Chapter 4: The house guest

Elena made it back to the mansion later than she had expected, the city already sinking beneath the darkness of evening as the car moved through the familiar streets toward the Blackwood estate, but instead of feeling relieved at the thought of returning home, she found herself strangely reluctant to leave the car, because something about the appointment with Adrian Kane still lingered in her mind, the calmness of his voice, the way he had spoken to her without making her feel like an inconvenience, and the small warmth she had felt when he placed Ekeba in her arms.

It had been a long time since a man had made her feel comfortable without asking anything from her.

The car finally stopped before the mansion.

Elena stepped out, adjusted her handbag and walked toward the entrance, but before she even reached the door, she heard voices coming from inside.

One was unmistakable.

Damien.

The other belonged to a woman.

Elena slowed.

For a second, she wondered if she had heard incorrectly, but then a woman's laughter floated through the doorway, followed by Damien's deeper laugh, the kind she rarely heard when he was around her.

Her hand remained on the door handle.

She opened it.

The scene inside made her stop.

Damien was sitting comfortably on one of the large sofas, a glass of wine in his hand, while a beautiful woman sat close beside him, her body angled toward him as they laughed over something Elena hadn't heard. There was another glass of wine on the table, along with a bottle that looked considerably more expensive than anything Damien had ever offered Elena.

The woman was stunning.

Tall, slender and effortlessly beautiful, she had the kind of face that belonged on magazine covers, with perfectly styled hair and an elegance that made even the simple black dress she wore look expensive.

Elena didn't need an introduction to know that this woman belonged in Damien's world.

She didn't need one either.

She could have walked upstairs without saying anything, but Damien's eyes suddenly snapped toward the entrance, catching hers before she could disappear.

The laughter stopped.

“Elena.”

His voice contained no guilt.

Not even embarrassment.

Instead, he looked almost irritated that she had arrived at the wrong moment.

Elena forced a small smile.

“I'm home.”

Damien leaned back against the sofa.

“Clearly.”

His hand gestured lazily toward the woman beside him.

“This is Beatrice Sinclair.”

The woman smiled.

“Hi.”

“Beatrice is one of the models working on our company's newest project,” Damien explained, as though Elena had asked.

Elena looked at her again.

She recognized the name now.

Beatrice Sinclair was a supermodel, someone whose face appeared on billboards across the city and whose photographs had been featured in several international campaigns. She had never met her before, but she understood immediately why Damien would be interested in having her around.

“It's nice to meet you,” Elena said.

Beatrice stood and extended her hand.

“You too.”

Elena shook it politely.

There was nothing openly hostile in Beatrice's expression, but Elena still felt something uncomfortable settling inside her chest, especially when she looked back at Damien and saw the ease with which he continued drinking his wine.

He had never offered her a glass.

Not once.

She remembered countless evenings when she had sat alone at the dining table while Damien entertained business partners, friends and women from his social circle, yet somehow she had always been made to feel like the intruder in her own home.

Tonight was no different.

“I'm going upstairs,” Elena said.

Damien barely acknowledged her.

“Fine.”

She turned toward the staircase.

She could have kept walking.

She should have.

But the staircase leading to her room was close enough to the living room that the voices below could still reach her, and as Elena climbed, she began hearing pieces of their conversation.

At first, she tried to ignore it.

She really did.

Then Beatrice laughed again.

Damien said something too quietly for Elena to catch.

She continued climbing.

Their voices became clearer.

They were talking about the project, then about a party, then about what they wanted to do after the event, and gradually the conversation drifted into something more personal, the sort of teasing exchange between two people who were far too comfortable with each other.

Elena's steps slowed.

She didn't want to listen.

Yet her feet refused to move.

Beatrice's voice carried through the open space below, playful and suggestive as she joked about Damien's plans for the evening, while Damien responded with the same amused confidence he always carried when he knew he had control of a situation.

Elena's eyes widened for a moment.

Then she looked away.

It shouldn't have surprised her.

After three years of marriage, she knew exactly what Damien thought of her.

Still, hearing him speak so freely with another woman while Elena was only a few feet away made something inside her ache.

She continued upstairs.

Her fingers reached the railing.

Then Damien's voice floated through the hallway.

“Don't worry about her, she's practically slow.”

Elena stopped.

The words struck harder than she expected.

For several seconds, she simply stood there.

She had heard him insult her before.

She had heard him call her unattractive, useless and embarrassing, but somehow those words felt different.

Maybe because he said them so casually.

Maybe because Beatrice was there.

Or maybe because Elena had spent the entire day believing she had finally found a place where she could become something different.

A place where someone had looked at her without contempt.

Adrian's voice returned to her memory.

His calm instructions.

His gentle smile.

The way he had told her that she was tense instead of making fun of her for it.

She had carried that warmth all the way home.

Now it was disappearing.

Elena entered her bedroom and quietly closed the door behind her.

She placed her handbag on the dresser and stared at herself in the mirror.

For a moment, she didn't recognize the woman staring back.

She looked exhausted.

Her eyes were slightly red, her hair had lost the careful shape it had held earlier, and the confidence she had tried to build after leaving Adrian's office seemed fragile again.

She touched her cheek.

Tomorrow, she would wait for the doctor's office to contact her.

Three days.

That was what Adrian had said.

Three days until she knew what came next.

Elena changed into her night clothes and climbed into bed, pulling the blanket around herself as she tried to block out the sounds coming from downstairs.

It didn't work.

The mansion was too large, but somehow Damien's laughter still reached her room.

Then Beatrice laughed.

Glasses clinked.

Their voices rose and fell through the walls, occasionally disappearing before returning again, and every sound reminded Elena that the man she had married had never considered her feelings important enough to protect.

She turned onto her side.

She closed her eyes.

But the warmth she had carried home from Adrian's office was gone.

Completely gone.

And as the night dragged on, Elena lay awake listening to Damien and Beatrice laughing downstairs, wondering how much longer she could continue living in a marriage that made her feel like a stranger in her own home.