THE COLD HUSBAND
729 Words
The first week of marriage passed like a blur, if blur could mean endless silence, measured footsteps, and a house too big for one fragile heart.
Elena had thought she knew what she was stepping into. She had told herself she was strong enough to endure his indifference, to play her part without complaint. But knowing and living were two different things.
Adrian didn’t speak unless necessary. At breakfast, he sat across from her at the long dining table, scrolling through his tablet while she stared at the untouched food.
He didn’t ask about her. He didn’t even look at her.
“You’re not eating,” he said once, his tone more like an observation than concern.
“I’m not hungry,” she whispered.
He gave a short nod and returned to his screen, as if her existence were no more significant than the rustle of leaves outside.
Every night, he disappeared into his study or his separate bedroom. Every morning, he left before sunrise, returning long after the stars had claimed the sky.
It was as though she were invisible, until the world required her to be seen.
On the third evening, the butler appeared at her door. “Mrs. Blackthorn, Mr. Blackthorn requests your presence at the charity gala tomorrow evening.”
Elena blinked. She hadn’t left the mansion since the wedding. “A gala?”
The butler’s face was unreadable. “It is expected that you attend as his wife.”
She swallowed hard. As his wife. The words still felt foreign, like shoes too large for her feet.
The next day, a stylist arrived with gowns, rows of silk, satin, velvet, all in shades that screamed wealth. Adrian hadn’t asked her preference. Adrian never asked anything.
When she descended the staircase that evening, she found him waiting at the bottom. He wore a sleek black suit, his tie knotted to perfection, his gray eyes sharp and unreadable.
For a moment, his gaze lingered on her. Just a flicker, so quick she almost missed it.
“You’ll do,” he said simply, offering his arm.
Her stomach twisted, but she took it.
The gala was a dazzling blur of lights, crystal chandeliers, and murmured gossip. Everywhere she turned, Elena felt eyes on her. Whispers rippled through the crowd: That’s her… the new Mrs. Blackthorn.
She tried to smile, to stand tall, but her nerves betrayed her. She stumbled slightly as they moved through the sea of people.
Adrian’s hand caught her waist instantly, steadying her. His touch was firm, grounding and then gone, as though it had never been there.
When they reached a cluster of business associates, Adrian’s mask slipped effortlessly into place. Charming, commanding, untouchable.
“This is my wife, Elena,” he introduced smoothly, his tone devoid of warmth but laced with power.
She offered a polite smile, but the women’s eyes lingered on her dress, her hair, her background they all knew wasn’t polished enough for this world. She felt the judgment like knives.
One of them leaned closer, her voice dripping with sugar and venom. “How lovely. And where did you say you studied, Mrs. Blackthorn?”
Elena hesitated, heat rising to her cheeks. She had gone to a small community college, barely finishing before her father’s debts swallowed everything. Compared to these women, she had nothing to boast of.
“She doesn’t need to answer that,” Adrian cut in sharply, his hand brushing hers briefly firm, protective. His eyes pinned the woman in place until she looked away.
Elena’s chest tightened. For a fleeting moment, it almost felt like he cared.
But as the evening wore on, she realized it wasn’t her he was protecting. It was the illusion.
Back at the mansion, she slipped off her heels, her feet aching, her heart heavier than before. Adrian loosened his tie, his face unreadable as always.
“You handled yourself,” he said flatly.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He turned to leave, but something in her broke. “Adrian.”
He paused, hand on the doorframe.
“Do you hate me?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
The silence that followed was unbearable. Finally, he said, “No. Hate requires feeling.”
And then he was gone, leaving
Elena alone with the truth: her husband didn’t hate her.
He felt nothing at all.
- Writer
