SMOKE AND MIRROWS

ELENA'S POV

I was bored out of my mind. And there was absolutely nothing to do. Perhaps I should have taken the credit card and gone shopping as he had wanted me to. But I wasn't letting him tame me just for a fleeting moment of pleasure. I know the kind of men he portrayed-those who threw money at everything as if it could solve everything.

He could keep his black card to himself, thank you very much.

Groaning visibly out of boredom, I looked around for what to do. I sensed I had been banned from the kitchen until further notice. I could tell by the side eye the butler had been giving me all day. Talk about loyalty. I almost laughed at his behavior.

Well, you kind of deserve it. 

My stomach growled at the thought almost immediately. I know, baby, I haven't fed you in hours. Whether the butler or Damien liked it or not, I had to eat. I grabbed the leftover mac and cheese I had put in the freezer after dinner and popped it in the microwave. This man doesn't really care whether I live or die. I'm his prisoner, even here. 

The thought made my blood boil as I chewed on my very soggy food. I really can't stand this; my hate for him and the urge to run away grew stronger.

Well, technically, you can't run. You're bound by contract. Besides, if you run, he'll look for you, even to the ends of the earth if he has to.

Boy, don't I know it. The contract will keep hanging over my head no matter how hard I try. And knowing the kind of person I was, my pride would never let me flee or back down from a binding promise. 

Sighing, I returned to the living room, neither my anger nor my boredom assuaged. I grabbed the TV remote and turned it on, flipping through the channels until my eyes caught on a tabloid news. 

I'm telling you, the 7th-year wedding anniversary party of New York's star-crossed couple is the hottest take in town, one of the anchors was saying.

Yes, they look so in love. So enamored by each other. It's not often you see young couples stay together for that long, the other, a petite-looking lady, said.

I beg to differ, though; most young couples don't make it past the 7th year. It's almost like a 7-year curse, the first replied.

We can only hope they make it past it and break whatever 'curse' you're talking about.

The first anchor scoffed. You don't think it exists? How about you take a look at this? The cracks are already forming, you're just too blindsided to see it.

She motioned to the giant screen behind her. The video that was played showed the fight that happened at the anniversary party. It seemed like an attendee took it, and the slap resounded a couple of times, like it was put on repeat.

This happened last night, the same anniversary event where they're so 'enamored' by each other. Tell me, Lydia. Does this look familiar to you? She asked, smirking.

Couples have arguments all the time. It's not that much of a big deal, Lydia rebutted.

Not a big deal? The first anchor said, shocked.

Did you see them during their speech? They've made up. If there are cracks in their marriage, like you claim, they'd not have been together for this long, heck, they'd not have been the powerhouse of the cosmetics industry to this date. Their marriage has shot up their stocks, and it keeps growing day by day, Lydia said.

I frowned, disappointed. This wasn't the effect I was going for, despite all we managed to pull off last night. I suspected the tabloid had been paid to mellow the impact of what happened at the party. The thought of all the dirty schemes they've been playing all these years, covering up all their antics with money and bribery, made me sick to my stomach, and I cursed under my breath. 

I couldn't let this carry on; they'll ruin my plans for revenge at this rate. And ruin my parents' hard work along with it. I know they've been using the company's name to run some shady business. I have to act fast and take back what's mine.

"Miss?" I heard a voice that shook me out of my thoughts.

I turned to the voice, it was the butler, staring at me.

"Huh?" I answered.

"Your room is ready," he said.

My ears perked up. "My room?" I asked. 

"Yes, miss. Mr Vance requested that a room be prepared for you."

Finally. Mr. Almighty, cold, I'm-better-than-everyone-else jerkface has decided I was worthy of getting a room after several hours. I stood up, pissed that he didn't really care for my existence but grateful that I'll get my privacy now. 

The room was spacious and large. It was also furnished tastefully, with grey and pink tones almost everywhere in a minimalist style. I frowned. How on earth did they manage to move all this furniture without me knowing? 

The bed was a queen-sized bed with a bedside table and a reading lamp by it. The vanity was bare, but I was sure it'd soon be filled with a lot of products too. The windows were floor-to-ceiling, overlooking the city skyline. Just what I liked, I thought in satisfaction.

I sniffed myself, feeling repulsed. I'd been acting like a couch potato all day, and a bath was long overdue. The day was almost over, and I was yet to take my bath.

"Thank you," I said to the butler, who bowed and was about to leave. "Oh, and one more thing."

He stopped.

"You can just call me Elena, not Miss." He smiled, bowing again, and after a while, I was alone. 

Heading to the bathroom, I grabbed a towel already hanging on the rack and prepared a warm bath. I slipped in when it was ready, relaxing as the warmth caressed my skin.