Mixed feelings

The phone call with my brother ended, but the crushing weight of my isolation only grew heavier.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, my gaze drifted back to the dark corner of the room. The cold shower hadn’t washed away the memory of the flashback. The image of the party, the heat of the bass, and the intense, passionate words Michael had whispered against my neck were still burned into my skin.

I was drowning in physical neglect and emotional starvation. Before I could stop myself, my fingers acted on pure, desperate impulse. Still thinking about my ex, Michael, I picked up my phone, pulled up his contact under a hidden name, and dialed his number.

My heart hammered against my ribs as the line rang, I held my breath, desperate just to hear his  voice, to feel a shred of the love I had thrown away to save my brother.

“Hello? Hi, who is it?”

A sharp, high-pitched girl’s voice answered instead. My heart instantly dropped into my stomach. It wasn’t Michael. A cold sweat broke out across my palms as I gripped the phone tighter, my voice trembling but forced to remain steady.

“This is Elena,” I said softly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Can you… can you please put Michael on the phone?”

There was a muffled rustle on the other end, a quiet whisper, A second later, the deep, familiar voice I used to worship came through the speaker. But there was no warmth in it. It was dripping with pure acid.

“Elena?” Michael sneered, his tone sharp enough to cut through the line. “Why the hell are you calling me?”

“Michael, I just… I needed to hear your voice,” I whispered, tears immediately welling in my eyes. “Things are so hard right now, and I—”

“Shut up, Elena. Just shut your mouth,” Michael barked, cutting me off with absolute disgust. “You think you can just disappear, break my heart, and then call me whenever you feel like it? You’re nothing but a gold-digging slut. A whore who sold herself to the highest bidder.”

The words hit me so bad, tearing right through the remaining pieces of my shattered dignity.

“Michael, no, it wasn’t like that—” I choked out.

“Don’t lie to me!” he yelled. “You abandoned me to go sleep with some rich, old bastard. You wanted the mansion, you wanted the security, so go chill with your husband and leave me the hell alone. Don’t you ever think about calling my line again.”

“Michael, please…” I wept, the fresh bruise on my lip throbbing from the strain of my crying.

“In fact,” Michael laughed coldly, a sound that made my blood run completely freezing. “You want to know something funny? I moved on. I’m actually dating your best friend, Sarah, now. She’s twice the woman you’ll ever be, and she actually knows what loyalty means. Lose my number.”

The line went completely dead.

The phone slipped from my hand, clattering onto the rug. What Micheal said crushed the absolute last spark of hope I had left inside my chest. Michael hated me. My best friend had betrayed me. I had sacrificed my body, my freedom, and my entire happiness for a brother who was now living his life, leaving me trapped in a house with a violent monster who couldn’t even satisfy me for two minutes.

Exhausted, broken, and completely empty, I pulled the satin covers over my head. I broke into  tears, my body shaking in the dark room until the sheer weight of the emotional trauma took over, and I finally slept off.

I woke up groggily, my eyelids heavy from the hours of crying.

Reaching over to the nightstand, I checked the time on my phone. It was already 11:00 PM.

The room was pitch black, and the air inside the master suite felt suffocating. I felt extremely thirsty, my throat tight and dry from the emotional breakdown I had suffered earlier. The harsh words from my ex, Michael, and the betrayal of my best friend still hovered over my mind like a dark cloud. I needed water,

Slipping out from under the satin covers, I didn’t bother putting on a robe. I was still wearing the scandalous, emerald-green silk nightgown that hugged my curves and stopped dangerously high on my thighs. Padding out of the bedroom on bare feet, I walked down the silent, dimly lit marble hallway, heading straight for the kitchen.

The house was completely still, save for the hum of the air conditioning. But as I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I froze.

The moonlight filtering through the massive glass windows illuminated a figure standing tall in the center of the kitchen. He was lean, muscular, and extremely handsome.

I stood paralyzed in the shadows, startled by the unexpected presence. At the same time, I found myself completely drooling over him. He was entirely shirtless, his skin gleaming in the silver moonlight, showing off a sculpted chest and a rock-hard six-pack that disappeared into low-cut sweatpants. My inner, passionate side—the girl Matthew had been trying to starve for the last two months—woke up instantly.

The sound of my sharp intake of breath caught his attention. He turned around slowly, his piercing gaze locking directly onto me.

“Who are you?” I asked, trying to steady my voice despite my heart hammering against my ribs.

He let out a short, quiet chuckle and set his glass of water down on the marble island.

“I don’t think I need to introduce myself in my father’s house,” he said, his deep, gravelly baritone sending an unexpected shiver straight down my spine. He scanned my body, his eyes lingering on the short hem of my nightgown before meeting my gaze again. “You must be the new wife. What’s the name again…?”

“Elena,” I said casually.

The puzzle pieces instantly clicked in my head. Matthew had told me about his son who lived abroad, managing the family’s international assets. Looking at the sharp jawline and the commanding posture, I knew exactly who he was.

“And you are Matthew’s son.”

“Yeah, you are right,” he answered simply, a dark, unreadable expression crossing his handsome face.

orced my legs to move, stepping past him toward the stainless-steel refrigerator. As I opened the door to grab a cold bottle, I couldn’t stop myself from stealing glances of his hot body. He didn’t move away. Instead, he stood there, resting his back against the kitchen cabinet, casually pressing his phone while his eyes secretly tracked my every movement. The atmosphere became tense, charged with a sudden, suffocating electricity.

Clutching the cold water bottle tightly against my chest, the sheer intensity of the moment became too much to handle. I needed to get away before my eyes gave away my desperate thoughts.

“I will head to my room,” I murmured, backing away toward the kitchen exit.

“Alright,” he answered, , his voice low and smooth as he finally looked up from his screen, watching me disappear into the stairs