The following morning, Selene slipped into her role with perfect precision, like a seasoned actress who had rehearsed the part all her life.
She pretended to care—handing me a steaming cup of coffee I had never requested, tossing insincere compliments about my “sweet but modest” dress, and forcing hollow laughter at the smallest things whenever Lucien was in the room, as though we were girlfriends sharing lighthearted moments. But I wasn’t blind. I recognized the poison behind her syrupy tone, the sharp edge hidden beneath each practiced smile. Every word she spoke was a weapon dressed as kindness.
So, I played along.
I mirrored her charade with my own. I faked polite smiles. I nodded in agreement. I even murmured thanks for the coffee I let go cold on the table, untouched.
But beneath the surface, beneath the mask I wore, I was splintering.
Lucien was no longer who he once was.
The man who used to cradle me at night, whispering that I was the center of his world—the one who had sworn forever—was gone. In his place stood someone who looked at me like I was invisible and who gazed at Selene as though she was carved from starlight.
Later that afternoon, his voice rang with forced cheer as he made an announcement. “We’re going shopping.”
“We?” I echoed, though deep down, I already knew what he meant.
“Yes, of course,” he said, gripping Selene’s hand with the kind of smile he hadn’t given me in months. “You’ll come along, won’t you? You can help Selene pick things out.”
But “help” turned out to be nothing more than playing servant—trailing behind them, my arms weighed down with glossy shopping bags while Selene spun through designer boutiques, parading in gowns as if she owned every runway in Paris.
When store clerks glanced at her with admiration and asked, “Is this Mrs. Draemir?” Lucien didn’t correct them.
He only smiled faintly.
Some even gushed about how beautiful his wife was, about how lucky he must feel.
And still, he said nothing. He allowed their mistake to live, allowed them to believe the lie.
I stood there, burdened with bags that didn’t belong to me, watching him erase me with silence. Watching him act as though the vows he once gave me had never been spoken.
That was the moment clarity struck me.
Lucien had never once made our marriage public. In the beginning, I convinced myself it was because of his dislike for the press, his need for privacy. I honored that. I believed it was his way of protecting us. But now I understood. The truth was crueler. He hadn’t wanted the world to know I existed—because, in his heart, he had been waiting all along. Waiting for Selene to return. And when she finally did, he wanted the picture to be seamless. I was nothing but clutter, a shadow blocking her light.
When we arrived back at the house, Selene sprawled across the couch like a pampered princess who had spent a long day at the carnival. She giggled softly, pressing a kiss to Lucien’s cheek. “I absolutely adore shopping with you,” she purred.
His smile was for her alone.
Never me. Not anymore.
That evening, while they sat close together, laughing over glasses of wine and reminiscing about memories I wasn’t part of, I quietly dressed and slipped out the door.
I didn’t bother with explanations. I simply needed to breathe.
I needed to feel something other than suffocation.
It wasn’t anything extravagant, just a small graduation gathering. Familiar faces, raucous music, cheap drinks passed around like candy. But it was alive, real, untainted. My college friends cheered when they spotted me, wrapping me in warm embraces. For the first time in weeks, I laughed. I danced. I let myself drink.
Too much. Far too much. The room began to tilt, or maybe I did. Someone thrust another shot glass into my hand, and without a thought, I downed it.
That’s when the murmurs reached me.
“Isn’t that Selene? Lucien Draemir’s woman?” a voice hissed, pointing across the bar.
And there she was. Selene. Radiant, glittering like she owned the night, surrounded by her entourage, her laughter carrying like a crown she didn’t need to wear.
“She must be his wife now,” another voice chimed in, deliberately loud enough for me to catch.
Laughter followed.
“Oh, poor Elowen. Didn’t she used to claim she was married to Lucien?”
“Completely delusional.”
“They just happen to share a surname. Pure coincidence.”
Heat burned in my chest, but I turned my back before the tears could spill. I refused to crumble in front of them. Let them laugh. Let them sneer. It didn’t matter. I’d be gone soon enough.
I stumbled back to the dance floor, my body swaying like a ship caught in a storm. The world tilted dangerously around me.
That was when Leander appeared—steady, familiar Leander. A friend since college.
“Elowen,” he said softly, his hands gripping my arms to keep me from toppling. “You’re drunk. You need to go home.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, though my body betrayed me, leaning heavily against his chest, too unsteady to stand alone.
He shook his head, worry clouding his face. “No, you’re not. Come on. Let me take you out of here.”
I didn’t argue when he guided me outside. My arms found their way around him without thought, clinging tight. I had no words left in me. I simply held on.
Because in that fragile, collapsing moment, Leander felt like the only anchor keeping me from drowning.
