The morning sun cut pale stripes across the dining room floor.
Elissa sat at the table, her eyes dry but rimmed with faint shadows. She hadn't slept. After Alexander had slammed the guest room door the night before, she had lain awake for hours, one hand resting on her stomach, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere around dawn, she had given up on rest entirely and come downstairs.
The breakfast she had laid out on the table had gone cold. She hadn't touched it herself—the faint nausea curling in her stomach made the thought of food impossible—but she had set the table anyway. Habit. A small, stubborn ritual of normalcy in a house that had never been a home.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Steady. Measured. Familiar.
Alexander appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a charcoal suit, immaculate as always. His gaze swept the room, landing briefly on the plates of food, then on her.
"Mrs. Adler," he called, his voice flat.
The housekeeper appeared almost instantly, wiping her hands on her apron. "Yes, Mr. Harvey?"
"Redo the breakfast."
Mrs. Adler's face flickered with something—surprise, or perhaps pity—as her eyes darted toward Elissa.
The breakfast on the table had clearly been prepared with care. Fresh fruit, arranged neatly. Toast, perfectly golden. Eggs, cooked just the way Alexander preferred them. She had been about to compliment Mrs. Harvey on her thoughtful preparation, but now the words died on her lips.
"Yes, sir," she said quietly, and retreated toward the kitchen.
Elissa said nothing. Her hands were folded in her lap, her knuckles white. She had told herself she wouldn't react.
But still. Her heart clenched, just for a moment. A small, sharp pain she couldn't quite suppress.
"The production, Heaven and Hell," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "The lead female role. Do you know anything about it?"
Alexander took a seat at the head of the table, unfolding a napkin with precise, deliberate movements. He didn't look at her.
"The director insisted on giving it to me," he said.
It wasn't even a denial. He was admitting it outright.
Just minutes ago, she recived a call. The screen lit up with a picture of her agent, Kate.
She took a deep breath and swiped to answer.
"They dropped you." Kate's voice was a furious, frantic buzz in her ear. "The producers just called. You're out. Five minutes ago, they replaced you."
The air left Elissa's lungs. "What? Why? Kate, that role... that was my comeback." It was her one chance to claw her way back into the industry's view after three years of playing the part of a reclusive socialite wife. A chance she'd been fighting for since her days with nothing but a cheap apartment and the memory of a drafty dormitory at St. Jude's.
Kate sighed, a sound heavy with frustration. "It came from the top. A directive straight from Harvey Media's executive board."
Harvey Media.
A bucket of ice water dumped over her head.
It was him. It was Alexander.
Elissa's fingers tightened around the napkin in her lap. "And why would a director hand a lead role to you?"
His lips curved into a cold, humorless smile. "It's your first day in the entertainment industry? You don't know how they love to cozy up to investors with deep pockets?"
The meaning was unmistakable. He had invested in the project not to help her career, but to destroy it. And the role he had taken from her, he had handed to Jenna Stone. Harvey Media's reigning queen. The company's most bankable star, the pampered heiress of the Stone family empire.
"Is this because you married me?" she asked, her voice measured. She was proud of how calm she sounded. "You hate me that much, so you gave the role to Jenna Stone?"
Alexander finally looked at her. His gray eyes were empty, devoid of warmth.
"Finally," he said. "Some self-awareness."
Elissa held his gaze for a long moment. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to demand how he could be so cruel, how he could use his power to systematically dismantle everything she had worked for.
She had fought for that role. She had auditioned, prepared, sacrificed. It was supposed to be her comeback. Her chance to prove she was more than just a name attached to the Harvey family.
And he had taken it from her. Not because he needed to. Not because it served any purpose. But simply because he could. Because hurting her was the only thing that seemed to give him any satisfaction.
She pushed back her chair and stood.
"I know you hate me," she said, her voice quiet. "But blacklisting an actor—it's a career death sentence."
She didn't wait for his response. She turned and walked out of the dining room, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She grabbed her bag and keys from the hook by the door and stepped out into the cold morning air.
