Married to my enemy

Elara 's POV.The message plays in my head all night.I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, and wonder what she looks like. Sophia. His ex. The woman he laughs with on the phone. The woman he softened his voice for.I have never seen her face, he never kept photos. But I know she exists in the spaces between us, a ghost I have been competing with since the day I said I do.Morning comes. I rise at six, same as always. I make his coffee. I arrange the tray. I place a fresh rose in the tiny vase.He comes down at seven-fifteen. He takes the cup and leaves.But something is different. He is humming.I stand at the kitchen counter, listening to the sound fade down the hall. I have not heard him hum in years. The melody is unfamiliar, something that belongs to a man who is happy. He is happy because she is coming back.When I step out of the kitchen, I see the maid walking in with new shirts. Slimmer cuts, younger fabrics. He never did any of this for me.I remember our first year.

Adrian’s POV.The empty bottle sits on the dining table. Vitamin B, the label says. I found it in the dustbin.“What is this really?”My mother doesn't look up from her tea. She shifts in her chair, bracing herself. “Vitamins. I told you. For that wife of yours.”“She has a name,” I say quietly. “Elara.”“Elara.” My mother tastes the name like poison. “The pianist. The one with no family, no money, no…”“What is in the bottle, Mother?” My grip tightens around the bottle. She sets down her cup, her eyes meet mine, cold and unblinking. “Birth control. Someone had to protect you from your own stupidity.”The words land like a slap. “You lied to me?”“I've been protecting you. Sophia is the one you should have married. She has connections, money and a future. That girl you dragged to the altar has nothing.”“It's none of your business who I marry,” I reminded her, trying not to lose control.“Everything about you is my business.” She stands, her voice dropping to a hiss. “I built this

Elara’s POV.The gala is held in the Sterling Hotel's grand ballroom. Crystal chandeliers. Champagne flowing. The city's elite gathered in their finest, here to see and be seen.I stand at the edge of the room, the emerald dress hugging my body, my hair swept back, my hands steady.Adrian approaches. He offers his arm. I take it.He leads me through the crowd, stopping to greet his business partners, accepting their praise, their envy, their respect. I stand beside him, silent, the dutiful wife."Adrian." A man in a gray suit claps his shoulder. "I hear your wife is playing tonight. How delightful."Adrian's smile is tight. "My wife will play a little piece. Nothing special."In my past life, they would have sunk into my chest, heavy with shame.Now, I smile sweetly and innocently."Nothing special," I echo.Adrian glances at me. Something flickers in his eyes. A question, maybe or the first stirring of unease.He does not know what is coming.The piano sits at the center of the stag

Adrian’s POV.I sat at the dining table for a long time after she left.The eggs had gone cold and the toast had turned dry, but neither held my attention as much as the empty chair where she had sat and the painful twist in my chest.A pain I wasn't supposed to feel. I didn't love Elara. I was just trying to be a better person. That's all.I was just trying to be decent until I found the truth about my past. Yet why did this hurt? Why did her pulling away feel like she was taking something vital with her?I groaned, running my hands through my hair. This was supposed to soften her. The breakfast, the smile, the careful way I had arranged the fruit. But it didn't.She had looked at me like I was a stranger wearing her husband's face.I cleared the dishes. The sink filled with water. I washed each plate slowly, methodically, trying to empty my mind.When I finally walked into the bedroom, she was lying on the bed, flipping through a book. Her legs were tucked beneath her. Her hair fell

Elara's POV.I stood in front of the mirror, studying my reflection with cold calculation. Tonight, I would become the devoted wife again, the woman who could make his heart race and his thoughts scatter. I needed him drawn to me completely, irrevocably. And I intended to make sure of it.I chose a deep burgundy dress that clung to my curves like a second skin, the neckline plunging just enough to hint without revealing. I curled my hair so it cascaded over one shoulder, applied red lipstick with careful precision, and added a touch of perfume to my wrists and neck.The woman staring back at me was no longer the one who had worn gray for a decade. She was dangerous, beautiful, composed, and ready.By seven, I was descending the staircase, my heels clicking against the marble with each deliberate step. Adrian stood at the bottom, one hand gripping the banister, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my stomach tighten.He looked at me like a man watching a storm approach,