Each day felt like a quiet war—one fought not with shouting or anger, but with silence, glances, and unspoken wounds. And still, Lucien tried.Ever since Aria had returned—reluctantly, under her mother’s hopeful urging—he had begun a quiet campaign of penance. Not through apologies, not in words. But in the way he woke early to cook for her, learned the rhythm of her moods, stepped lightly around her pain. Every gesture was small, deliberate. A quiet offering. A silent prayer.He knew he didn’t deserve forgiveness, not easily. Not after what he’d done… or more hauntingly, what he’d failed to do.Sometimes, late at night, when Aria had shut herself away in the guest room—though her mother still believed they shared the master—Lucien would sit in the hallway, back against the cold wall, unable to sleep. He would stare at the door and remember the day it all fell apart. The day he chose pride over love. Fear over courage. He hadn’t realized, then, how fragile a woman’s trust could be whe
My Mysterious HusbandThe church was stunning—of course it was. Chandeliers dripped crystal from high vaulted ceilings. Golden candlelight danced across the ivory columns, and white petals lined the aisle in painstaking spirals.Aria stood at the altar in her champagne-colored gown, her heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with love.“This is ridiculous,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “Is this a prank?”“No, ma’am,” the priest said solemnly, not even blinking. “Mr. Vale has approved all arrangements. Including the proxy.”She looked down again and stared at the puppy.A small, fluffy, absolutely ridiculous golden retriever puppy sat at the altar in a custom-tailored tuxedo, tongue lolling out in pure joy. His leash was held by a man in a suit too sharp to be real, possibly a butler. The dog sneezed adorably.Aria turned to her mother, who stood off to the side dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Mom. Seriously. A dog?” she complains.“It’s all symbolic, swee
The sun spilled through the tall windows, soft and golden, casting a warm glow over the luxurious master bedroom. Aria stirred under the silk sheets, her lashes fluttering as she slowly woke from a sleep that felt more like a dream—or maybe a blur.She sat up abruptly.The other side of the bed was untouched. Crisp. Cold.Her brows knit together. He’s gone? She scanned the room. There’s no movement. No sound. Just the distant hum of morning outside the estate’s walls.She slid her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet touching the cool marble floor. A silk robe hung neatly on a nearby chair. She slipped into it as the weight of memory slowly pressed down on her shoulders.“Married. I’m actually married.” She unbelievably reminds herself.The memory of yesterday’s event lingers in her mind, heavy and unresolved. No matter how many times she turns over her husband's explanation about the proxy dog at their wedding, it just doesn’t sit right with her—she simply can’t bring herself to a
The morning air was sterile and humming with the rhythm of heart monitors, distant footsteps, and the low murmur of busy medics. St. Gabriel’s Hospital was alive again, and so was she—or at least pretending to be. Her long white coat fluttered slightly behind her as she strode past the nurse’s station, dark hair pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, her ID badge catching the light with every step.It had been three weeks since her last surgery. Three weeks since she’d left for her wedding.Three weeks since she married a man she barely knew.“Dr. Thorne!” called a voice, chipper and annoyingly familiar."Actually, it's Dr. Vale now," the other one chimed in with a mischievous grin, correcting her last name as if she'd just made a rookie mistake.Aria slowed, brows tightening with a sigh before glancing sideways. Lila, the resident nurse with too much curiosity and too little filter, leaned across the counter with a wide grin.“You’re glowing! Married life suits you.”Behind her, two oth
The key clicked in the lock with a soft clink, and Aria Vale pushed the door open with her shoulder, a heavy yawn escaping her lips. Her heels echoed against the wooden floor as she stepped inside, setting her bag down with a tired sigh. The house was dark — not just dim, but untouched.She paused.Not a single light on. No jacket hung over the back of the chair, no second pair of shoes near the door, no faint smell of cologne or cooking. Everything sat exactly as she had left it that morning — as if time had frozen, or as if no one had come home at all.Aria flipped the switch by the entryway. Warm light bathed the space, but it only made the silence louder.Her brows furrowed. "Not even a note..." she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the hallway bulb.She walked further in, scanning the apartment with practiced eyes. Nothing. No sign of her husband. No trace that he ever considered this place — their place — his home.A dry laugh escaped her lips. Of course.She
Morning light spilled gently into the bedroom, painting soft shadows across the walls. Aria stirred beneath the sheets, slowly opening her eyes to the quiet stillness around her. Her hand reached out to the other side of the bed, fingers brushing cool linen.Empty.Of course.A small sigh escaped her lips as the illusion faded. It was just a dream, she told herself. She thought she had heard him—Lucien—moving in the kitchen. She thought she'd smelled something warm and savory drifting into the bedroom.But dreams could be cruel like that.Pushing away the covers, she sat up and shook the thought from her head. “Don’t start again,” she whispered, brushing her hair back. Reality was waiting. She had work.She moved through her morning routine mechanically—shower, dressed, tied her hair, gathered her things. Piece by piece, she folded away the lingering traces of her dream and tucked them somewhere quiet.As she passed the kitchen, she paused, glancing in without meaning to.“But it feel
"Sophie..." The name echoed in Aria’s mind, again and again, like a cruel whisper looping in her ears. It was more than just a name—it was a presence. A shadow that had always lingered just behind her and Lucien, quietly, patiently.Sophie Barbers -- Elegant. Cunning. And hopelessly in love with a man who barely acknowledged her existence.She wasn’t just a woman scorned—she was obsession wrapped in silk and sprayed with designer perfume. Aria had heard whispers before… vague mentions of a girl from Lucien’s past. A family friend. A childhood acquaintance. A girl with sharp smiles and long memories. She had followed Lucien like a ghost for years—just out of sight, but always near.And now she stood there, bold and unashamed, claws out, her eyes burning with jealousy and years of silent longing. As if Lucien belonged to her. As if Aria was the intruder.Aria’s throat tightened. The ache in her chest deepened, twisting under her ribs like a slow blade. She couldn’t breathe right. Couldn
Lucien sat hunched at the end of the dimly lit bar, his fingers wrapped tightly around a half-empty glass of red wine. The rim trembled slightly as he brought it to his lips, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were distant, lost somewhere in the swirl of shadows dancing along the wine’s surface. The low hum of voices and clinking glasses around him faded into the background—just noise, like the world itself was muffled behind a wall of regret.His jacket was still damp from the rain outside, clinging to his shoulders like the weight of everything he didn’t say. One foot tapped restlessly against the stool, a quiet rhythm of impatience or dread—maybe both. And as he stared into the dark depths of his drink, Lucien looked like a man chasing solace in a bottle, but finding only silence.He felt a tap on his shoulder. "Hey, what’s going on? You look a bit down," came a familiar voice.Lucien didn’t even have to turn around—he already knew it was Fabian Del Mundo, his childhood best fr
Each day felt like a quiet war—one fought not with shouting or anger, but with silence, glances, and unspoken wounds. And still, Lucien tried.Ever since Aria had returned—reluctantly, under her mother’s hopeful urging—he had begun a quiet campaign of penance. Not through apologies, not in words. But in the way he woke early to cook for her, learned the rhythm of her moods, stepped lightly around her pain. Every gesture was small, deliberate. A quiet offering. A silent prayer.He knew he didn’t deserve forgiveness, not easily. Not after what he’d done… or more hauntingly, what he’d failed to do.Sometimes, late at night, when Aria had shut herself away in the guest room—though her mother still believed they shared the master—Lucien would sit in the hallway, back against the cold wall, unable to sleep. He would stare at the door and remember the day it all fell apart. The day he chose pride over love. Fear over courage. He hadn’t realized, then, how fragile a woman’s trust could be whe
It was the second day since Aria had moved in with Lucien, continuing the exhausting charade of pretending everything was still fine between them—at least in front of her mother. The emotional strain of acting like a loving wife was beginning to wear on her, but for now, the facade had to be maintained.As she entered the kitchen that morning, the familiar aroma of breakfast greeted her, along with the sight of Lucien already busy at the stove. Her mother was seated at the table, sipping her tea with a smile."Good morning, Mom," Aria said softly, leaning down to kiss her mother on the cheek as a warm gesture of greeting.Her mother returned the affection and glanced toward Lucien with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Good morning, darling. Now, don’t forget your husband," she added playfully. "He might start getting jealous of me if you only greet me with such love."Aria hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she turned toward Lucien. He was watching her, clearly
Cassandra lowered her eyes for a moment, her fingers tightening around the bouquet he had given her. The scent of fresh flowers mixed with the weight of old memories, and for the first time in years, she allowed herself to stand still in his presence—without running, without pushing him away.“I don’t know what happens next,” she said quietly. “I’m not promising anything, Fabian.”“I’m not asking for promises,” he replied gently. “Just a chance to be near you again. Even if it’s just as someone who supports you from afar.”She looked up at him, eyes softer now, though still guarded. “Then let’s start with this moment. No expectations, no headlines… just two people trying to understand what’s left between them.”A faint smile tugged at his lips. “That’s more than enough for me.”They stood there in silence, surrounded by the fading energy of the fashion show, the noise and lights now distant. In the quiet that followed, something unspoken passed between them—wounded, tentative, but und
The fashion runway show has concluded successfully, drawing enthusiastic applause and excitement from the audience. The crowd was both delighted and captivated by Cassandra's uniquely creative and bold designs, which left a lasting impression on everyone in attendance.Following the show, Cassandra found herself engaged in conversations with numerous investors who were eager to discuss potential opportunities. Many expressed strong interest in promoting her work and bringing her designs to the broader market. Cassandra was overjoyed by the overwhelmingly positive response and thrilled that her vision resonated with so many. She could hardly wait to see how her creations would perform once introduced to the commercial fashion world."Congratulations, Miss Cassandra," Fabian said warmly, offering a genuine smile as he handed her a bouquet of fresh flowers.Cassandra was taken aback to see him still at the venue. Despite having kept her distance from him for years, she couldn't deny the
Cassandra was just beginning her journey in the world of fashion design. After spending time away, she had recently returned to her home country to fully pursue her aspirations as a clothing designer. Armed with a portfolio full of unique and inspired creations, she had been diligently working on a new collection for several months—her first major project since coming back. Today marked a significant milestone: the day her designs would finally be unveiled to the public.As the excitement—and pressure—of the moment settled in, Cassandra turned to her assistant, her brow slightly furrowed with concern."Where are the models our company hired for the show?" she asked sharply, a sense of urgency in her voice."They're ready, Miss Cassandra," Alie replied calmly. "They're in the fitting room, just waiting for your signal."Alie was relatively new to the W Company, just like Cassandra. Both had been hired around the same time, and despite being early in their careers, they had quickly form
Lucien stood in the doorway of their dimly lit bedroom, his brow furrowed as he watched Aria kneel on the hardwood floor, carefully spreading a blanket out over the rug.“What are you doing?” he asked gently, his voice soft and laced with confusion.Aria didn’t look up. Her hands moved methodically as she fluffed a pillow and placed it at the head of the makeshift bedding. “I’m making my bed,” she replied flatly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.Lucien stepped further into the room, his gaze heavy with concern. He walked over and knelt beside her, reaching for the blanket. “Aria,” he said, his hand brushing against hers as he pulled the fabric gently from her grasp. “Do you really hate me that much?”Her eyes finally met his, and for a moment, something flickered between them—anger, yes, but layered with exhaustion, grief, and the tiniest spark of something softer.“Yes,” she said too quickly, the word slipping from her lips before she had time to measure it.Luc
Aria stood at the doorway of their bedroom, her gaze falling on the familiar bed. It looked the same as it had before everything had changed, but somehow, it felt different. The scent of fresh linen lingered in the air, comforting yet distant, as if it had been waiting for them to return, untouched by the months of silence. She ran her fingers along the soft fabric of the duvet, feeling the weight of the memories it carried. She could tell that no one had slept there in her absence—at least, not in the way they had once shared it.Her heart squeezed in her chest, a pang of longing and loss she hadn’t expected. The bed still held echoes of them—of late-night talks, of laughter, of quiet moments, now tainted by the tragedy they’d both endured.She didn’t realize she had been standing there, lost in thought, until she heard the rustling of clothes behind her. When she turned, Lucien was already pulling off his shirt. His movements were slow and deliberate, but it wasn’t just the action t
The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden light over the hospital driveway. Aria stood just outside the entrance, arms folded, her face unreadable. Beside her, her mother held a small overnight bag and wore the satisfied smile of someone who had successfully hijacked a plan.A sleek black SUV pulled up to the curb. Lucien stepped out from the driver’s seat, his white shirt rolled at the sleeves, looking slightly flustered—but determined.“Ladies,” he said, opening the passenger door for Aria’s mother with a polite nod. “Welcome to your temporary royal suite.”Aria rolled her eyes. “You rehearsed that?”“Twice,” Lucien replied with a slight grin, then opened the back door for Aria. “Your chariot awaits, Doctor.”She didn’t respond, just slid into the seat silently. Lucien circled back and climbed behind the wheel.As the car moved through the quiet evening traffic, a soft, savory scent began to drift from the back of the vehicle—subtle but unmistakable.Aria’s mother sniffed the air
"You what??" Aria asked, her voice sharp with disbelief as her hand instinctively tightened around Lucien’s. Her eyes were wide, searching her mother’s face for any sign that she’d misunderstood.Her mother, unfazed, smiled casually and repeated, “I said, I want to stay at your house for one week.”The room fell into an awkward silence.Lucien blinked in surprise, then a slow grin spread across his face. He glanced at Aria, clearly amused, while Aria stood frozen, her mouth slightly agape. She wasn’t sure if she should laugh, panic, or start protesting immediately.On the other side of the room, Dr. Harold—Aria’s long-time colleague and friend—choked on his drink. He turned away quickly, but the shaking of his shoulders gave him away.“What’s so funny, Dr. Harold?” Aria’s mother asked, raising a brow. Her tone was calm, but the edge in it warned that she wasn’t entirely amused.Harold cleared his throat and tried to compose himself, but the smirk refused to leave his face. “Oh, nothin