Chapter 2 The Quiet before the quake

The ride home from the gala was drenched in a silence so thick, it clawed at my throat.

Zayden's hand rested on the gear, his face unreadable, his jaw tight enough to snap diamonds. I didn't ask him anything-I couldn't. Not with Clarisse's words still looping through my head like a scratched record.

"Tell them, Elara. Tell them how this wedding was a deal! How it had nothing to do with love and everything to do with greed!"

My fingers trembled in my lap. The press had been quick to lap it up-flashes firing, microphones shoved forward. The room had spiraled into noise, stares, and whispers. Zayden hadn't said a word. He simply took my hand and led me out.

Like nothing had happened.

Now, in the cold confines of the elevator heading up to our penthouse, I stole a glance at him. He looked... calm. Too calm. I almost preferred him shouting. At least then I'd know he gave a damn.

We stepped into the apartment, shoes clicking on marble, the luxury of it all suddenly feeling suffocating. I moved first, heading straight for the bedroom.

"Elara."

I paused, hand on the doorknob. His voice had that edge again. Low, commanding, familiar.

"I didn't know she'd do that," he said.

"And you think that makes a difference?"

He didn't respond.

I turned slowly. "Clarisse just humiliated me in front of half of Singapore, and you-" my voice cracked, "you didn't flinch. Not a twitch. Is that how little this all means to you?"

Zayden stepped closer, the shadows from the chandelier catching the sharp angles of his face. "What did you want me to do, Elara? Deny it? Punch someone? Throw a drink?"

I didn't answer. Mostly because I didn't know either.

"I told you from the beginning," he added, quieter now. "This wasn't supposed to be complicated."

That did it. I laughed, bitter and cracked. "Right. A marriage to fix your public image, seal your business deal, and make your investors clap for your happy ending. Very uncomplicated."

Something in his jaw ticked, but he didn't speak.

"Goodnight, Zayden."

This time, he let me go.

The room felt colder than usual. I peeled out of my gown with shaking hands, letting the navy silk puddle to the floor. My makeup was half-smudged and my hairpins a tangled mess, but none of that mattered.

I walked to the dresser, needing something, anything; to distract myself. And then I saw it.

A white envelope. Resting where my perfumes usually stood.

No stamp. No address.

Just my name, Elara, written in bold, unfamiliar handwriting.

My fingers hovered for a moment before I picked it up, pulse thudding loud in my ears.

Inside was a single folded note. Clean, no smudges.

I opened it slowly, expecting a tabloid threat, or maybe a warning from Clarisse.

But no. This was worse.

"Ask your husband what this deal meant to your father."

My breath hitched. The room spun.

For a second, I thought I'd imagined it. I read it again. Then again.

My father.

Dead for years now, buried with debts and disgrace, the once-proud man reduced to whispers and pity. I remembered his trembling hands. The days he spent trying to save the company. The quiet begging to someone over the phone.

Was that someone... Zayden's father?

Suddenly, it all clicked. The rushed deal. Zayden's cold proposal. The way his father had smiled at our wedding like he was collecting a prize.

A scream pressed against my ribs, but I swallowed it down.

I looked at the envelope again. No logo. No mark. Nothing to trace.

But it didn't matter. The damage was done.

This wasn't just about a marriage of convenience anymore.

This was a war.

And I was done being the pawn.