The Beautiful Silence

ELARA

“Prepare the divorce papers, Cassius.”

My voice came out with a terrifying lack of emotion. Cold even, considering I was sitting there watching, on the high-definition screen of my tablet, my husband of five years having an intense sex romp with my best friend in the middle of his office. 

It was an office I had personally decorated with care. In a company I had poured my soul into helping him build.

“El, are you sure?”

I snarled before I could stop the sound from tearing out of my throat, my fingers white-knuckled around the edges of the device. “If you can’t do this simple thing for me because he’s your best friend, then say it! I’ll find another lawyer who actually values my time.”

Sometimes, I really didn’t understand Cassius. Yes, he was Shawn’s best friend, but he was also the only person in this godforsaken city who actually seemed to care a hoot about the neglected housewife I had become.

He knew everything, had seen the scars of Shawn’s mistreatment of me, and I was certain he knew about the adulterous part too. Yet here he was, hesitant, asking me if I really wanted a divorce…

Maybe I shouldn’t have called him. 

A sudden prickle of anxiety crawled up my spine; what if he told that fool of a husband exactly what I was planning before I could strike?

“Em… I’m sorry if you misunderstood me,” Cassius said, his voice dropping into a careful, soothing register. “You know I’ve always wanted you to leave this marriage. I just needed to be sure… this isn’t the first time you’ve reached out to me about this, only to turn back.”

I shut my eyes tight as a wave of bitter memory attacked me.

My first year of marriage—a time that was supposed to be pure, marital bliss—had been an unmitigated horror. It was nothing like I expected, especially since I had been Shawn’s benefactor from the start.

Even if my blind love hadn’t secured his care, the fact that I had literally given him a kidney so he could continue to live should have counted for something in his eyes, right?

Wrong.

I had loved Shawn like a devoted puppy since high school, ever since he stepped in and saved the nerdy, quiet girl from a pack of cruel bullies. I followed him like a loyal sheep through university, keeping my head down despite his endless, public flings. When kidney failure struck him, I didn’t hesitate; I stepped forward as a donor. 

Fortunately, fate took me, or so I thought.

And to crown it all, his grandfather had insisted he marry me once he recovered—declaring to the whole family that no woman could ever be a better wife than the girl who gave him life.

Shawn had agreed to the match without a single fuss. In my naivety, I thought I had finally been blessed by destiny.

You could imagine my shock when, on our wedding night, he treated me like a common slut he had picked up off the street. He didn’t slow down for a second when he realized I was a virgin. He left me bleeding, shivering in pain, then stalked off to the next room, cursing under his breath that I had messed up the expensive bed sheets.

But the next day, he apologized profusely. He said he’d been drunk. He brought me expensive flowers. He took me to a lavish dinner.

I was young and desperate, so I thought we were fine.

Six months later, the apologies wore thin and he started keeping late nights.

A year in, he actually slapped me on our anniversary because I dared to question his cold indifference.

Abuse was a dealbreaker for me. No one loved being beaten down, physically or mentally. So, I had called Cassius that very night. I had been packed and ready to leave.

Then Shawn returned with flowers again. More apologies. More empty promises of change. And I—like a pathetic fool—stayed. I even anonymously pitched in my own resources to save the company when he claimed it was on the verge of collapsing.

He never slapped me again.

But he never loved me either.

With every passing year, the man turned to ice. He stayed around me only out of a sense of grim duty to his grandfather’s wishes.

I would have endured it all, I realized with a shudder—if not for the video I was watching right now.

“El…”

I exhaled a long, shaky breath, dragging myself back to the grim reality of the present. “Yes. I’m serious, Cassius. This time, I really am. There is no turning back.”

“Okay. Thank goodness. I’ll get the paperwork ready immediately.”

“Thank you. And please… I don’t want Shawn knowing a single thing yet.”

“Of course. You have my word.”

The call ended.

I increased the volume of the nonsense playing on my tablet, morbidly fascinated by the sheer depth of Miranda’s betrayal. She had returned to the city a year ago and already had my husband wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger.

I had been his for five years and couldn't even get him to remember my birthday without a prompt from his secretary.

“When are you going to finally divorce her, Shawn?” Miranda moaned on the screen, her nails digging into his back as he bit at her neck, clearly reluctant to let her go.

“Soon, my love. Very soon.”

“You keep saying that,” she scoffed, playfully trying to step away. Shawn pulled her back in with a growl and kissed her lips cherishingly—a look of pure devotion I had never seen.

I could count on one hand how many times Shawn had kissed me in five years. They were always chaste kisses. Public. Polite. Cold. Once, I had even desperately wondered if I had bad breath—and spent a fortune at the dentist out of pure insecurity.

“Shawn… you’re trying to confuse me again…”

He chuckled. “I promise. Soon. I just need to figure out how to convince my grandfather.”

“And how will you do that? That old man is a sticker for traditions!”

Shawn's jaw tightened on the screen, his eyes turning predatory. “Not after tonight. She’s going to fall from her pedestal.”

My brows lifted as I raised the volume even higher.

“What did you plan?” Miranda asked, smiling like a stereotypical villain in a poorly written drama.

“Drug her. Dump her in a hotel room with an unsuspecting, drugged-up guy. I already have a prospect lined up. The rest writes itself. I’ll make sure she’s caught in the act. My grandfather will have no choice, especially when I bring out the doctored photos I already have, showing her sleeping with different men over the months.”

I paused the video, the frame freezing on his deceitful face.

What?? 

What in the fecking hell is this… 

But I was finally done crying for Shawn.

And I didn’t regret hacking his CCTV for a second. I didn’t regret finally trusting my instincts after years of being gaslit. All I had ever done was sacrifice my own happiness to make him happy… and this was my reward.

But no more.

Enough of being the perfect housewife. Enough of swallowing his abuse like a daily dose of medicine. 

Maybe it was time he tasted his own poison.

I turned off the tablet, the screen going black, and tossed it aside as I stood up. Something slipped off my lap and clattered softly to the floor.

I looked down. It was the pregnancy kit… the one that clearly showed double red lines.

I was pregnant, after five years of hoping, after years of being mocked and called barren by his family. It should have been the most joyful news of my life.

It still was.

But Shawn wouldn't be the father. 

No. He wouldn't even know.

“I will take care of you, baby,” I whispered to the empty room, rubbing my stomach with a protective hand as I picked up the kit.

Then I walked toward my room, my head held high, to prepare for his grandfather’s birthday dinner, knowing I had to still keep up appearances till Cassius was done preparing the papers.

I won’t let my child grow up in a cold, loveless home. Not like this. Never like this.