Chapter Five: A Glimpse Behind the Curtain
1024 Words
Eleanor stared at the rose on her pillow, its velvety petals pristine under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The note William had left beside it felt heavier than its thin paper should allow.
"You’re mine, Eleanor. Don’t forget that."
The words lingered in her mind, a promise, a threat, or perhaps both. She had tucked the note into the drawer of her vanity that morning, —alongside her farewell note she'd hoped William had not come across, keeping it close by for another suicidal day— but it stayed with her like a phantom, whispering in the quiet moments.
Now, standing in her garden robe, she glanced out the window, her gaze scanning the darkened yard. The man she’d seen at the Crawfords’ party had been here, of that she was certain. His silhouette was burned into her memory, sharp and unsettling.
The soft rustle of the roses outside drew her attention, and she leaned closer to the glass. But the garden was still, bathed in moonlight. Was she imagining things? Or was someone truly out there, watching her?... Just as she suspects her husband does.
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The next morning, William was gone before she woke, a common occurrence these days. His side of the bed was cold, the faint scent of his cologne the only trace he’d left behind.
She found herself at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, her mind churning. The note. The rose. The man. The photographs. They all felt connected somehow, pieces of a puzzle she was just beginning to understand.
Eleanor's first sip of her coffee, just as her thoughts, were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.
“Morning,” William’s voice called out, smooth as ever.
Eleanor glanced up as he entered the kitchen, a briefcase in one hand and a bouquet of lilies in the other.
“For you,” he said, placing the flowers on the counter.
Eleanor blinked in surprise. “What’s the occasion?”
“Do I need one to buy my wife flowers?” he asked, his tone light.
She studied him for a moment, trying to read the intent behind his gesture. His smile was practiced, his movements deliberate.
“No, I suppose not,” she said finally, reaching for the bouquet.
As she arranged the lilies in a vase, she couldn’t shake the feeling that his kindness was a performance, a distraction from something darker.
It was all too obvious, and even he, was a smart enough man to know that.
---
William’s POV
The office was quiet, the hum of computers and the faint chatter of employees a distant murmur behind William’s closed door. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he reviewed the day’s agenda.
Meetings. Contracts. And later, a call with a private investigator he had hired weeks ago.
William’s professional life was as meticulous as the rest of him. As CEO of Archer & Sons, a prominent real estate firm, he commanded respect and fear in equal measure. His reputation was unassailable—at least on the surface.
But beneath the polished veneer was a man who thrived on control. Every deal, every interaction, was a game he had already won before it began. And Eleanor was no exception.
He had seen the way she looked at him last night, the confusion and hesitation in her eyes. It had been years since he’d seen her that way—vulnerable, uncertain.
Good.
The photographs in his office, the rose, the note—they were all calculated moves. He needed Eleanor to stay close, to stop asking questions. She didn’t understand the world he navigated, the risks he took to protect their carefully constructed life.
The women… they were a means to an end. Temporary distractions, yes, but also something more. They filled a void Eleanor no longer could, though he would never admit that to himself.
His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Mr. Archer,” his assistant’s voice came through the intercom. “Your ten o’clock is here.”
“Send them in,” he said, straightening his tie.
The door opened, and a man stepped inside—a man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes.
---
Eleanor’s P. O. V:
Eleanor spent the day tidying the house, her thoughts restless. She tried to push the stranger from the party out of her mind, but he lingered there, a shadow she couldn’t shake.
By late afternoon, she found herself in William’s office once more. She told herself she was looking for a book he had borrowed, but her eyes strayed to the envelope on his desk.
It was gone.
Her pulse quickened as she searched the room, her hands trembling. But there was no sign of the photographs, no trace of the evidence she had found.
As she turned to leave, her gaze landed on a single red rose lying on the arm of William’s leather chair.
Her heart lurched.
How had it gotten there? And what did it mean?
Is my husband deriving pleasure from this sick, twisted joke!? Is this asshole f*****g with me!??
**
Cliffhanger for the next chapter:
Later that evening, as Eleanor and William prepared for bed, she finally gathered the courage to ask him about the note.
“William,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “That rose you left this morning…”
He looked at her, his expression carefully neutral. “What about it?”
“Why did you write, ‘You’re mine’?”
His smile was slow, deliberate. “Because you are,” he said, his voice low. “And I always protect what’s mine.”
Before she could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that felt both possessive and tender.
Eleanor’s mind raced, her heart caught between fear and longing.
But as she closed her eyes, the image of the man from the party flashed behind her lids, his blue eyes burning into hers.
And she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being pulled into a game far more dangerous than she had ever imagined..
- Writer
