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Irina stepped into the grand foyer of the mansion after an exhausting workday, the soft glow of the chandelier above casting a warm welcome. She dropped her bag on the floor, the soft thud echoing through the silence. She was still dressed in her scrubs, the worn fabric a testament to her long day at the hospital.
The aroma of dinner wafting from the kitchen was a pleasant surprise, and her stomach growled in anticipation. She kicked off her worn sneakers, the cool marble floor a relief to her tired feet. She trudged upstairs, her exhaustion and stress momentarily forgotten in the warmth of the moment.
She changed into a soft, white nightgown, the gentle fabric a soothing balm to her frazzled nerves. The nightgown was adorned with delicate lace trim, and it fell in soft folds around her slender frame. She let her hair down, the long strands cascading down her back like a waterfall.
Feeling slightly more relaxed, Irina made her way back downstairs to the kitchen. Clyde stood at the stove, his broad shoulders flexed as he stirred the contents of a sizzling pan. The sound of sizzling meat and the soft simmer of sauces created a sense of warmth and comfort. Irina's exhaustion momentarily lifted, and she felt a sense of gratitude towards Clyde for cooking dinner.
Her arms wrapped around Clyde's waist, her cheek pressed against his warm back. She felt a sense of comfort and belonging, a fleeting sense of normalcy in their tumultuous relationship.
The aroma of dinner wafting through the air, the soft sizzle of meat on the stovetop, and the gentle hum of the refrigerator created a cozy atmosphere, making her feel at home. But as soon as she touched him, Clyde's body stiffened.
The warmth seeped out of him, replaced by an icy tension that radiated through his entire being. He turned to face her, his eyes cold and unforgiving, like a winter storm crashing into her fragile sense of peace.
Irina's heart sank as she gazed into his eyes, the chill emanating from them like a palpable force. She felt a stinging sensation in her eyes as tears welled up, her throat constricting with emotion.
"How dare you touch me," he growled, his voice like a slap, leaving her reeling. The words cut deep, and Irina's hands fell away from his waist, feeling like she'd been burned.
She took a step back, her eyes locked on his, searching for any glimmer of the man she once knew. But there was nothing. Only a deep-seated anger and resentment that seemed to burn brighter with every passing day.
" But we are mar..."
Irina muttered, her eyes filled with glimmer as she stared hopefully at Clyde. But was cut off by Clyde.
"You know this marriage is nothing to me," he spat, the words dripping with venom. "Wasn't taking Wendy from me enough?" The mention of her sister's name was like a knife to Irina's heart, twisting and turning, making her feel like she was drowning in grief. Irina's vision blurred as tears streamed down her face. She felt like she was losing herself, like she was drowning in a sea of despair.
"I didn't..." she began, but Clyde cut her off again, his voice a harsh reminder of the reality they lived in.
"Didn't what? Kill your sister with your own hands." he snarled, his face twisted in disgust. "Save it,this pathetic facade of yours is getting increasingly sickening." The words were like a slap, leaving her breathless and reeling. As he turned to leave, Irina felt a desperate sense of longing. She wanted to reach out, to hold onto him, to beg him to stay. But she knew it was futile.
He was gone, lost to her, consumed by his own pain and anger. "Have dinner, I'm leaving,"
he called out, his voice echoing through the empty halls of the mansion. The sound of the front door slamming shut behind him was like a punctuation mark, leaving Irina standing alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the remnants of a meal that would never be shared. ...
...
As she sat alone in the dinner area, Irina's tears fell onto her plate, mixing with the remnants of the meal. The silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the sound of her own sniffles.Irina felt a familiar sense of emptiness wash over her like she was disappearing into the background, every word, every glance, every rumor piercing her like a thousand knives.
Irina felt like she was walking on eggshells constantly wondering of what others thought of her. making her feel like she was invisible, like her existence was a mere inconvenience. The pain of Clyde's rejection still lingered, his cold words cutting deeper than any knife.
She thought about the distance between them, the tension that seemed to grow with each passing day. The Fugerson family's disdain for her was nothing new, but it still hurt, a deep-seated wound that refused to heal. They accused her of murdering Wendy in cold blood just to charm her way into Clyde life, disowning her publicly and making her the laughingstock in the city. They had always made it clear that she wasn't good enough, that she was a poor substitute for Wendy.
Her colleagues at the hospital weren't much better. They whispered behind her back, their voices like snakes hissing in her ear. "Murderer," they'd say. "She killed her own sister just to marry Clyde." The rumors had spread like wildfire, and Irina had become a pariah in her own community.Even her own family didn't believe her. They'd always thought her capable of such a heinous act, and their doubt cut deep . Irina felt like she was surrounded by enemies, people who wanted to see her fall. As she pushed the food around her plate, her phone's sudden buzz was a jarring interruption.
She wiped her tears, trying to compose herself before answering the call. "Hello, Doctor Lu," a shaking voice rang out.
"Yes," she replied to the unknown voice on the other end. "There's an emergency, your help is needed." The words were like a cold splash of reality, snapping her back to her duties as a doctor.
For a moment, she forgot about her own pain, her own sorrow. She forgot about the anger and the frustration. All she could think about was saving lives, being there for those who needed her. Irina sighed, feeling the weight of her responsibilities. She couldn't indulge in her own sorrow when others needed her help.
With a heavy heart, she pushed aside her plate and stood up, the dinner she'd been looking forward to now nothing more than a distant memory. Surgery awaited, and she had to be there.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. She would put on a mask, a mask of competence and calm. She would save lives, and she would do it with precision and skill. And for a few brief hours, she would forget about the hell that was her life