"Where are you going again? Why do you almost never come home now? How busy can your job possibly be that our own house feels like a pit stop?" Marisha's voice rose an octave, her eyes glistening with pent-up emotions.
Zayden let out a long sigh, loosening his tie as he lowered his head wearily. "Don't start, Marisha..."
"Don't start?" Marisha stepped closer, her hands clenched into fists. "I'm your wife, Zayden! We're in a marriage, not playing house! And starting tomorrow, we're trying for another baby. I've scheduled a doctor's appointment, and you're not going anywhere!"
Zayden shut his eyes, forcing himself not to explode. "I'm tired, Marisha. The doctor already said your chances are slim. How many times have we tried? Medication, hormone therapy, IVF! Five years, Marisha. Five years of forcing your body, and what do we have? Nothing. NOTHING!"
"I don't care!" Marisha cried, her eyes now fully wet. "I still want a child with you! You're mine, Zayden! And I know why you've given up! It's because you have another woman, isn't it?!"
Zayden stayed silent. No defense. No denial.
"Answer me, Zayden! You're seeing someone else, aren't you?!" Marisha's fists pounded against his chest in frustration.
Zayden slowly lifted his gaze. "Yes," he said flatly. "And I can't let her go."
Marisha froze. Her lips parted soundlessly. Her body swayed as if she had lost her footing.
"You…" she whispered weakly. "You're cheating?"
Zayden stared into his wife's eyes, knowing the pain he saw there was beyond repair. "Some things can't be explained, Marisha. She makes me feel alive. And it's not your fault. It's mine."
Marisha sobbed, but Zayden ignored it and continued.
"I'll set you free. If you want a divorce, I'll accept it. I'll give you everything—compensation, assets, whatever. I won't fight you."
"You're destroying everything…" Marisha murmured faintly.
Zayden lowered his head. "Maybe this is the only way to save us from hurting each other even more."
"Who is she?" Marisha narrowed her eyes, her voice bitter. "Irish? It's her, isn't it? That woman's name is Irish?"
Zayden glanced at her, then let out a soft, cold, mocking laugh. One that felt like a slap in the silence.
"You've been spying on me?" he asked, stepping closer. His piercing gaze locked onto hers. "Yes, it's her. Irish is that woman."
Marisha held her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her face paled, her fists clenched. She had just imagined the worst possibilities if she pushed Zayden today.
Zayden had everything. He wouldn't hesitate to leave her, a woman with a dark past who couldn't give him children.
Especially if that woman was really Irish. Marisha bit her lip hard. No! She wouldn't lose to that girl!
She was just some insignificant shadow. A hypocritical young woman! She claimed to seek revenge yet enjoyed money from her?
Though she didn't have concrete proof, Marisha was certain Irish was Zayden's mistress. The CCTV footage from that night showed them meeting. And if she recalled, Zayden had completely changed after that.
"She's nobody," she seethed inwardly. "I'll destroy her if she really is Zayden's mistress!"
Marisha took a deep breath, then approached Zayden, who stood in front of the mirror, casually yet hastily combing his hair.
"Honey..."
"I have a business trip tomorrow, for several months. You'll be fine, right?" Zayden cut her off before she could speak. His tone was flat, but firm enough to make Marisha swallow her plea.
She didn't dare fight back. Not now.
"Can I come?" she asked softly, trying to sound gentle. But Zayden only exhaled sharply.
"Marisha, don't be childish. You're not a little girl anymore." He patted her head a cold, performative touch. "I'll bring you a souvenir."
Marisha clenched her fists behind her nightgown. A souvenir? Her heart screamed. But her face remained calm. She knew this wasn't the time for anger. It was time to plant a slow-burning bomb.
She lowered her gaze, forcing a single tear to roll down her cheek.
"What's wrong?" Zayden asked, noticing her quiet sob. He turned, wiping her cheek with one hand, his gaze softening slightly, guilt creeping into his expression.
"You've barely had time for me lately," Marisha's voice cracked. "Always so busy, working so hard. Playing the role of the perfect, responsible husband. Meanwhile, I…" She sobbed again. "...I can't even be a good wife. I can't give you a child."
Those words hit Zayden harder than Marisha expected. He lowered his head. His handsome face hardened, but his eyes were hollow, filled with a long-buried pain.
He pulled Marisha into an embrace, but it felt obligatory. Not out of love.
Zayden knew Marisha wasn't a bad woman. She was always patient, gentle, attentive. But that was exactly what exhausted him. Everything felt… fake. Like living in a gilded cage built on expectations. Their marriage was just a performance, two people pretending to be perfect atop the ruins of nonexistent communication.
"I'm sorry," Zayden whispered faintly, yet his heart remained distant.
Marisha pressed her lips tightly in his embrace. Tears streamed down, but a faint smile curled on her lips, a victorious smirk hidden behind her long hair.
"Sorry? Keep your apologies, Zayden. I don't need them. All I need is to make you feel guilty and keep you chained to me."
She kissed his chest gently, deliberately trembling. She knew this game well, melting a man's resolve, then slowly breaking him at his weakest point.
Marisha would make Zayden choose her again, not out of love, but guilt. Out of obligation. Whoever his mistress was, she wouldn't succeed in taking him.
"I'll postpone my trip until the day after tomorrow. Don't cry anymore," Zayden kissed the top of her head.
"Will you have dinner with me?" Marisha asked, and Zayden nodded. She felt a surge of triumph, her plan was working.
Marisha walked to the kitchen, instructing the maids to prepare dinner. But amidst the bustle, she received a message from an unknown number.
It was a photo of Zayden, naked, eyes closed with a woman she recognized wrapped around him in a provocative pose. Irish.
"You were right, Marisha. It's me," Irish's message read. "You should show this to your husband. Tell him to divorce you so he can be mine."
Marisha's hands trembled with rage, her eyes burning. Irish, so it really is her? Damn her!
Irish must be mocking her, knowing Marisha wouldn't dare confront Zayden or demand a divorce. She wouldn't give up her position as the respected, revered queen for anyone.
"Damn you, Irish! Just you wait, I won't ask Zayden for an explanation. I'll make YOU disappear! YOU! Since you've admitted to being his mistress, it'll be so easy to erase you from this world!"