CHAPTER TWO: THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR
1792 Words
The car slowed to a stop in front of towering black iron gates. As they opened, I caught my first full glimpse of Damien’s house.
It wasn’t the Miranda Mansion I’d seen in magazines — the one where his family live. This was his own.
A sleek, modern mansion stood at the end of the long driveway. Its tall glass windows reflected the fading afternoon light, while trimmed hedges and a wide stone path framed the entrance. It was stunning — the kind of place people dreamed of living in.
But as the car rolled closer, a strange emptiness settled in my chest.
Beautiful as it was, the house looked… lonely.
When we stepped out, Damien didn’t wait for me. He unlocked the tall double doors and pushed them open, revealing a vast interior bathed in white and gray. High ceilings. Wide marble floors. Minimalist furniture that looked expensive enough to belong in a showroom.
“This is where I live,” Damien said curtly. “From now on, so will you.”
I clutched my bag, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… beautiful.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he placed his keys on the glass counter of the living room and added, “There are no maids. I don’t like strangers in my space. If you need something, you’ll handle it yourself.”
I nodded quickly, even as my stomach turned. I wasn’t expecting luxury. But I didn’t expect this emptiness either.
Without another word, Damien disappeared into a room down the hall, leaving me standing in the middle of the massive house — a bride in a mansion that felt like a cage.
On the far wall of the living room, above a sleek console table, hung several framed photographs.
I slowed my steps. Unlike the cold, modern furniture, the photos felt warm. Real. They showed a younger Damien with his family — his father, his older sister Isabel, and a woman whose gentle smile made me stop in my tracks.
His mother.
Her eyes were kind, her beauty simple yet elegant. One photo showed her seated at a table scattered with colorful beads and tools, her hands working on what looked like a handcrafted necklace.
My heart jumped. “I know her…” I whispered, stepping closer.
I smiled faintly, remembering. “She once taught a small class about making jewelry from beads. I attended it years ago. She was so patient… so kind. I’ll never forget how encouraging she was.”
Behind me, silence hung thick.
I turned slowly to see Damien standing there. His face was pale, his eyes unreadable — except for the storm brewing in them.
“She—she was your mother, wasn’t she?” I asked softly. “Maybe I could see her again and thank her. She probably doesn’t even remember me, but—”
“Elena.” His voice was sharp enough to cut through me.
I stopped instantly.
His jaw tightened as he looked at the photo. “You can’t see her again.”
Confused, I asked gently, “Why not?”
His eyes, cold but filled with something deeper — grief, maybe — met mine. “Because she’s dead.”
The words slammed into me. My lips parted in shock. “I… I didn’t know. Damien, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He looked away, his expression shuttering. “Don’t talk about her again.”
I sank into the nearest chair, staring again at her photo. My chest ached as I realized the kind woman I had once admired was gone.
I explored the house. Every room echoed with silence. The kitchen gleamed, untouched, like it had never been used. The living room had a fireplace but no warmth. Upstairs, the master bedroom was elegant, with a king-sized bed and a balcony overlooking the gardens.
It should have felt like a dream.
Instead, it felt like I didn’t belong.
I was placing my small bag on the edge of the bed when Damien appeared at the doorway, his eyes cold and his tone sharp.
“Not here,” he said firmly.
I turned to him, startled. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll be sleeping in the guest room,” he replied without hesitation. “This room is mine. Don’t get any ideas, Elena. Whatever this marriage is, it’s not about us sharing a bed—or a life.”
The words stung like a knife. I lowered my gaze, my throat tight. “I understand.”
“Good,” he said flatly. “As long as you stay out of my way, we won’t have a problem.”
And just like that, he walked off, leaving me standing in silence, clutching the edge of the bed as if it could hold me together.
That night, I sat on the edge of the guest room bed, still in the gown I was too exhausted to change out of. I waited, hoping maybe he would check on me.
He didn’t.
The silence grew heavier with each passing hour until my phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.
“Mommy?” I whispered, quickly answering.
“Elena…” My mother’s voice was filled with worry. “My sweetheart, how are you? I couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice.”
I swallowed, forcing myself to sound steady. “I’m fine, Mum. Don’t worry.”
There was a pause, then a shaky sigh. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I wish I could have done something. If I could take your place, I would. But your father… we had no choice. Sweetheart, you know he loves you, right?”
Tears blurred my vision. “I know.”
“You’re our only child,” she continued. “This wasn’t what I dreamed for you. I wanted you to marry for love. But… please, be strong. For us.”
My voice trembled. “I’ll try, Mum.”
“You’re not alone, Elena. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I love you, Mum,” I whispered.
“I love you too, sweetheart. Always.”
After the call ended, I curled up on the bed, hugging the pillow close, my heart aching.
I didn’t know how long I lay there before I heard footsteps in the hall. Then, the door creaked open, and Damien stepped inside. His tall frame filled the doorway, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp and cold.
“Let’s get this clear, Elena,” he said, his voice low but firm. “In this house, you don’t make the rules — I do. Don’t touch my things. Don’t question where I go or who I’m with. And don’t ever think you have the right to ask for more than I’m willing to give.”
I clutched the blanket against me, my chest tight as I met his gaze.
He leaned slightly closer, his tone dropping colder.
“You may be my wife on paper, but that’s all you’ll ever be. Don’t expect more.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned, shutting the door behind him with a quiet finality.
I lay there in the heavy silence, staring at the ceiling, feeling smaller than ever.
I wasn’t in love with Damien — not even close.
But in that moment, I had never felt more unwanted.
---
The next morning, I woke up early and cooked breakfast. I wanted to do something right — something to make the house feel a little less cold.
When Damien came down, I managed a faint smile.
“Good morning. I made breakfast.”
He looked at the table, then at me. “You didn’t have to.”
“It’s okay. I like cooking. My father—”
“I don’t need the details,” he cut in, already reaching for his coffee.
The words stung, but I forced myself to stay quiet.
Just as Damien sat down, the doorbell rang. Surprised, I went to open it.
Standing there was a tall, stunning woman. Her long dark hair framed her face perfectly, and her smile looked polite — but her eyes were sharp.
“You must be Elena,” she said smoothly.
“Yes,” I answered softly. “And you are?”
“Selene,” she replied, stepping inside without waiting for permission. Her eyes flicked toward the dining table. “I see I came at the right time.”
For a second, my chest tightened.
Selene.
The name I had seen flashing on Damien’s phone during our flight. The one he refused to explain.
Before I could say anything, Damien’s voice came from behind me.
“Selene.”
When I turned, I caught the slight change in his expression — colder, more guarded.
“Damien,” she greeted, her smile softening as she walked over. “I thought I’d drop by. I didn’t want to miss breakfast with you.”
She slid gracefully into the chair beside him as if she’d always belonged there. I stood frozen, my hands trembling slightly as I gripped the back of a chair.
Damien didn’t tell her to leave. He didn’t even look at me.
Instead, he rose from the table, grabbing his coat. “I’ll be late tonight,” he said flatly. Then, with a glance at Selene, he added, “You can come with me.”
Selene’s lips curved as she stood and linked her arm through his without hesitation. But just before they reached the door, she glanced back at me.
Her voice was sweet, but her words sharp enough to cut.
“Don’t worry, Elena. I’ll take good care of him while he’s away.”
The door closed behind them, leaving me staring at the untouched plates of food.
I told myself I wasn’t jealous. I didn’t love Damien. Not yet.
But as Selene’s perfume lingered in the air and the memory of her name on Damien’s phone replayed in my head, a bitter truth sank in, I might be the wife.
But someone else was already claiming the place by his side.
Later that night, the sound of laughter jolted me awake. I sat up, realizing the clock read past midnight.
The front door opened, followed by footsteps — two sets.
I froze when I heard Selene’s voice, playful and slurred with alcohol. “You shouldn’t drink that much, Damien.”
Damien chuckled faintly. “I’m fine.”
Their voices grew louder as they stumbled upstairs. My chest tightened when I heard his bedroom door shut behind them.
I sat alone in the dark, clutching the blanket, every sound from the other room slicing through the silence.
I wasn’t in love with Damien.
But I was still his wife.
And in that moment, I had never felt so disrespected.
- Writer
