"Is this what you wanted, Elara?"
She whisper quietly that it barely disturbed the surface of the bathwater as she traced idle patterns with her fingers. She was feeling warmth around her skin, but inside, she felt cold.
When she think about the whispers, the judging gazes, the thinly veiled insults—it was as if they had all gathered just to watch her fail.
She had told herself that survival was enough. That enduring this marriage, this world, was a victory in itself.
But tonight had made one thing painfully clear—she wasn't surviving. She was enduring.
And enduring it only means that she was letting them win.
A sharp knock on the door dusrupt her from her thoughts. She sat up, water sloshing around her.
"What?" she called, reaching for a towel.
A pause. Then Killian's voice, cool and distant. "Be ready early. We have things to discuss."
Elara stilled, wrapping the towel tightly around herself. "Discuss what?"
"You'll see in the morning."
His footsteps faded down the hall.
Elara exhaled sharply, staring at the closed door.
She didn't trust him. Not for a second.
Whatever he had planned, she was sure it wasn't for her benefit.
---
In his own room, Killian sat at the edge of his bed, with a glass of whiskey resting between his fingers. He had barely touched it. His mind was elsewhere.
With a sigh, he pulled out his phone and swiped to a hidden album.
There she was.
Sienna Wicker.
Her golden-brown eyes stared back at him, her smile radiant, untouched by the cruel world he had thrown himself into. She was the only woman that fits in into his life and he had loved her with everything in him Her laughter had once been the soundtrack of his life. Now, it was just an echo.
He ran a thumb over the screen.
She had left. She had been the one to walk away first.
"Paris is my dream, Killian," she had whispered, fingers lingering on his cheek. "I can't stay."
And he had let her go.
But he had never let her go. Not really.
He took a slow sip of whiskey and let out a deep breath.
Then he thinks about Elara,his wife in just a name.
Elara was a pawn. A necessary move in a game he never wanted to play.
She would follow his rules, stay in her place, and when this was over, she would be nothing but a footnote in his life.
---
Morning came too soon.
Elara stepped into the dining room, her expression carefully composed. Killian sat at the head of the table, flipping through his phone as he sipped his coffee.
"Sit," he ordered without looking up.
Elara frowned at the command but obeyed, determined not to show any weakness.
"There are rules," he began, setting his cup down. "You'll follow them. No exceptions."
"Rules?" she echoed, arching a brow.
"One: You come home at a reasonable hour. No late nights, no unexplained absences."
Elara's lips curled slightly. "And if I do?"
Killian met her gaze. "Then I'll make sure you don't do it again."
A slow wave of anger wash beneath her skin, but she forced herself to remain still.
"Two: No unnecessary socializing. Keep your circle small."
She scoffed. "Afraid I might make friends who actually treat me like a human being?"
Killian ignored her. "Three: You can do whatever you want during the day, but you don't interfere in my personal affairs. No questions, no opinions."
Elara's fingers curled into fists beneath the table. Every word was laced with control, making her feel useless.
Rules.
This is not her first time playing by rules—ones written by men who thought power meant ownership.
She had told herself she wouldn't let it happen again.
And yet, here she was.
She clenched her jaw.
"Then I'll make sure you don't do it again."
The threat was subtle, well wrapped , but she heard it.
Killian wasn't a man who spoke idly. If he said it, he meant it.
Late nights. No unexplained absences.
So he wanted to keep her at bay, close enough to control but far enough to be inconsequential.
No unnecessary socializing. Keep your circle small.
That one made her laugh—quietly, bitterly. As if she had a circle to begin with.
No interfering in his personal affairs. No questions. No opinions.
He didn't want her thoughts. Only her obedience.
Elara inhaled slowly, carefully. She wouldn't let him see how his words clawed at something raw inside her.
"And let me guess—no intimacy?"
The way he smirked made her stomach twist, but not from attraction. From something deeper. Something she refused to name.
He had thought of everything, hadn't he? Boxed her in so neatly.
Rules, restrictions, boundaries carefully designed to keep her in line.
To remind her exactly where she stood.
Not a partner. Not an equal.
A pawn.
"Respect goes both ways, Killian."
She had meant it. And he had laughed, dismissing it like a child's foolish wish.
"Not in this arrangement."
The words echoed in her skull long after she left the room, each one a thread tightening around her ribs.
She had survived men like him before.
She would survive him too.
But she wasn't sure how much of herself would be left by the time she did.
---
That evening, the city buzzed with the usual nightlife, and another social event was in full swing.
Killian stood among the elite, his presence commanding the room as always.
Then the whispers started.
"Oh my God, is that—?"
"Sienna Wicker? She's back?"
"Killian's first love… "
Killian's grip tightened around his glass.
He turned. And his breath caught.
There she was.
Sienna stood at the entrance,as Charming as ever, her dark red dress hugging her frame perfectly. Her gaze locked onto his, an unspoken conversation passing between them.
Elara, standing in the shadows, noticed the shift in the air.
She followed Killian's line of sight—and spotted the woman who had just walked in.
Even without knowing who she was, Elara knew what she meant to him.
Because for the first time since she had met him…
Killian looked completely and utterly undone.