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13

Yelena

I spend most of my morning in the kitchen, sitting at the marble counter while Abby kneads dough for fresh bread. She chats easily, telling me about the staff, the routines, and even sharing some gossip I don’t ask for but listen to anyway. It’s comforting to have someone to talk to who isn’t trying to manipulate or command me.

As Abby wipes her hands on her apron, another staff member enters, carrying a clipboard.

“Mrs. Vasilios, your things have arrived,” she says with a polite nod.

It takes me a second to register that she means my luggage and belongings from New York. Finally, a sense of familiarity in this foreign place. “Thank you. Have them taken to my room.”

She nods and leaves as Abby returns to her work, humming softly. Before I can get back into the rhythm of our conversation, a guard steps inside, holding an envelope.

“This just arrived for you, ma’am.”

I frown, taking the thick envelope from him. My name is scrawled across the front in handwriting I don’t recognize. My pulse kicks up a notch. Who could be writing to me at this address? I’ve barely been here a week.

Abby leans over, eyeing it curiously. “Expecting something?”

“No.” I turn the envelope over in my hands. It’s sealed tight, and something about it feels… off.

I tear it open and pull out the contents. My breath catches.

It’s not a letter.

There are photos.

One after another, pictures spill onto the counter. My heartbeat pounds in my ears as my fingers tremble while picking them up. The images are crystal clear, each capturing Aithan and the lady Bella in his arms at different angles. Her beauty is undeniable, her body draped over him like she belongs there.

I barely register Abby’s gasp as I flip through them rapidly, my stomach twisting. Then, I see it—the sign behind them.

It’s his family-owned restaurant.

My knuckles turn white as I grip the edges of the photos. So this is what he does while I sit in this empty house waiting. We’ve been married for only a week and he is already back in the arms of his girlfriend. I look at the pictures again and notice Bella is putting on the same clothes she had on when she accosted me at the shopping mall.

So she came straight from his arms to taunt me. No wonder he hasn’t bothered himself with me. No wonder he hasn’t looked at me twice since our wedding. He doesn’t need his wife when he has others to warm his bed.

Memories of last night slam into me.

I had eaten dinner alone. Again. I was on my way to my room when Aithan walked in, looking as composed as ever. I’d thrown him a sarcastic welcome, my irritation clear in my tone.

His response? “Sorry, you had to eat alone. I was working late.”

Working late.

I glance down at the pictures again, my hands curling into fists.

So this is what his work looks like.

Something inside me snaps.

I take a slow, measured breath and push the photos aside, forcing my expression into indifference.

Abby watches me carefully. “Mrs. Vasilios?”

“Don’t bother fixing dinner for me,” I say, standing abruptly.

She hesitates, sensing the shift in my mood. “Are you sure?”

I nod, plastering on a tight smile. “I suddenly lost my appetite.”

I leave the kitchen without another word, my heart pounding with quiet fury. As I make my way back to my room, I mutter under my breath, "I bet he’s working. Working hard on other women."

Once inside my room, I drop onto the edge of my bed, staring at the photos still clutched in my fingers. The longer I look at them, the more the anger builds, swirling inside me like a raging storm.

Why does this hurt? I knew what this marriage was. I knew what kind of man I was marrying. And yet, some foolish part of me had hoped… hoped that maybe, just maybe, he would respect me enough to wait longer than a few days before betraying me.

I press my lips together, swallowing the lump in my throat. I refuse to be the kind of woman who wallows in self-pity over a man.

Standing, I grab one of the photos, flipping it over. My fingers tighten around the pen as I scrawl the words boldly: Well done. I can see you are working extremely hard.

I walk to Aithan’s room, my every step fueled by irritation. The house is eerily silent, the weight of my anger pressing against my chest. I reach his door and slide the photo underneath before turning on my heel and walking away.

I don’t stop. I don’t hesitate.

Let him find it.

Let him see it.

Let him know I’m aware.

With a deep breath, I return to my room, lock the door behind me, and crawl into bed.

I refuse to waste another moment waiting for a man who clearly doesn’t waste a second thinking about me.

But sleep doesn’t come easily. My mind replays every interaction we’ve had since the wedding, dissecting his every word, every glance. Had he ever truly intended to be faithful? Have I been a fool for even expecting it?

I stare at the ceiling, my heart thudding in my chest. This marriage isn’t just a business deal—it’s a battle. And I refuse to be the one who loses.

Tomorrow, Aithan Vasilios will know exactly what it feels like to be played.

But even with my mind made up, I still find myself restless, tossing and turning in bed. The fact that Aithan has not touched me since our wedding already weighs me down, but knowing he’s sleeping with another woman makes me wrestle with emotions I can’t even define.

This must be what jealousy fucking feels like.

I swipe angry tears away from my eyes and reassure myself that Aithan is a motherfucker and I don’t care what he does or who he does it with. I grab the remote and turn on the TV, but I’m too distraught to concentrate on the horror movie I chose.

I must have dozed off, because a loud banging on my door drags me out of my fitful sleep. I glance at the time and give a bitter laugh because it's almost midnight.

"So the whoremonger just got home."

I ignore the knock and settle back in bed, but the sudden crash of my door being kicked open jerks me upright.

"You broke my door! You savage brute!"

Aithan stands in the doorway, holding up the photo I slid under his door earlier. His pewter-gold eyes flashing with rage.

"What is this?" His voice is controlled, but I can hear the underlying fury.

I cross my arms and meet his glare with an arched brow. "I should be asking you."

His jaw tightens. "You have someone following me and reporting back to you?"

I see red. I jump out of bed, storming toward him. "How dare you ask if I’m having you followed?" I seethe. "If you had any decency, you’d at least be discreet. Instead, you shove your affairs down my throat."

"I am not having an affair."

"Of course you are not." I scoff. "Married men don't have affairs."

"I said I’m not having an affair."

"Tell that to the woman draped all over you in that picture."

As we argue, Aithan’s gaze flickers to my nightstand. His expression hardens. I follow his line of sight—and realize exactly what has caught his attention.

The bright pink dildo sits right there in plain view.

Aithan’s nostrils flare, his hands balling into fists.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" His voice drops to a deadly growl.

And just like that, it’s his turn to be raving mad.