At 3.a.m., My Husband Finally Remembered Where He Lived.

At 3 a.m., my husband remembered where he lived, and I remembered why I had stopped hoping.

SELENE 

Beep... Beep... Beep...

  My hands froze on the refrigerator handle.

  For a moment, I just stood there, heart stuttering at the sharp sound of the door code being entered incorrectly. The living room was dim, shadows stretching lazily across the walls as I squinted toward the wall clock.

   3:00 a.m.

   Beep... Beep... Beep...

 The sound came again, more frantic this time. I heard muffled curses from the other side of the door, metal clinking as someone fumbled aggressively with the keypad.

  I closed the fridge slowly and stepped away from it, my fingers curling around the hem of my nightdress. My chest tightened, not with fear, but with a dull, familiar resignation.

   The lock finally clicked.

   The door creaked open.

   I took a step back and quickly turned on the light.

  Sebastian stood in the doorway, swaying slightly, one hand braced against the doorframe as he muttered under his breath. He tugged at his tie, struggling to loosen it.

   He was drunk.

  And I wasn't shocked. Not even a little.

   Sebastian Kingsley only remembered this house when he was drunk. Sober, it didn't exist to him.

  You might wonder why I didn't panic at the strange sound of someone failing my door code in the middle of the night. The truth was simple, he was the only one who ever came here at odd hours.

   We've been married for three years, yet sometimes I forgot I was even a wife. Sebastian hated my presence and barely lived in this house. We were not a loving, doting couple. There were no late-night conversations, no shared routines, no warmth between us.

   If it hadn't been for our families arranging this marriage, Sebastian wouldn't have looked at me twice.

  And now, here he was, stumbling into the home he refused to acknowledge as his, wearing the ring that bound us both, yet living a life that never included me.

  He rolled his eyes the moment he caught sight of me, teetering unsteadily toward my direction.

  "Why is it always so bright in this house?" His words were slurred, each one dragging lazily from his lips. He ran a hand through his messy hair, fingers tangling in the strands. "Can't a man come in without a spotlight?"

   "I... I can turn it off if you don't like it." I managed to stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands hovered near the switch, unsure whether to actually obey.

  Sebastian glanced at me, eyes half-lidded, then pushed past me with one careless hand. I stumbled slightly, my chest clenching as my foot caught the edge of the rug, but I didn't protest. He wasn't aggressive. He was just too drunk to notice the ripple of imbalance he left in his wake.

  "Ah..." He sighed, flopping onto the couch with a dramatic thud. One hand fell to his forehead, the other draped loosely over the armrest. His eyes were closed, and suddenly, the room felt heavy with his presence.

   I stayed rooted in place, my hands clasped tightly in front of me, knuckles whitening, before finally turning toward my room. 

   Each step felt heavier than the last.

  With a quiet sigh, I opened the closet and pulled out a neatly folded blanket. For a moment, I just stood there, the fabric warm against my palms, and I paused.

  It was ridiculous, wasn't it? That I still cared for him after everything. After the cold stares, the dismissive words. The way he made it clear, from the very beginning, that I was never meant to matter.

    I remembered his voice clearly, cutting through whatever hope I had on the night we married.

  "I married you because it was arranged. Don't mistake that for affection. Keep your distance, or you'll only hurt yourself."

  And yet… here I was, hesitating, lingering over a small act of kindness I knew he didn't deserve.

  I sighed softly, and returned to the living room. He lay on the couch, sprawled in careless disarray.

   Carefully, I approached, crouching low to tug off his shoes. He stirred in his sleep, kicking slightly at me, but I remained still, placing the shoes neatly on the floor. I draped the blanket over him with careful fingers, tucking it around his shoulders as gently as I could.

  My hands lingered on the fabric as I crouched again, studying his face.

   Sleep softened his features, but even like this, Sebastian Kingsley was devastatingly handsome.

   He was the kind of man who drew attention without trying. The youngest billionaire in the country. The sole heir to Kingsley Group. A man with everything.

   Everything except me.

  I had watched him with countless women, watched him chase them even after our marriage.

  He let out a low, sleepy moan. His hand reached up to ruffle through his hair, and my gaze inevitably drifted to our wedding ring glinting on his finger. What purpose did it serve, I wondered, if he never acknowledged the bond it represented?

   I pulled my eyes away from the ring, feeling a sharp pang of regret in my chest. Why had I even bothered to drape him with a blanket? My hands felt foolish, heavy with all the hope I had been holding onto for three years.

  I took a tentative step back, ready to retreat, when his hand clamped firmly around mine.

  I gasped, startled, and looked down at him. His eyes were still closed. My instincts screamed at me to pull away, but before I could move, he tugged me toward him. I stumbled, falling to the couch beside him.

  Another gasp escaped me as he shifted, turning so that our faces were barely an inch apart. His warm breath brushed against my cheek, his lips so close I could feel the faint heat of them. My cheeks burned, a bright, helpless red. Three years of marriage, and I had never been this close to him. 

I should have pulled away. 

I should have stood.

I should have...

  But my thoughts died when his eyes fluttered open.

   "I... I..." I scrambled for words, panic rising in my chest. He might think I tried to take advantage of him. My lips parted, ready to protest. "I didn't—"

  The words vanished as he lifted a hand, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. There was no anger in his gaze, no accusation. Only... focus. Only attention.

     "You're pretty."

   My heart stuttered violently, as if it had forgotten how to beat. Had Sebastian just... called me pretty?

   Before I could process it, his lips brushed against mine in a soft, fleeting kiss. My entire body froze. I was beyond stunned.

  "I don't know what I'd do without you... Irene."

  My chest collapsed.

  Irene. 

  Not Selene.

  Not me.

  My lips trembled as the truth settled in.

   Right. Of course. There was never a chance this tenderness belonged to me.

  I pulled away carefully and rose from the couch, as if any sound might shatter what little dignity I had left.

  After three years, I should have known better than to hope. 

 Because no matter what I did... 

I would always remain invisible to him.