The morning sunlight streamed through the window, but I barely felt its warmth. I dragged myself out of bed, body moving, heart heavy. I went downstairs for breakfast, trying to act normal, sulking, but reality... I felt invisible. Broken. Dull. Like, I never even existed in this house.
When I reached the dining table, there was my husband.
"Good morning, baby," I said quietly, forcing a soft smile.
He didn't even respond.
I sat down and ate my breakfast in silence, pretending not to notice the tension in the air. Then, without lingering, I stood up and rushed upstairs.
I could feel his eyes following me, probably wondering why I was in such a hurry. How hungry is she? he might've thought. He didn't know because he never cared to ask, I had a life before him. A full life.
My father wasn't super wealthy, but he gave me everything he could. I'm his only child, and every bit of his investment, his time, his effort, his love, was poured into me. And I made something out of it. I have my own house, my car, and I run one of the biggest beauty salons in the city. I've built a name. A life. Independence.
I rushed into my room and changed quickly. I picked out a stunning outfit—something elegant, something powerful. Fashion has always been a part of me. It's how I speak when words fail.
As I walked back to the living room, heels clicking softly against the floor, Rogan looked up.
"Where are you going?" he asked, tone sharp.
"I'm going to work," I answered simply, grabbing my bag. "My driver is outside already."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're going to work in my house… without telling me?"
I blinked.
Who do you think you are?"
I stared at him, stunned. "Ho... ho... ho... where is this coming from?" I scoffed. "What did you expect, Rogan? You know I have a business. Just because I got married doesn't mean I'm abandoning it. I haven't been there in six days—I have responsibilities!"
He stood, cold fury written across his face. "You're not going anywhere. Not like that. In this way, you dressed. You're not leaving this house."
I looked at him, disbelief flooding me.
"Are you for real right now?"
"Please, not today," I said, trying to stay calm, trying not to raise my voice. "I already have someone waiting for me. She's a special client, someone important to me. Can we just not do this today? Maybe we can talk about it later. I have to go."
But Rogan's voice cut through the room, cold and commanding.
"You are not going anywhere."
"How much do you even earn at that salon?" he asked, scoffing. "How much? I'll pay you monthly. Weekly. Daily, if that's what you want. You're not stepping outside." Don't forget the reason we got married.
I stared at him, stunned. "What?"
"You heard me," he said, stepping closer. "You are not going to work. "Look at the way you dressed, too ugly to go outside alone."
My heart pounded in my chest. "Then what do you expect me to do? Just sit here and rot? I don't want to argue, Rogan. This is still a new marriage. Can't we at least try to respect each other?"
But he wasn't done.
"It's either you shut down that store and become a full housewife," he said sharply, "or you stop going there altogether. It doesn't matter that you built it. Someone else is handling things, right? Then let them. Let that person keep running it. I'll take care of you."
He folded his arms. "But that salon, you won't be going there again. Simple."
I blinked, completely thrown off. "So I should give up everything I worked for just because you say so?"
"Yes," he answered, without hesitation. "I'm your husband now. You belong in this house."
I swallowed hard. His words weren't just harsh, they were suffocating.
"You knew I was working before you married me," I whispered. "You knew I had my own life, my dream. That salon is part of me. It's not just a job. It's who I am."
He looked at me like none of that mattered.
"I said what I said," he repeated. "You're not leaving this house."
"If it's about the way I'm dressed," I said quietly, "I'll change. I'm willing to wear whatever you choose. Pick the clothes yourself if that will make you feel better. But please, let me go to the salon today. Just today."
I looked at him, my voice trembling from the pressure building in my chest.
"This client… she's not just anybody. She's important to me. I really can't miss this appointment."
Rogan was silent for a moment, studying me with cold, unreadable eyes.
Then he said, "Fine. If you want to go to the salon, we're going together."
"What? "Go together… for what?"
He tilted his head, almost mockingly. "What do you mean, for what? You want to go out, I'll come along. I want to see where you're going.
I stared at him. "We're not even doing the same work. It's a salon, Rogan. This isn't some shady backdoor business. It's not like I'm earning millions at once, but it's my place. My work."
He laughed, but it wasn't out of humor. "Exactly. It's not worth millions. So why are you in such a rush to go? Hm?" His tone shifted, sharp. Accusing. "You're just a newlywed wife, and already you're running around, trying to meet someone."
I froze.
He stepped closer, voice dropping low. "If you're going to meet a client… then why can't I follow you? Unless—" he paused, eyes narrowing, "—you're going to meet someone else. Maybe you've kept a man somewhere."
I gasped. Rogan—"
"I don't trust any girl," he snapped. "Especially ones who parade themselves as virgins. I should've known better. That whole virgin act? Just a mask to pretend you're something you're not."
His words hit harder than a slap.
But I refused to cry. I refused to break down in front of him. Instead, I took a slow breath and swallowed the lump in my throat.
I reminded myself—He's my husband. I must be respectful. I have to keep things calm.
"Fine," I said softly. "If it makes you feel better, then let's go together. I won't argue."
He turned away smugly, satisfied like he'd won something.
"But I'm not going in your car," I added, steadying my voice. "You'll follow my car. My driver's already outside waiting."
He paused, then gave a slight nod.
I turned and walked back upstairs, not bothering to look back.
Not because I wanted to defy him.
But if I looked at him any longer, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to stop myself from breaking.
Look at the man who asked me to go outside and lose my virginity, then come back to him. I haven't even done that, and I'm already facing this.
What if I go outside and meet another man who sleeps with me? What am I going to be facing then?
It might not just be a problem—it'll be a war. Not just any kind of war, but a big one.
No… this is the beginning of madness.
I don't think I can handle this.