The Lipstick on His Collar

Elara’s POV

I waited in the shadows, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure they could hear it. Everything hinged on Damien's answer to James's suggestion about giving me a "generous settlement" to free him for Isabella.

The silence stretched on forever.

Finally, Damien spoke. "I'm already married, James. I have a child. Isabella being back doesn't change those facts."

It wasn't the passionate denial I'd hoped for. It wasn't love or loyalty speaking. It was just... duty. Obligation.

"But are you happy?" James pressed gently. "In all these years of marriage, have you been truly happy?"

Another silence. This one was even more damning than the first.

I thought about our six years together. From the outside, we looked like the perfect couple. Damien remembered every anniversary, every birthday. He bought expensive gifts - jewelry, designer handbags, luxury vacations. When I got sick, he would cancel meetings to take care of me. They didn't see him break through a police cordon during that hotel fire two years ago, rushing through the smoke and flames to carry me to safety.

Everyone who knew us said I was lucky. "You married such a devoted husband," they would say. "Damien Blackwood adores you."

But they didn't know about the nights when he'd roll over in his sleep, his arms reaching for me, and whisper "Isabella" against my neck. They didn't know how he'd wake up looking confused and disappointed to find me there instead of her.

They didn't know that every gift, every gesture, every act of care was performed out of duty, not love.

"I have responsibilities," Damien said finally, which wasn't an answer at all.

As I listened to his non-response, Dr. Harrison's words echoed in my mind: Days. Maybe a week or two at most.

Damien, you're going to be free very soon, I thought bitterly. Sooner than you think.

"Damien, I just think—" James began.

Then I heard footsteps. They were moving toward the door.

Panic shot through me. I couldn't let them catch me eavesdropping. I quickly moved down the hallway, my heels clicking softly on the marble floor.

"Elara?"

I turned around, trying to look like I had just come upstairs. "Oh, hello James."

James Morton looked deeply uncomfortable. His face was flushed, and he couldn't quite meet my eyes. "I should get going. Early meeting tomorrow."

"Of course. Drive safely."

He practically fled down the stairs. I heard the front door close behind him.

Damien appeared in his study doorway, loosening his tie. He looked as composed as ever, but I caught a flicker of something in his gray eyes. Guilt, maybe.

"Marcus said you called several times today," he said. "Was there an emergency?"

I looked at my husband. Still devastatingly handsome at thirty-two. His dark hair was slightly mussed from running his hands through it. His expensive suit fit his athletic frame perfectly. He looked every inch the successful CEO.

And he felt nothing for me.

"It's handled now," I said quietly.

He nodded, accepting my answer without question. He never pushed for details about my life anymore.

"Before I forget," he said, walking to his dresser and pulling out a small velvet box. "Happy anniversary."

Anniversary. Six years ago today, we'd stood in a courthouse and exchanged vows that meant everything to me and nothing to him.

"Thank you," I said, taking the box.

Inside was a diamond necklace. Elegant. Expensive. Impersonal.

"It's beautiful," I said automatically.

"The diamonds are from South Africa. Conflict-free, of course. I had it specially designed." He paused. "Do you like it?"

I looked up at him. "Everything you give me is lovely, Damien."

It was true. Every year brought more expensive jewelry. This necklace probably cost more than most people's cars. But I'd never once felt joy opening his gifts, because I knew the truth - his assistant Marcus had chosen every single one.

I remembered the first necklace he'd given me, on our first anniversary. I'd been so excited, thinking he'd picked it out himself. Then I'd overheard him on the phone with Marcus: "Just get her something nice. Jewelry. Women like that sort of thing."

"Is there anything else you'd like?" he asked now. "For the anniversary, I mean."

I thought about Lily, lying in that hospital bed. About her dream of meeting Mickey Mouse.

"Lily has been asking about the amusement park." I said. "She's so excited about going. It would mean the world to her if you came with us tomorrow."

Damien frowned. "Tomorrow? I have the Henderson meeting in the morning, and the Tokyo clients are flying in for dinner."

"She's been talking about it for weeks. She wants to ride the teacup ride, like her friends at school."

"Elara, you know how busy things are right now. Maybe next weekend—"

"You had time to go to the airport today."

The words hung between us like an accusation. Damien's jaw tightened.

"That was business."

"Was it? Because the photos I saw didn't look very business-like."

His eyes flashed with something dangerous. "So that's what this is about. You're jealous."

"Jealous?" I stood up, anger finally breaking through my numbness. "Our daughter is in the hospital, and my husband is playing reunion with his ex-girlfriend. What exactly should I be feeling?"

"Isabella is a business associate. Her return to the country has potential partnership implications—"

"Don't lie to me, Damien. I'm not stupid."

"You're being overly dramatic."

"Am I? Tell me, when was the last time you smiled at me the way you were smiling at her in those photos?"

He didn't answer, because we both knew the truth. He'd never looked at me that way.

"Are you saying you want me to ignore business opportunities because you're feeling insecure?"

"I'm saying your daughter asked for one day with her father. One day, Damien. Is that really too much to ask?"

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. "Fine. I'll reschedule the Henderson meeting. One afternoon at the amusement park. But that's all I can manage."

It was a victory, but it felt hollow. He wasn't doing it for Lily. He was doing it to end this argument.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

Damien moved closer to me. "Put on the necklace. I want to see how it looks."

I turned around and lifted my hair. His fingers brushed my neck as he fastened the clasp. The diamonds felt cold against my skin.

"Beautiful," he murmured.

When I turned back around, he was looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. His hand came up to touch the necklace, his fingers grazing my collarbone.

Despite everything, despite knowing the truth about his feelings, my body still responded to his touch. Six years of marriage had conditioned me to react to him.

"Elara," he said softly.

He leaned down, moving to kiss me. It was our pattern after arguments - a perfunctory kiss to pretend everything was fine, followed by mechanical intimacy that left me feeling more alone than ever.

But as he got closer, I saw it.

A smear of coral pink lipstick on his white collar. Fresh. Recent.

I pulled back abruptly.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I stared at the lipstick stain. Proof of what I'd suspected but tried to ignore. He'd been with her today. Isabella. While I was at the hospital receiving devastating news about our daughter.

"Elara? What is it?"

I looked up at him. This man I'd loved since I was twenty-two. The father of my daughter. The person I'd built my entire life around.

"In six years of marriage," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "have you ever loved me? Even for a moment?"

Damien's face went completely blank. His hand dropped from my neck.

The question hung between us like a loaded gun. Six years of hoping, of waiting, of believing that someday he might see me. All of it came down to this moment.

His silence was answer enough.

But I needed to hear him say it. I needed the truth, finally.

"Have you?" I pressed. "Even once?"