A WIFE WITHOUT A PLACE
898 Words
Morning came quietly, as if the mansion itself feared waking her.
Soft light filtered through the tall curtains, touching Aveline’s face with a warmth she had not felt in years. For a brief moment, she forgot where she was. Her body relaxed against the unfamiliar softness of the bed, and her breathing slowed.
Then reality returned.
The size of the room.
The silk sheets.
The silence that felt too controlled to be safe.
Aveline sat up slowly, pulling the blanket closer to herself. Her heart thudded painfully as memories of the night before surfaced. The laughter. The woman’s voice. The knowledge that she was a wife in name only.
She rose from the bed and padded toward the window.
Outside, the estate stretched endlessly. Gardens trimmed to perfection. Fountains sparkling in the sunlight. Security guards posted discreetly along the perimeter. Everything was beautiful. Everything was locked.
She was trapped.
A knock sounded at the door.
She turned quickly. “Come in.”
Clara entered with a gentle smile that did not quite reach her eyes. She carried a tray with tea, fruit, and fresh bread.
“Good morning, madam,” Clara said softly.
The word still felt wrong.
“Good morning,” Aveline replied quietly.
“You are expected downstairs for breakfast,” Clara added after a pause.
Expected.
By him.
Aveline’s fingers tightened around the edge of the tray. “Now?”
“Yes.”
Clara hesitated, then lowered her voice. “Take your time. Choose something appropriate.”
After she left, Aveline stared at the wardrobe.
Inside were dresses more expensive than anything she had ever touched. Silk. Satin. Soft colors and bold ones. Clothing chosen for someone who belonged in this world.
She did not.
She chose a simple cream dress with long sleeves and a modest neckline. It felt safer that way. Less noticeable. Less exposed.
When she finally reached the dining room, her steps slowed.
Voices echoed inside.
Male laughter. Confident. Familiar.
And a woman’s voice. Bright and teasing.
Her stomach twisted painfully.
She stepped inside.
The dining table was long and polished, set with more food than her entire household once ate in a week. Dante sat at the head, composed and immaculate as always. Beside him sat a woman dressed in red, her hair glossy, her smile possessive.
The woman leaned close to him, her hand resting on his arm.
Aveline froze.
Conversation stopped.
Eyes turned to her.
The woman looked her up and down slowly, her lips curving into a smile that was sharp rather than kind.
“And who is this?” she asked.
Dante did not look at Aveline when he answered.
“My wife.”
Silence fell.
The woman laughed softly. “You never mentioned a wife.”
“You never asked,” Dante replied calmly.
Aveline felt something tear inside her chest.
The woman rose and stepped toward her, heels clicking against the marble floor. She stopped inches away, inspecting Aveline with open curiosity.
“She looks young,” the woman said. “Fragile.”
Aveline lowered her gaze.
Dante finally looked at her then. His eyes were cold.
“Sit,” he ordered.
She obeyed.
The woman returned to Dante’s side without protest, reclaiming her place with ease. Aveline sat at the opposite end of the table, feeling smaller than ever.
Breakfast was served.
No one spoke to her.
She watched as the woman fed Dante fruit with slow, deliberate movements. Watched as he accepted it without hesitation. Watched as intimacy unfolded in front of her without shame.
Her hands shook slightly as she lifted her cup.
The soulmate bond stirred violently.
A deep ache spread through her chest, sharp and unbearable, as though her heart was protesting something her mind could not stop. Her breath grew shallow. Her vision blurred.
Dante stiffened.
His jaw clenched.
The woman beside him frowned. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” he said curtly.
His gaze flicked to Aveline.
For a moment, something dangerous flashed in his eyes. Anger. Confusion. Resistance.
“Eat,” he snapped.
She tried.
Every bite felt like betrayal.
When breakfast ended, the woman kissed Dante’s cheek and left without sparing Aveline another glance.
Aveline stood slowly.
Dante remained seated.
“Do not interfere in my life,” he said without looking at her. “You exist quietly. That is your role.”
Her voice trembled despite her efforts. “Why did you marry me.”
He rose abruptly, towering over her.
“Because it was necessary,” he replied. “Do not ask questions you are not prepared to hear the answers to.”
She looked up at him, eyes burning. “I am not nothing.”
His expression darkened.
“You were bought,” he said coldly. “Do not forget that.”
The words struck harder than any slap.
He turned and walked away.
Aveline remained standing long after he was gone.
Later, alone in her room, she finally allowed herself to cry.
Silent tears soaked into the pillow as she clutched her chest, trying to calm the ache that refused to fade. The bond pulsed beneath her skin, stubborn and alive, whispering truths she did not want to accept.
He could reject her.
Humiliate her.
Break her heart again and again.
But fate had already chosen.
And fate did not care if it destroyed them both.
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