was louder than any scream, and tonight, it sat between them like a third guest.
**
The clink of cutlery on porcelain was the only sound echoing in the grand dining room of the Laurent estate.
Elise sat across from Victor at the long marble table, a glass of untouched red wine in front of her, her plate barely disturbed. Her black evening dress shimmered softly under the chandelier's glow, but her eyes were hollow, detached, focused somewhere past his shoulder—on the past, perhaps, or the version of herself that used to exist in this house.
Victor, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, didn't look up from his plate. He chewed methodically, his movements controlled, almost mechanical. For a man who once conquered boardrooms with a single glance, he now couldn't bring himself to meet the eyes of the woman he had once vowed to love.
Elise finally spoke. "Do you realize we haven't had a real conversation in three weeks?"
Victor blinked slowly, then looked up as if pulled from a far-off place. "We're having dinner, aren't we?"
She let out a short, bitter laugh. "Dinner isn't conversation, Victor. This is... performance."
His jaw tightened. "I'm tired, Elise. I've been working—"
"That's always your excuse."
The air thickened between them. The walls, once adorned with laughter and jazz music, now seemed to absorb every word, every drop of tension like dry earth soaking in water.
Elise rose from the table, pushing her chair back with a soft scrape. "I won't pretend anymore."
"Pretend what?" he asked, looking up.
"That we're still married in anything but name."
That hit him. Not like a slap—but like a slow, spreading burn. He watched her walk away from the table, her spine straight, her heels clicking a path down the corridor like a countdown he couldn't stop.
**
Upstairs, Elise entered her dressing room and closed the door behind her, her fingers trembling as she locked it. She leaned against the wood, her breath shaking. Her reflection in the mirror stared back—flawless makeup, perfectly waved hair, a dress that cost more than most people made in a month.
And yet, she felt like a ghost trapped in silk.
She peeled off the gown and stood in her slip, staring at herself as if trying to recognize the woman she'd become.
When did I disappear?
When did I become just… Victor Laurent's wife, and nothing else?
A knock at the door broke her spiral. "Elise?"
It was his voice—quiet, restrained. She said nothing.
"Elise, I know things haven't been easy lately, but don't do this. Don't shut me out."
She closed her eyes. You shut me out years ago.
**
Victor stood behind the door, his hand still raised, hesitating. He could almost feel the weight of her silence pressing through the wood.
He remembered the first time he saw her—Elise, bold and unfiltered at a gallery opening in New York. She had worn a red dress then, unapologetic in her presence. Her laughter had echoed like music, turning heads and making him forget his next meeting.
Where had that version of her gone?
Or more importantly… what had he done to erase her?
**
The next morning, the house was already alive with staff movements and soft murmurs by the time Elise emerged from her bedroom. She had barely slept, her thoughts churning like a storm just beneath the surface of her composed exterior.
Camille was waiting for her in the breakfast lounge, already sipping coffee, her dark curls bouncing as she turned. "You look like hell," she said flatly.
Elise smirked. "Good morning to you too."
"Don't 'good morning' me. I could hear the silence from my hotel room."
Elise slid into the chair across from her, pouring herself coffee. "He doesn't see me, Camille. Not really. I could be wallpaper."
Camille leaned in. "You are not wallpaper. You are a woman with a spine made of fire. He just... got used to the glow and forgot it burns."
Elise exhaled deeply. "I'm not even angry anymore. That's what's terrifying. I feel nothing. Numb."
"That's worse than being hurt," Camille said. "It means the love's gone."
Elise didn't respond. She didn't want to say it aloud. She didn't want to admit that the love wasn't gone—it was buried, suffocated under layers of neglect, of cold dinners and colder glances.
But it was still there. And that made everything worse.
**
Victor sat in his home office, staring at the digital frame on his desk. A photo of their wedding in Florence—a sunset backdrop, Elise laughing as he whispered something into her ear.
He barely remembered what he'd said. But he remembered how she looked: alive, in love, unguarded.
He opened his drawer and pulled out a small velvet box. Inside, a necklace he had designed for her birthday last year. He had never given it to her. Business had kept him away that night. He told himself he'd wait for the right moment.
It never came.
**
That afternoon, Elise met with her lawyer.
"I'm not asking for anything," she said calmly. "No settlements, no shares. Just the divorce. I want to be free."
The lawyer adjusted her glasses. "Are you sure? This will be one of the most high-profile splits in the country. You'll be under a microscope."
"I've lived in a cage," Elise whispered. "I don't mind a glass one, as long as I have the key this time."
**
Victor learned about the meeting that evening—from Lucas, of all people.
"You should've seen the tabloids this afternoon," his younger brother said, slapping the newspaper on Victor's desk. "She's serious this time."
Victor didn't speak. He only stared at the headline: 'Laurent Heiress Seeks Divorce. No Demands. Just Freedom.'
Lucas studied him with narrowed eyes. "What are you going to do?"
Victor clenched his jaw. "She's my wife."
"For now. She's also the only woman who ever looked at you like you weren't invincible. And you crushed that."
"Get out, Lucas."
"You're not angry at me. You're angry because she's finally doing what you feared: leaving you behind."
**
That night, Elise stood on the balcony of her suite, the city skyline glittering in the distance. She held her phone in her hand, hovering over Victor's contact.
She didn't call.
Instead, she opened her notes app and typed:
"I remember the man who held my hand like it was the last safe place on earth. I remember the warmth, the laughter, the way you looked at me like I was more than just an accessory.
But now?
You pass by me like I'm furniture.
And furniture doesn't bleed."
She saved the note but didn't send it.
**
Meanwhile, Victor found himself standing outside her door again—this time, not to talk, but to listen. He heard the soft sound of her moving around, the hush of drawers opening and closing. Maybe she was packing. Maybe she was building a new life from pieces he'd ignored.
He finally spoke, just loud enough to reach her.
"Elise... if I could go back, I would listen more. I would see you. Not the wife people expected you to be, but the woman you are. The one I fell in love with."
A pause.
"I'm sorry I forgot how."
Inside, Elise sat on her bed, frozen.
But she didn't open the door.
Not yet.
End of Chapter 3
**
Cliffhanger: Victor's first moment of vulnerability—but is it too late? Elise is listening, but will she believe in change?
____________________