Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Eliora's POV 

“Tell me you’re not ironing his shirts again,” Zoey’s voice sighed through the phone, full of that familiar frustration.

I pressed the hot iron over the crisp fabric, watching the steam rise. “Someone has to. He likes them neat.”

“Eliora… you are not a maid.” She paused. Her silence said more than her words.

“There are people in that house who are paid to do that. Why are you doing it?” A small smile played on my lips.

“Because I want to. I enjoy doing this, Zoey.”

Zoey sighed, and I could picture her rubbing her temple.

“You’ve been married for three years and the man still doesn’t see you. Do you ever stop to think about yourself?”

I bit my lip, smoothing the collar flat. “You make it sound so easy. To just… walk away. You of all people know it runs deeper than those three years.”

“Of course I do. I know more than anybody how much you love Kian,” she snapped, then softened. “But you’re not the girl you used to be. You’re a shadow, El. His family treats you like you’re invisible, and he—”

“Don’t.” I cut her off too quickly. My chest tightened, but I forced the words out even if it felt like a lie. “Kian has his reasons. I’m here because I love him… and because I owe a debt.”

There was silence on the other end. I knew Zoey wanted to say more, but she didn’t—and I was grateful.

“Enough about me… how’s work?”

By the time I hung up, Kian’s lunch was packed and ready to be sent to his office.

Later that day, I curled into the glow of my laptop, tapping away at my story. My safe haven. Though hardly anyone reads it, it’s mine.

My fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, filling the quiet room with its sound. It was calming yet alarming how lonely my life has been.

I woke up with a pounding headache, the kind that throbbed behind my eyes like a drum. My laptop was still open, the cursor blinking accusingly at me. I must have dozed off while writing again.

“Perfect,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “Now I’ve wasted half the day.”

“Gosh, look at the time.” I needed to make dinner before Kian came back, so I hurried off to the kitchen.

…..

The clock ticked louder than usual, mocking the silence in the dining room. Each second dragged across my nerves like a blade. I adjusted the edge of the napkin beside the bowl of soup I had carefully prepared, steam already fading into nothingness.

I drew in a steady breath, whispering to myself, *Just a little patience. He’ll come.*

The front door banged open.

My shoulders stiffened, the sound slicing through my fragile prayer.

“Tch.” That sharp, familiar sound—Tonia’s disdain—slid into the room like poison. “So this is what you do? Sitting here, waiting like a fool?”

I kept my lips pressed shut, eyes fixed on the cooling bowl. If I opened my mouth, the tremor in my voice would betray me. Silence had become my shield—the only way to keep from bleeding under this woman’s cruel tongue.

But Tonia never came for peace.

Her heels struck the tiles like gavel blows, each step sentencing me for a crime I never committed. “I told Kian the very first day that I will never accept you. Never. You think cooking soup and smiling like a saint will make you his wife? You’re nothing, Eliora. Nothing!”

The words slid into my skin like cold knives. My chest tightened, my lungs screaming for air that felt too heavy to draw. I smoothed the tablecloth with trembling fingers, willing myself not to shatter. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Answer me!” Tonia snapped, suddenly grabbing the bowl of soup. My heart lurched as the warm liquid spilled across the floor, staining the rug, filling the room with a sour sting. The sharp clatter of porcelain against tiles echoed through my ribs like a slap, reverberating in the hollows of my chest.

My lips parted, a sharp inhale betraying the calm I had fought to hold.

Then came the crash of glass—violent, merciless—as Tonia swept her arm across the dining table. Plates shattered, spoons scattered.

Something inside me snapped.

I rose slowly, my chair scraping back, the sound grating against my nerves. My voice came low, tight, trembling with the storm I had buried too long. “Why? Tell me why you’ve treated me like this since the very beginning. No matter what I do—respect you, love him, try to hold this family together—it’s never enough. Why, Mother?”

Her lips curled into a cruel smile, her eyes glinting with venom. “Why?” she echoed, savoring the word like a sweet. “Because I know where you come from. I know the kind of woman your mother was. You carry her stain, and it will never wash off.”

The words struck deep. My heart stumbled, the wound raw, but I forced myself to swallow hard.

“If Kian wanted me gone,” I said, my chin lifting in defiance that trembled beneath its weight, “he would’ve told me himself long ago. I don’t need you to fight his battles.”

“Stupid girl.” Tonia’s laugh was sharp, hollow, cruel. “Do you really think he wants you? While you sit here waiting like a desperate maid, your husband is out there—making love to the only woman he’s ever truly wanted.”

The words sliced through my chest like a blade. For a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe. Heat flooded my cheeks, not from shame but from the ache of betrayal pressing against my bones.

She reached into her bag, pulled out her phone, and shoved it into my face.

The screen lit up.

Kian.

Unmistakable. His head bent too close to a woman’s, their smiles too intimate, too damning.

My breath caught, shattering into fragments. The room spun. The image seared itself

into my vision, carving itself into my heart like fire.

My husband. My Kian.

A cheat.