, hyper-aware. Her arm throbbed where he had hit her; her chest felt heavy. She lay still, listening.
Julius slept beside her, untroubled, deep and even.
She tilted her face toward the edge of the bed, throat raw from crying. Sniffing, she froze—the sound felt too loud.
Don't wake him.
The thought came automatically. Always.
Moving carefully, she dressed with precision: long sleeves, neutral tones, hair pulled back neatly. She brushed her teeth until her gums stung.
Hours later, in the kitchen, he sat scrolling through his phone.
"You didn't say good morning," he said without looking up.
"Good morning," she whispered.
"You're quiet," he observed, eyes sharp.
"I'm tired," she replied.
He glanced up. "Did you send the money?"
Her stomach dropped. "I… Not yet."
"Aida." His jaw tightened.
"I will. This morning," she said quickly.
"See that you do. I don't like repeating myself."
Fear moved faster than logic.
At her desk later, surrounded by glass walls, authority, and people who respected her judgment, her hands shook as she unlocked her phone. Her finger hovered over the transfer button.
The memory of the wall, the sound, the force of his hand, the tightness in her chest, all rushed back.
She sent the exact amount he always demands. Her chest loosened slightly, as though a breath she hadn't realized she'd held was finally escaping.
This wasn't always him, she reminded herself.
There had been a time when he was attentive. Charming. Laughing easily. Eyes warm, voice persuasive. She had paid for dinners without thought, waved away his protests. Gifts, luxuries, affection freely given.
Now even generosity felt like a weapon turned inward.
Office whispers
Compliments floated around her as usual. "You handled that perfectly." "I don't know how you do it." "You're impressive, Aida."
She nodded, smiled politely, but inside, something hollow echoed.
At lunch, voices drifted from a nearby table.
"…Her husband is such a good man. You can tell he grounds her, occasionally coming to pick her up."
Another added, "Yes. You can always tell when a woman is well taken care of."
Her appetite vanished. She excused herself quietly.
In the restroom, she pressed her palm to her chest, breathing slowly, memories unbidden: him holding her face gently, promising she'd never struggle alone. She had believed him." See how you made people believe you are kind to me." she let out small whisper.
That evening, she returned home before him.
The house smelled ordinary. Quiet. Empty.
She set his dinner carefully, straightened cushions, rehearsed neutrality.
When he arrived, he barely acknowledged her.
"You're late," he said.
"I wasn't," she replied carefully. "I came earlier."
He dropped his keys. "Did you send it?"
"Yes."
He nodded, satisfied. No thanks offered.
Later, in bed, he lay beside her, phone glowing faintly. She tried not to look. Tried to focus on the ceiling.
But she peeked.
Part of a message caught her eye: Don't test me. I'm not your wife that you toss around, get it d…
Her breath caught. He shrugged, rolled onto his side, phone disappearing beneath the pillow like it belonged there.
Aida stared at the ceiling, heart pounding painfully against her ribs.
"Who could that be, and why is the tone like that". Her thoughts drifted to her older brother, protective and strong; her younger sister, stubborn, bright-eyed; parents gone too soon. She had learned young to be enough for everyone.
Would they recognize the woman lying silently beside a man who bruised her, who slept soundly afterward?
Her chest tightened again.
She blinked rapidly, refusing tears, until exhaustion dulled the pressure.
As sleep crept in, one thought persisted:
She had obeyed today not because she agreed.
But because she was afraid.
And that fear was beginning to feel permanent.