Chapter 4: Shadows Behind the Door
The silence in the Lancaster mansion was louder than any storm. Elira sat at the edge of the grand staircase, the cold marble biting through her thin nightgown. Her hands were still trembling from earlier, from hearing Zayn's voice in the hallway—sharp, clipped, irritated—as if her existence was a thorn in his perfect life.
She didn't cry. Not yet.
She had learned, after all, that tears were wasted on people who didn't look back.
The door to his office closed with a soft click, and Elira knew he was finally alone. For a brief second, her heart thudded with foolish hope. Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe he'd look at her and see a woman, not a burden.
She stood up, smoothed the wrinkles from her robe, and knocked gently on his door.
"Come in."
His voice was neutral, cold—like steel.
She entered, careful to keep her posture straight. Zayn sat behind a mahogany desk, shirt sleeves rolled up, eyes locked on documents. He didn't look at her.
"I just wanted to say thank you… for letting me stay," she said quietly.
"You're my wife," he replied, still not meeting her eyes. "I didn't do it out of kindness."
Ouch.
The words dug in deeper than they should have. But she nodded, accepting them without flinching. That, too, was something she'd learned.
"I made dinner," she added after a pause. "I left a plate for you."
He finally looked at her, his expression unreadable. "You don't have to play house, Elira. This marriage wasn't built for that."
She smiled faintly, wounded. "I know. But I still have to eat. It'd be rude not to cook for you too."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then he said, almost bitterly, "I don't need you to be perfect. Just… invisible. Do you think you can manage that?"
Her breath caught. And then, just like that, she smiled again—but this time, it was colder than the night air.
"I'll do my best."
She turned and walked out, closing the door behind her gently, without a sound.
But behind the mask, her chest burned.
She had thought she'd be safe in this house. Safe from expectations. From heartbreak. She had accepted that Zayn wouldn't love her—but this? This slow erasing of her existence?
She lay in bed that night, eyes wide open in the dark.
And she made herself a promise.
If she was going to be invisible, then she would haunt him. Quietly. Silently. Beautifully.
One day, he would look for her in every empty room.
And find nothing but regret.