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The drive back to the penthouse was quiet, almost like a somber trip through a graveyard.
“We’re here, sir,” the driver announced, breaking the heavy silence.
“Oh,” Damian muttered. As the car came to a halt, a servant quickly opened the door for him. Without looking back, Damian stepped out and walked briskly toward the entrance. His demeanor was cold and distant, something Elara had grown accustomed to over the time she had spent with him. She exited the luxurious car without a word and headed straight inside.
“Welcome, ma’am,” the maids greeted with a bow. Elara forced a smile and waved.
“Thank you,” she replied, exhaustion laced in her voice. All she wanted was to collapse into her bed. She was about to open the door to her room when she noticed a shadow behind her.
“Who?” she spun around.
“Who else could it be?” Damian replied with a scoff, stepping into the light.
“Why are you here?” Elara asked, opening her door. “Whatever you want to say can wait until tomorrow.”
“I guess you don’t want me here,” he said, following her inside.
“You should know by now that I’m tired, I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you.”
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss me, my darling wife,” Damian said with a smile–a smile Elara had never seen before. Even if it was fake, at least he was trying. She dropped her bag on the bed, wary of what he might say next.
“What do you want?” she inquired, knowing Damian wasn’t the type to take orders from anyone, least of all her.
He sighed and walked over to the sofa in her room, sitting down and crossing his legs with an air of nonchalance. Elara watched, amused by how comfortable he seemed, as if the room belonged to him.
“I should at least compliment you for ruining my party,” he smirked, his icy blue eyes boring into her. She froze. What did he mean by that?
“I don’t understand, Damian,” Elara began. “How did I ruin your party?”
“Stop pretending you don’t know,” he scoffed, his gaze unwavering. “You caused a scene in front of the shareholders after I warned you not to do anything foolish.” His words were laced with venom, and Elara felt each one like a dagger in her heart. Was this the same man who had protected her before? Had he been stewing in anger the whole drive home?
Elara chuckled bitterly. “This is ridiculous,” she said, approaching him. “Do you really think I would just stand there and allow your fiancée to speak to me in such a disrespectful manner, treating me as if I am insignificant?”
“She’s not my fiancée,” Damian corrected coldly.
“I don’t care,” Elara shot back, her anger rising. “Do I look like someone who cares about anything involving you, Damian? Even if my family was poor, even if we had nothing, I worked hard to be where I am now. I won’t let anyone walk all over me- not even your damn mother.”
Damian’s eyes flared with anger. “Don’t you dare speak about her like that,” he warned. “I won’t tolerate your rudeness toward my mother.”
She scoffed. “Oh, really? But you can tolerate her rudeness toward me?”
“Who are you to me?” he demanded, his voice rising in anger. “Tell me.”
“I’m your wife!” she shouted back. “I’m your damn wife.”
He laughed, a cruel sound that echoed in the room. “Heh,” Damian sneered, rising to his feet. He grabbed her chin harshly, forcing her to look into his cold eyes. “You’re nothing compared to my mother. You’re not my wife–just a wife on paper. In a year, I’ll divorce you.” He released her chin and stepped back, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “You’re just a toy to entertain me
“Can you believe he told me I wasn’t his type? He said he preferred girls with big boobs and butts. He even called me a tomboy.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood,” the maids greeted as she made her way to the dining room. Memories of the previous night flooded her mind when she saw Damian, fully dressed in a blue suit, seated at the table. His hair was perfectly styled, and he looked as composed as ever.
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