(Eleanor's POV)

“I'm attending a dinner tonight at 9 PM. Don't keep me waiting,” Marcus announced, his tone carrying no warmth. He stood outside the door, a clear distance between us.

“You could've texted,” I said, my voice cracking.

“Texts get ignored,” he dragged out, not even sparing me a glance.

“So do I,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Eleanor,” his voice called out my name as if it had wronged him, his patience wearing thin.

“Will she be there?” My voice came out accusingly. His face shifted. Guilt? Annoyance? I couldn't tell.

“That's not your concern, Eleanor.” He was close to snapping, but I wasn't backing down either.

“Then what is?” I spat back.

“Don't make a fuss; you knew from the beginning. Our marriage is only on paper.” He said it so comfortably it hurt.

“On paper? Two years and that's all I get?” I fought to keep my voice from breaking.

“Don't keep me waiting.” He concluded, ending the conversation before it even started.

His voice was ice cold—the same one I had gotten used to, the glacier in his voice jabbing at my already bruised heart.

He used the word “I.” His world had only him in it, and I had never been a part of it. Once again, it was just business.

That's all it had ever been. My heart sank at the realization. Then his footsteps sounded—not towards me. Never towards me.

“And wipe that look off your face; don't make people question us,” he drawled out.

The door slammed shut, just like the walls of his heart, or perhaps they had never been opened. I sat down on the sofa close to me.

The cold and empty room mocked me. The one place I found solace in now felt suffocating, the walls tightening in on me.

His unsympathetic eyes flashed in my mind. Marcus had made it clear from the beginning: ‘You're just a stand-in, Eleanor.’ Those were his exact words.

And they etched into the walls of my heart. He had never wanted this; he was only fulfilling his obligations, and while I eyed him, he eyed the benefits of the contract.

For two years, every day left me hoping I could thaw the frost in his eyes. But with every day that passed, seeing him became a luxury while I drowned myself in work and alcohol to keep me sane.

He was out there signing partnerships for her, paving the way for her. Her. Stella.

A shadow I could never seem to erase. She was the perfect Cinderella in his fairytale. Her eyes commanded him more than the sight of me in despair.

Her existence was his very essence, while I begged and limped for his stare. He had given her the entirety of his heart. And in their world, I was the thorn…

Time ticked faster than ever, darkness slowly shadowing the once bright clouds, mimicking the scenery of my life.

9 PM had arrived. I wasn't prepared; I stared blankly at the red dress on my bed, debating if I could keep up the facade today.

Then my phone screen flashed from across the sofa, the familiar name popping up on the screen.

My hands reached for the phone, shaky and unfocused, my mind racing in different directions. I picked up on the second ring.

“Marcus.” My voice came out restrained, the bitterness evident in my tone. I swallowed hard.

“Something came up, Eleanor. I won't be attending the dinner with you,” his voice sounded from the other end.

“Something came up. Again.”

“It's business,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Business,” I echoed.

“Right. Of course.” My low voice carried irritation.

“Don't make this difficult,” he bit out.

“Stay home.” Home. That word sounded foreign.

“And where is home, Marcus?” He didn't answer immediately.

“I'll make it up to you,” he squeezed out, like he ever did.

I had long forgotten what happiness felt like, chasing a love that never was, the walls of my heart silently putting up restrictions.

The loud beep from my phone pulled me from my thoughts. He had ended the call; my answer didn't matter. It never did.

I gently picked up the dress on the bed. My hands ran through the smooth fabric.

The bold red color stared me in the face, reminding me of who I was—the fragments of a scorned lover.

I pushed open the room door and stepped out for the first time today.

“Ms. Thornhill, what would you like for dinner?” the housekeeper asked, the pity evident in her eyes. Marcus had forbidden anyone from calling me Mrs. Vale. To him, I was simply not worthy.

“It's okay, Martha. I'll take care of it myself,” I smiled at her.

“Yes, ma'am.” She bowed and made her exit. I dragged my feet to the kitchen.

Hoping to fill myself with food, I made something light to eat with the ingredients I could find at the counters.

Plate in hand, I strolled into the living room. I grabbed the TV remote from across the seat, finding myself a good spot to sit.

I turned on the TV, hoping to distract myself from the familiar ache.

The TV screen came alive, the sound being the only consistent thing in the apartment.

Then the familiar silhouette appeared. My heart throbbed. Stella. She was back.

Even though it felt like she never left, the blinding smile on her face told tales of a butterfly that had not been tainted by the world. Her face portrayed an innocence that struck the hearts of onlookers.

A reporter's voice sounded: “Ms. Hayes, any comments on your reunion with Marcus Vale?” Stella turned around, flashing her signature smile.

“Some loves are worth waiting for; we never really left each other.”

Cameras flashed. People waved and flagged to get her attention, her sharp eyes staring straight ahead. Confidence dripped from her every step. She was made for the spotlight.

And when she strolled to the familiar car, my chest tightened.

So that was the reason he had canceled plans with me—to personally pick her up. My eyes blurred with pain. The ache returned harder than ever.

She had won again. The popping headlines mocked me:

The Phoenix has returned.

The goddess has reunited with her love.

A match made in heaven.

The last headline broke me. They were a match made in heaven, and I was the beckoning hell.

Just then, footsteps clicked on the floor. My head turned towards the noise as fast as I could. Everywhere was quiet, and Martha had gone home for the day.

I stood up almost immediately, my eyes darting to the door. Fear crept into my mind.

“Who's there?” There was no answer, just the steady footsteps that kept walking closer. My eyes searched around for the nearest weapon; they landed on a flower vase next to the sofa. I grabbed it with trembling hands.

The door creaked at the same time my hands lifted. But my hands remained frozen when I saw the figure that had walked in.

“You?” I breathed.