The Trillionaire's Obsession

Lillian's POV I wake up before Edward does. I always do. The room is still dark, heavy with the quiet that never really leaves this house. I lie there for a moment, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest, wondering how someone can be so close and still feel so far away. His face is calm in sleep. No tension. No coldness. Just… empty. I slip out of bed carefully, afraid even the sound of breathing too loud might bother him. In the bathroom, I stare at my reflection. My hair is a mess. My eyes look tired. I touch my own cheek like I’m checking if I’m still real. Sometimes I feel like I disappear more every day. I dress simply. Soft blouse. Long skirt. Nothing he’s ever commented on. Nothing he’s ever noticed. Downstairs, the kitchen staff have already prepared breakfast. Everything looks perfect. Too perfect. I dismiss them. I want to do something myself today. I want him to see I tried. I pour coffee the way he likes it. Black. No sugar. I make eggs, toast, and cut fruit. I set everything neatly on the table, even adjust the angle of his cup. When he walks in, already on his phone, I straighten. “Good morning,” I say softly. “Morning,” he answers, eyes still on the screen. I wait for more. It doesn’t come. “I made breakfast,” I added. “Mm.” He sits. Opens his laptop. Picks up the coffee without looking at me. I move closer. “Do you have meetings today?” “Yes.” “With who?” “Investors.” “Oh. That’s good. I hope it goes well.” “Mm.” I watch him eat. He doesn’t taste anything. He just consumes. I sit across from him, folding my hands in my lap. “I was thinking… Maybe tonight we could have dinner together. Just us.” He pauses for half a second. “I’ll be late.” “Oh. Okay. Maybe another day.” He’s already typing again. I hesitate, then try once more. “There’s a gala coming up, right? I heard the staff talking about it.” “Yes.” “Would you like me to…” “I’ll handle it.” The words land flat. Final. I nod quickly. “Of course.” Silence stretches between us. Thick. Awkward. I feel like I’m intruding in my own home. Edward stands, closing his laptop. “I have a call.” “Wait,” I blurt. He looks at me then. Finally, His eyes are cool, unreadable. “What is it, Lillian?” The way he says my name feels like a chore. “I just… I haven’t really seen you lately.” “I’m busy.” “I know. I just thought maybe…” “I said I’m busy.” Something closes in my chest. “I understand.” He walks past me, already talking into his phone. I stay at the table long after he’s gone. The food gets cold. My coffee sits untouched. I don’t remember when mornings started feeling like this. Or maybe they always were, and I just didn’t want to see it. Later, I wander through the house with no real purpose. Every room is beautiful. Every room feels like it belongs to someone else. “Lillian?” I turn. Victoria stands in the hallway, dressed elegantly, a soft smile on her lips. “Victoria. Good morning.” “Good morning.” She steps closer, studying my face. “Are you alright?” I open my mouth to say yes. The word doesn’t come out. She touches my arm gently. “You look sad.” “I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Just tired.” She tilts her head. “Did Edward leave already?” “Yes.” Her lips press together in sympathy. “I thought so. He’s been so busy lately.” “That’s normal,” I say. “His work is important.” “Of course,” she agrees. “But so are you.” The words almost make me cry. She links her arm through mine and guides me into the sitting room. We sit together on the couch. “How long have you two been married now?” she asks. “Three years.” “And do you feel like his wife?” she asks gently. I don’t answer right away. She sighs. “You know, powerful men are different. They don’t show love the way ordinary men do.” “I know,” I say quickly. “Edward just isn’t expressive.” “But does he ever look at you?” she asks. “Really look at you?” I think of this morning. Of his eyes on his phone. On his screen. On anything but me. “He provides everything,” I say instead. Victoria smiles sadly. “Lillian… love isn’t just money. Or houses. Or security.” “I don’t need more than that,” I insist. “I just need to be better.” “Better how?” “I don’t know. Prettier. Smarter. More interesting.” She studies me carefully. “You’re very quiet.” “I don’t want to bother him.” “And very obedient.” “I want to make him comfortable.” She leans closer. “Sometimes men don’t want comfort. They want a feeling. Excitement. Fire.” I frown. “Edward isn’t like that.” “Are you sure,” she asks softly, “or is he just bored?” The word stings. “I’m not boring,” I say weakly. “You’re gentle,” she corrects. “But gentleness can disappear. Men like your husband… they don’t notice what doesn’t demand to be seen.” I stare at my hands. “I don’t know how to be different.” She squeezes my fingers. “That can be learned.” Later that afternoon, I tried to distract myself with a book. I read the same paragraph over and over. Nothing sticks. A maid passes and mentions the gala again. The word hangs in my head. That evening, Victoria finds me in the garden. “Edward’s gala is in two weeks,” she says casually. “Oh. Yes. He mentioned it.” “He always keeps you away from those things,” she adds. “He says it’s work.” “Everything is work to him,” she murmurs. “But those events are where impressions are made. Where attention is caught.” I don’t respond. She turns to me fully. “Lillian… When was the last time your husband looked jealous?” “I don’t think he ever has.” “Exactly,” she says. “Because he doesn’t feel anything.” “That’s not true.” “Then why are you crying alone in the hallways?” My throat tightens. “I’m not.” “You don’t have to lie to me.” We walk in silence for a while. Then she says, “Sometimes men only wake up when they’re shocked.” “Shocked how?” “By seeing what they could lose.” I glance at her. “I would never betray Edward.” “I’m not talking about betrayal,” she says gently. “I’m talking about reminding him you’re a woman. Not furniture.” The word makes my stomach twist. “You’re beautiful,” she continues. “But you hide it. You dress to disappear. You speak to fade.” “I don’t know how to be anything else.” She smiles slowly. “Then let me help you.” That night, I lay in bed alone. Edward doesn’t come home. Victoria’s words loop in my head. Furniture. Invisible. Boring. I sit up, heart restless. When my phone lights up, I expect Edward’s name. It’s Victoria. Can I come by? she texts. I answer yes before I can think. She arrives ten minutes later, already holding her phone. She sits beside me on the bed. “I’ve been thinking about you all evening.” “About me?” “Yes. About what you said. About wanting your husband to see you.” I look down. “I don’t want to embarrass him.” “I want him to desire you.” She unlocks her phone. Turn the screen toward me. A dress fills the display. It’s black. Short. Backless. Nothing like anything I’ve ever worn. My breath catches. “This kind of thing,” she says softly, “changes the way men look at women.” “I could never wear that,” I whisper. “Why not?” “It’s too much.” “For who?” she asks. “You, or him?” I imagine myself in it. Walking into a room like that. Edward’s eyes lifting. Stopping. My chest tigh tens painfully. Victoria’s voice drops. “You want him to look at you, don’t you?” I stare at the image. My heart starts to pound. The woman in the picture looks powerful. Dangerous. Seen. “Do you really think…” My voice shakes. “Do you really think this could work?”