Chapter 4
1027 Words
“Good morning, sir.”
The chef’s voice was calm, almost too calm, as he placed a tray of breakfast on the polished table. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and buttered toast filled the room, warm and inviting—yet the atmosphere felt anything but.
“This is your breakfast.”
He turned slightly, offering a polite nod.
“Good morning, Miss Elora. Breakfast is ready.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the air snapped.
“Are you crazy?!”
Windsor’s voice thundered across the dining hall, sharp and explosive. The cup in his hand slammed against the table, rattling everything around it. His chair scraped harshly against the floor as he stood up, his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity.
The chef froze.
Elora’s heart skipped.
“How dare you address my wife as Miss?” Windsor’s voice dropped, but it only made it more terrifying. “She is my wife. My wife. Get that into your head.”
The chef stammered, clearly shaken. “I—I didn’t mean any dis—”
Before he could finish, Windsor took a step forward, his fists clenched, his entire body radiating anger as though he was seconds away from losing control.
“Why would you call my wife ‘Miss’?” he demanded again, his voice rising.
“Windsor, no!” Elora rushed forward, grabbing his arm, her fingers tightening around him. “She didn’t mean it. Please—don’t do this.”
Her voice trembled—not just from fear of what Windsor might do, but from something dangerous his anger would lead to.
Windsor’s chest rose and fell heavily as he stared at the chef for a few more seconds. Then slowly—reluctantly—he stepped back.
“Next time,” he said coldly, his voice cutting through the silence, “you address her as Mrs Elora… or Mrs Windsor.”
The chef nodded quickly, bowing slightly. “Yes, sir.”
But Elora noticed something.
A flicker.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Something else.
Something knowing.
And it sent a chill down her spine.
Breakfast passed in an uneasy silence.
Windsor ate with controlled calm, as though nothing had happened. But Elora couldn’t focus on the food in front of her. Her mind was racing, replaying the moment over and over again.
Why did the chef call me Miss?
It wasn’t a mistake.
She was sure of it.
That look in the chef’s eyes—it wasn’t ignorance.
It felt like a test.
After breakfast, Windsor stood up, adjusting his sleeve with a determined expression.
“I’m going to make things official,” he said.
Elora looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
But he was already dialing his phone.
Her stomach dropped.
“Hi,” Windsor said into the phone, his voice firm and authoritative. “This is Windsor Collins. I want you to change Elora Paddington’s name on all her certificates to Elora Windsor. Immediately.”
Elora’s breath caught.
On the other end, a voice responded, faint but clear.
“Okay, sir. We will do as you have said.”
The call ended.
Just like that.
Like it was nothing.
Like he hadn’t just rewritten her entire identity.
Windsor turned to her with a satisfied smile.
“Hey, honey,” he said casually. “I just called the government agencies. Your name will be changed soon.”
Elora didn’t respond.
She couldn’t.
Her hands trembled slightly, hidden beneath the table.
“Why are you not talking to me?” Windsor asked, his brows furrowing.
Slowly, Elora looked up.
“You expect me to talk to you?” she replied, her voice laced with anger.
“You were literally about to fight the chef. Is that how you prove love?”
Windsor sighed, stepping closer to her.
“No, babe,” he said, softer now. “I just don’t like them calling you ‘Miss.’ You’re married to me. And nothing is changing that.”
Nothing.
The word echoed in Elora’s mind.
Nothing?
Before she could respond—
A phone rang.
Not Windsor’s.
Not hers.
Both of them turned.
It was coming from the hallway.
A shrill, unfamiliar ringtone that didn’t belong in the house.
Windsor frowned. “Were you expecting a call?”
Elora shook her head slowly.
“No…”
The ringing continued.
Insistent.
Unsettling.
Windsor moved toward the sound, his steps cautious now. Elora followed behind him, her heartbeat quickening with every second.
The sound led them to a small table near the entrance.
A phone.
Lying there.
Buzzing.
Unknown.
Windsor picked it up, his expression darkening.
“There’s no caller ID,” he muttered.
“Don’t answer it,” Elora said quickly, her voice barely steady.
But it was too late.
He had already pressed accept.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then—
A soft laugh.
Cold.
Mocking.
And unmistakably familiar.
“Enjoying your morning, Mr. Collins?” the voice said.
Elora’s blood ran cold.
She knew that voice.
She had heard it before.
Windsor’s eyes narrowed. “Who is this?”
“Oh,” the voice continued lightly, ignoring his question. “I see you’ve started rewriting identities already. Changing names.
Elora’s fingers curled tightly into her palm.
She knew that voice.
It's Matilda's voice.
“Speak clearly,” Windsor snapped. “What do you want?”
A pause.
Then—
“I want the life that was supposed to be mine”.
The words hit like a bomb.
Windsor stiffened.
Elora felt the ground beneath her shift.
“What nonsense are you talking about?”
Windsor said sharply.
A soft chuckle came through the phone.
“Ask your wife,” the voice replied.
Silence fell like a blade.
Windsor turned slowly.
His gaze locked onto Elora.
Sharp.
Suspicious.
Dangerous.
“Elora…” he said quietly. “What is this?”
Her lips parted.
But no words came out.
Because in that moment—
Words speaks louder in her head.
How will I tell you the call was from the Matthew daughter who wanted you.
You are not responding Elora but I won't let this ruin our day, let's start planning our honeymoon.
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