001 | ELARA ELLIS

“Are you out of your mind?!” is the first thing my father asks before slapping me out of nowhere and simultaneously cutting off my sentence.

About wanting to leave my husband.

The sound of the slap resounds in the quiet leaving room, my head snapped to the side, and for a short moment, I see nothing.

Slowly, the sting sets in, my cheek throbbing, and my ears ringing as I struggle to keep my balance.

Across from me, my stepmother has her eyes widened, her palms covering her opened mouth, while my stepsister — her daughter — looks less shocked.

If anything, she looks like she is interested in the drama with the way she’s forgotten her beloved phone in her hand, legs crossed as she seats on the arm of the sofa.

“You want to leave your husband?” My father, Jonathan Ellis, says when I straighten up, his eyes blazing with fury. “Just because of what? Because you don’t feel loved?”

He says it louder this time for them to hear.

And as if my step mother, Victoria Ellis, has been waiting, she chimes in after an exhale, shaking her head. “Don’t be dramatic, Elara,” she says gently, like she’s correcting a child. “Marriage isn’t about feelings.”

Lydia, her daughter, tilts her head slightly, studying my face. “After everything he’s given you?” she adds. “Wow.”

I swallow, blinking back my tears. “That was the agreement as per contract, Father,” I say, forcing the words out evenly. “Seven years. If we didn’t fall in love, we’d go our separate ways. And we’ve clocked seven years already.”

He laughs.

“You think contracts protect women like you?” he asks, his tone dismissive. “You have a child. You have his name. That’s your contract.”

I lift my chin. It hurts to move my face, but I do it anyway.

“I’m invisible in that marriage,” I say quietly. “I don’t want to live like that anymore.”

The room goes still.

Victoria’s lips part, and Lydia flicks her gaze towards father like she is waiting for him to do something, and as expected, he doesn’t hesitate.

He slaps me again, this one harder and my head jerks sideways again, my vision blurring at the edges.

“Adrian Hale is a very good and successful man, and has funded most of our family business, girl,” he says. “Do you think he’s going to keep on doing that after you leave him?”

Yeah, right. Of course.

Jonathan Ellis doesn’t work with anything that doesn’t feed his money mongering ego. And to satisfy it even more, he doesn’t mind selling off his daughter’s dignity.

“A lot of women out there are jealous and looking for an opportunity like this, while you want to throw it away,” Victoria says, her voice painfully sweet like she actually cares about me when she really doesn’t.

If anything, she probably wants me away so she and her daughter can enjoy my father’s wealth alone. Not that they aren’t already.

“You won’t bring such disgrace to this family, do you hear me?” Father speaks again, his tone now final. “No daughter of mine walks away from a man like that. And certainly not because of feelings.”

I bite down on my lower lip so I don’t cry.

That seems to disappoint them more than anything.

Then, without another word, I bend down, pick up my bag from where it slipped to the floor, and straighten slowly.

Victoria is now watching me like I’m a lost cause, and Lydia has a small, satisfied smile on her face.

“Think carefully,” my father warns. “You won’t be welcomed back when this goes wrong.”

I look at them once. All of them.

Then I turn and walk out.

***

The house is quiet when I get home.

It’s too quiet in a way that makes every sound i make feel intrusive, like I’m trespassing in my own life.

I drop my bag by the door and stand there for a second longer than necessary. There are no voices, no footsteps, and certainly no laughter from the living room.

Adrian and our son, Theo, aren’t back yet.

He’d taken him out earlier without telling me where exactly they were going. Any concerned mother would ask, but I didn’t. I stopped doing that now because it doesn’t matter anymore.

Not that the answers will change anything, anyway.

Cooking gives me something predictable to do with my hands, so I move there to make dinner.

I take ingredients out of the fridge, line them up, move around the space with the ease of habit. Seven years in this house has trained my body better than my heart ever learned.

They should be back soon.

The knife hits the chopping board in steady rhythms as I start working on the onions and garlic, ensuring i focus on keeping the cuts even. Not because of anything, but because Adrian and Theo don’t like them uneven. Sometimes, Adrian even gets upset and ends up taking Theo out to eat, leaving me with uneaten dishes that I’d only give the maids to eat or hand out to the poor people by the bridges.

Maybe tonight I’ll talk to him.

The thought comes into my mind suddenly, and I shake my head at the fact that I didn’t even think about it all.

After dinner, maybe I’ll tell Adrian how today went, explain everything properly without accusations or emotions. He responds better to facts and logic, so that should work.

I rehearse the words in my head as I stir the pot.

‘I don’t feel like your wife anymore.’

‘I feel like help.’

‘I want us to try.’

The clock ticks from somewhere around as the food simmers, and then, the front door opens.

I know immediately from the way my stomach knots that something is wrong, and my hand stills on the spoon.

There’s laughter.

It’s light and soft, definitely not Adrian’s or Theo’s.

“Daddy!” Theo’s bright, excited voice follows. “I enjoyed my day!”

I drop the spoon and turn immediately, heading for the living room, my heart racing.

“You’re back al — “

The words die on the tip of my tongue when my gaze falls on the third person with them, my heart dropping into my stomach and sinking in deep.

Because across from me, standing beside my husband while holding my son’s hand is Vivienne Ross.

Adrian’s ex-girlfriend.

She looks exactly like she did seven years ago, now dressed in a blue sleeveless dress that stops just above her thigh, hugging her curves in the right places. Her straight blonde hair spills over her shoulders, effortlessly styled in a way that makes her look even prettier, put together, and comfortable. Like she never really dumped him those years ago, but only stepped aside long enough for someone else to keep it warm.

“Hi,” she says softly, her lips curved into a polite, innocent, and almost apologetic smile.

I say nothing.

Adrian, on the other hand, doesn’t introduce her. He doesn’t need to.

“Vivienne is going to be staying with us for a week,” he says, already moving further inside. “Hope that’s okay?”

I nod.

Of course it is.

Then, “Please serve dinner, Elara.”