chapter 11: Emotional stress
1094 Words
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Elena hadn't been sleeping well.
At first, she thought it was just the stress of public life — the constant scrutiny, the staged smiles, the interviews that demanded emotional honesty while she was still sorting through her own confusion. But now, the sleeplessness had a name. Or rather… a number.
A strange, untraceable number that kept sending her anonymous texts.
The first message arrived two nights ago.
“He’s only using you to clean up his mess. He doesn’t love you. Walk away before it’s too late.”
She had stared at it, blinking. For a second, she thought it was spam. But her gut tightened. Something about the timing — just after she and Noah had posted a soft photo from a charity dinner — made it feel intentional.
She’d deleted it and brushed it off.
But the messages kept coming.
“You’re the face he uses in public. The heart belongs to someone else.”
“Check his office. Ask him about Ziyel.”
“You weren’t chosen. You were convenient.”
At first, Elena tried to keep it from Noah. She didn’t want to seem paranoid or insecure — especially not after the photos of Brielle and him had already cracked something fragile inside her. But with every new message, the seed of doubt blossomed.
The emails started next. Anonymous senders. Hidden IP addresses. Same tone. Same threats. A few came with attachments — low-resolution images of Noah in what looked like late-night meetings. Others showed Brielle seated at the same table as him, eyes soft, shoulders angled in that unmistakable way that meant comfort. Intimacy. Familiarity.
One photo stopped Elena cold. It wasn’t Noah and Brielle. It was just Brielle… wearing Elena’s brand of perfume — the limited edition scent she’d once talked about on a podcast.
Coincidence?
It didn’t feel like it.
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“Who is Ziyel?” Elena finally asked one evening, tossing the question across their shared penthouse like a grenade.
Noah looked up from his laptop, caught off guard. “Ziyel?”
“Yes,” she said, arms folded. “I’ve been getting messages. Emails. Someone keeps telling me that you’re only using me. That there’s another woman — Ziyel. Apparently, you’ve found solace in her.”
Noah blinked slowly, then sat back. “Ziyel is a friend. She’s a tech security consultant. I’ve used her firm a few times. That’s all.”
“A friend,” Elena repeated, her voice flat. “Just like Brielle?”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Elena, are we really going to do this?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I thought this was all pretend. I thought this was just for show. But somewhere along the way, I think I forgot how to act.”
Noah stood, walked toward her. “You think I’m using you?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she whispered, looking away. “I don’t know why it hurts like this if it was all just a charade.”
Noah’s voice softened. “Because maybe it stopped being a charade.”
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Elena didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to.
Instead, she found herself retreating into silence. Into doubt.
The next day, she opened her inbox to find a forwarded email from her mother.
Subject: CALL ME ASAP.
Below was a screenshot of a gossip blog headline:
"NOAH BLAKE’S HEART LIES ELSEWHERE? ELENA CARTER’S FIANCÉ SPOTTED COMFORTING s****l ASSAULT VICTIM TURNED ‘MYSTERY GIRL’"
The caption underneath the photos screamed:
“Sources confirm Elena and Noah’s engagement is all for show.”
Her phone rang again later that night — her mother.
“Elena, are you okay?” she asked, concern lacing her voice. “You’ve been trending all day. That blog… the photos… they don’t look good.”
“I’m fine,” Elena said too quickly.
There was a pause. “Are you sure? This engagement has drawn so much attention — people are watching, darling. Your father is already receiving calls from associates asking if everything is still… stable.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Her mother’s voice softened. “I know you’re a grown woman. But you don’t have to keep holding up a picture-perfect image if it’s costing you peace.”
Elena felt her throat tighten. Her mother didn’t know the engagement was staged. No one did. But even in ignorance, somehow, she still saw through her daughter’s smile.
“If this relationship is becoming too much… if it’s hurting you more than helping you,” her mother continued gently, “then maybe it’s time to ask yourself if it’s still worth it.”
The penthouse felt colder that night.
Noah found her curled on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped around her knees, her face pale.
“Elena…” he started, but she raised her hand.
“I don’t want to fight,” she said softly. “I just… need to understand why this hurts.”
“What does?” he asked.
“This. All of this,” she said, gesturing to the phone beside her. “The messages. The photos. The doubt. The way I check the time and wonder if you’re with her. The way I feel replaced.”
Noah crouched beside her. “You’re not replaced.”
“But I was never supposed to be chosen either, right?” she said, her voice cracking. “This was just for our families. For business. For peace. And yet here I am — crying over a man who might not even be mine.”
Noah’s face shifted, and for the first time, Elena saw uncertainty in his eyes.
“I didn’t plan for this,” he admitted. “I didn’t expect to care.”
“Do you?” she whispered.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
And that silence… it was everything.
Later that week, Elena sat at her desk and stared at her reflection in the dark screen of her laptop.
Another message pinged onto her phone.
“He’ll break your heart, Elena. Leave while you still have pieces to keep.”
But she didn’t cry.
This time, she smiled — bitterly, but clearly.
Because if someone had gone this far to break them apart, maybe… just maybe… there was something real worth breaking.
And that, more than anything, terrified her.
She's so bothered and feels guilty for even interfering with his work, after all whatever they have going on is for public, no one was supposed to catch feeling.
Not her or anything
- Writer
