Fix my face not my heart

“You ugly bitch.”

Damien Blackwood's voice cut through the quiet of the mansion with enough force to make the words travel down the long hallway and slip beneath the closed door of Elena's bedroom, where she sat on the edge of her bed with her hands folded tightly over her lap, already knowing exactly what had provoked him even before she heard the second angry breath that followed.

Damien was the kind of man people noticed before he even said a word, standing well above most men with broad shoulders that filled the expensive suits he wore, a sharp jaw, dark hair that was always perfectly styled and an effortlessly handsome face that made photographers linger whenever he appeared at an event. His appearance had become part of his reputation, just as much as his wealth, influence and ruthless ability to get what he wanted, and tonight, beneath the polished exterior, he was furious.

He had attended a charity event with his wife, Elena Hart Blackwood, because appearances demanded it, and the photographs from the evening had been published before they had even made it home.

One photograph in particular had angered him.

It showed Damien standing beside Elena, his hand resting against her waist as they posed for the cameras, both of them looking like the perfect wealthy couple the public believed them to be.

To Damien, it was an embarrassment.

To Elena, it had been one of the rare moments where she had allowed herself to imagine that perhaps, somewhere beneath all the resentment, her husband didn't completely hate having her beside him.

She had been wrong.

Damien threw the magazine onto the marble table in the living room, his eyes fixed on the photograph as though Elena herself had arranged for it to be published.

“Six years,” he muttered bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “I only have to endure this for six years.”

The marriage had never been about love.

It had been a contract, carefully arranged between two powerful families, and Damien had accepted because Elena's family possessed influence, connections and wealth that could push his own empire into circles he had spent years trying to enter. The agreement had been simple. Six years of marriage, six years of appearances, six years of playing the devoted husband whenever the public was watching.

After that, he would be free.

Free from Elena.

Free from the woman he had never wanted.

And more importantly, free to take everything he had gained from her family and use it to build something even greater.

Three years had already passed.

Three more remained.

Damien looked toward the staircase, his expression hardening when he remembered the photograph again.

“I can't even attend one event without having her face beside mine,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “Do you know what people are saying?”

No one answered.

The staff knew better than to involve themselves in anything concerning Damien Blackwood and his wife.

Upstairs, Elena heard every word.

She had become accustomed to his voice over the years, to the subtle changes in his tone whenever he wanted to remind her that she was an inconvenience, a burden or an embarrassment. She had learned which footsteps meant he was angry, which doors he slammed when he was frustrated and which silences were more dangerous than his shouting.

After three years of ridicule, she should have been used to it.

She wasn't.

Every cruel word still found a new place to hurt.

Elena sat perfectly still on the edge of her bed, staring at the closed door while her eyes slowly filled with tears. She pressed her lips together, trying desperately to keep herself from crying, because some stubborn part of her still believed that if Damien knew how deeply his words affected her, he would only use them more often.

But the tears came anyway.

One slipped down her cheek.

Then another.

Soon they were falling freely, warm trails disappearing beneath her chin before soaking into the bedsheets.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and let out a shaky breath, forcing herself to stand.

Her legs felt strangely weak beneath her.

She crossed the room slowly until she reached the large mirror positioned beside the window, then stopped in front of her reflection.

For several seconds, she simply stared.

This was Elena Hart Blackwood.

The woman Damien had married.

The woman whose family name had opened doors for him.

The woman he had spent three years making feel as though she had somehow committed a crime by being born the way she was.

She looked at her reflection again, searching for whatever he saw whenever he looked at her with disgust.

Her face wasn't hideous.

At least, she didn't think it was.

But after hearing something often enough, eventually the words began to sound like your own thoughts.

Her fingers moved slowly across her cheek.

Maybe Damien was right.

Maybe there was something wrong with her.

Maybe if she looked different, he would finally stop looking at her like she was an embarrassment he had been forced to carry.

The thought made her chest ache.

She hated that she was thinking about changing herself because of him, but another thought followed immediately.

What if she didn't do it for Damien?

What if she did it for herself?

For three years, Elena had allowed her husband's words to become the mirror through which she viewed herself, and perhaps that was the real reason she felt so broken. She had spent so much time trying to become beautiful enough for someone who had already decided not to love her that she had forgotten what it felt like to make a decision for herself.

Her hand dropped from her cheek.

Then she looked at her reflection one more time.

“I need to change,” she whispered.

The words sounded strange coming from her mouth.

But they also sounded final.

Elena walked back to the bed and picked up her phone. Her fingers hovered over the screen as she searched for the name that had appeared repeatedly during her late night research.

Dr. Adrian Kane.

He wasn't simply another cosmetic surgeon.

His name was practically synonymous with perfection.

The richest and most reliable cosmetic doctor in the city, Adrian Kane had built a reputation among celebrities, billionaires and influential families who trusted him with transformations they couldn't afford to get wrong. His clinic was exclusive, his waiting list was notoriously long and his results were spoken about as though they were impossible.

Elena had spent almost an hour reading about him before she finally opened the appointment page.

Her heart pounded as she entered her information.

Name.

Elena Hart Blackwood.

She paused at the last part.

For some reason, seeing her husband's surname beside her own made something inside her tighten.

She continued.

Appointment request.

She selected the earliest available consultation.

Her finger hovered above the confirmation button.

For three years, she had endured the humiliation, the insults and the constant reminder that her husband considered her an unfortunate part of a contract he couldn't wait to escape.

Tonight, something inside her had finally reached its limit.

Elena took one final breath and pressed confirm.

She had booked an appointment with the richest and most reliable doctor to carry out the job, Dr. Adrian Kane.