Chapter 2: The appointment

The following morning, Elena came downstairs earlier than she usually did, although calling it early in the Blackwood mansion felt almost meaningless because the house had been awake long before she was.

Staff members moved quietly through the halls, some carrying trays, others arranging flowers, cleaning surfaces that were already spotless and attending to the countless little details that kept the enormous house running with mechanical precision. Elena had always found something strange about it, the mansion could be filled with people and still feel completely empty, as though everyone inside it existed only to serve a purpose and none of them were truly allowed to make the place feel like a home.

Breakfast had already been laid across the long dining table.

Damien was there too.

Of course he was.

He sat at the head of the table in a perfectly pressed shirt, one hand holding his coffee while the other moved lazily through the morning news on his tablet. He looked completely unaffected by the argument from the previous night, as though calling his wife ugly in front of half the household had been nothing more than an ordinary part of his morning routine.

Elena stopped briefly when she saw him, then forced herself to keep walking.

She didn't want another confrontation.

She didn't want another morning ruined by Damien Blackwood.

Most importantly, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that his words had followed her into the night.

She pulled out a chair several seats away from him and sat down.

Damien lowered his tablet.

“At least she remembers to eat.”

The snark in his voice was deliberate.

Elena's fingers tightened around the edge of her plate, but she refused to look at him.

She picked up her fork and began eating.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I suppose your hearing works better than your face.”

Elena paused.

Damien smiled faintly, clearly pleased with himself.

She continued eating.

That only seemed to encourage him.

“You know, I was thinking about the photograph from last night,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It is almost impressive how quickly you managed to ruin the entire image. I looked like a successful businessman standing beside someone who had been dragged out of bed and dressed in the dark.”

Elena swallowed the food in her mouth.

She kept her eyes on her plate.

“You don't have to say anything,” Damien continued. “Actually, I prefer when you don't. At least then I don't have to listen to you pretending you have something intelligent to contribute.”

The fork in Elena's hand trembled slightly.

She steadied it.

Three years.

Three years of this.

Three years of learning how to swallow an insult along with her breakfast.

Damien took another sip of coffee before continuing, his tone almost conversational.

“I genuinely don't understand why you don't do something about yourself. You have access to everything money can buy, Elena. Clothes, jewelry, personal trainers, nutritionists. Yet somehow you still manage to look exactly the same.”

Her throat tightened.

She knew exactly where this conversation was going.

“I have never asked you to love me,” Elena said quietly.

Damien's eyebrows lifted.

For a moment, silence settled over the table.

Then he laughed.

“Love you?”

There was genuine amusement in his voice.

“You really still think this marriage has anything to do with love?”

Elena looked down.

“No.”

“Good.”

He placed his coffee cup down.

“Because I would hate for you to misunderstand the arrangement after three years. I married you because your family was useful to me. Your name was useful. Your father's connections were useful. You were part of the deal.”

Every word landed exactly where he intended it to.

Elena's chest tightened, but she kept eating.

“You should be grateful,” he added. “A woman like you could have spent her entire life hoping for a man like me.”

That one hurt more than she wanted it to.

Not because she believed him.

Because somewhere inside her, a younger version of herself had once believed she was lucky to have him.

She had believed that his coldness was temporary.

That his rejection was something she could eventually overcome.

That if she became better, prettier, quieter and more accommodating, perhaps one day he would look at her and see his wife rather than an obligation.

She knew better now.

Damien pushed his chair backward.

The legs scraped against the marble floor.

He stood and straightened his shirt before reaching for his suit jacket.

Elena watched from the corner of her eye as he slipped it on.

He adjusted his cuffs slowly, checking the expensive watch on his wrist before fixing one cufflink with meticulous care.

The gesture was almost theatrical.

Like even touching anything connected to her had become offensive to him.

“You know what your biggest problem is?” he asked.

Elena didn't answer.

“You keep expecting people to see something in you that isn't there.”

She finally looked at him.

Damien's expression remained cold.

“You should stop expecting me to change, Elena. It isn't going to happen.”

He adjusted his cufflinks one final time before picking up his briefcase.

“I'll be late tonight.”

She said nothing.

Damien walked away.

The sound of his shoes disappeared down the hallway, followed by the quiet closing of the front door.

Only then did Elena release the breath she had been holding.

She looked at the untouched portion of food on her plate.

She wasn't hungry anymore.

Yet strangely, beneath the hurt, there was something else.

Resolve.

Last night, she had made a decision.

She wasn't going to spend the next three years begging Damien to see her differently.

If changing her appearance was what she wanted, then she would do it.

Not because Damien demanded it.

Not because she needed his approval.

But because she was tired of looking into the mirror and seeing the woman he had convinced her she was.

The rest of the day passed slowly.

The mansion returned to its usual rhythm, staff moving from one task to another while Elena remained mostly alone. She walked through the sitting room, read a few pages of a book, abandoned it, then eventually settled beside the tall windows overlooking the gardens.

Everything outside looked perfect.

The flowers were carefully maintained.

The grass was cut perfectly.

The fountains were running.

Yet Elena felt disconnected from all of it.

Her mind kept returning to the appointment she had requested.

Dr. Adrian Kane.

She had read about him late into the night, learning about his work, his reputation and the discretion surrounding his practice. He had transformed the appearances of women who had spent years hiding from cameras, celebrities who wanted perfection and wealthy clients who considered their appearance another investment.

Now she was going to meet him.

The thought frightened her.

It also excited her.

For the first time in years, she was doing something that belonged entirely to her.

Then her phone chimed.

Elena glanced down.

An email notification sat at the top of the screen.

Her heart skipped.

She opened it.

“Dear Ms Blackwood, we are pleased to accept your application.”

She read the sentence twice.

Then again.

Her eyes moved down the screen.

Dr. Adrian Kane's office had accepted her case.

Her consultation had been scheduled for the following day.

Elena lowered the phone slowly.

A strange mixture of happiness and sadness settled inside her, because she was excited about the possibility of becoming someone new, yet beneath that excitement was the painful knowledge that she had reached this point because three years of cruelty had convinced her that the woman she was wasn't enough.

She placed one hand against her cheek.

Tomorrow, she would meet Dr. Adrian Kane.

Tomorrow, everything would begin to change.

She just didn't know yet how much.

But one thing was certain.

She wouldn't be the same person after the encounter.