Chapter 17 – The Breaking Point
The mansion was unnaturally quiet.
Elira sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling over a sealed envelope that had arrived earlier that morning. No name. No return address. Just her name scribbled in thick black ink. At first, she thought it was one of Zayn's business files mistakenly delivered to her. But the moment she tore it open, the world cracked beneath her feet.
Photos.
Dozens of them. Zayn. A woman.
The same woman who had clung to his arm at last month's charity gala, the one Elira had caught whispering something into his ear as he laughed — a rare sight when he was around Elira.
In the photos, they weren't just talking.
One picture showed them walking into a hotel together. Another—her heart had stopped at this one—caught them in an intimate moment behind a tinted car window. Even though their faces weren't fully visible in all the shots, Zayn's signature watch and the woman's red hair were undeniable.
She had stared at them for hours. Disbelieving. Crying. Then completely silent.
Now, as night fell, her chest burned with something deeper than sorrow. Betrayal.
The door creaked open behind her. She didn't need to look up.
"Elira," Zayn's voice called out, casual, like nothing had happened.
She slowly placed the envelope on the nightstand, stood up, and turned to face him. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her spine was straight.
He paused in the doorway, sensing the shift in the air.
"What's wrong?"
She raised her chin. "Sit down."
Zayn narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"Please," she said quietly.
Something in her voice made him comply. He sat at the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his thighs.
Elira walked over to the nightstand, picked up the envelope, and dropped it into his lap.
"Open it."
His brow furrowed. When he pulled the photos out and began flipping through them, the change was instant. His jaw clenched. His fingers tightened.
"Elira"
"Don't lie to me," she said sharply. "Not this time."
He looked up at her. "You're misunderstanding."
"Am I?" she snapped. "Is it a misunderstanding that you were photographed entering a hotel with another woman? That you touched her the way you haven't touched me since our wedding night?"
Zayn stood up. "I didn't sleep with her."
"But you wanted to," she whispered. "Didn't you?"
The silence confirmed everything.
Elira stepped back as if his silence physically pushed her. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold together what was left of her dignity.
"I stayed in this house, hoping... praying that one day you would stop looking at me like I was a burden. I waited for the smallest sign that maybe—just maybe—you could grow to care about me. But you never tried, Zayn. And now... you've broken the one thing I had left. Hope."
Zayn's expression was unreadable. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that. She's nothing. It was just—"
"A mistake?" she laughed bitterly. "That's what I am to you. Always second choice. Always temporary."
He stepped toward her. "Elira, I—"
"No," she said, voice trembling. "Don't come any closer."
Zayn stopped.
For the first time, she wasn't crying. There was pain, yes, but something stronger underneath—resolve.
"I want out," she said. "Of this marriage. Of this house. Of you."
His eyes flickered with something—panic? Guilt?
"Elira, calm down. You're just hurt. We can talk—"
"No, Zayn. I've been calm for months. Silent. Tolerant. Now, I'm done."
She walked past him toward the door.
"Elira—where are you going?"
She turned slightly. "To remember who I was before you made me forget how to smile."
Then she left him standing in the room, holding the broken pieces of what he'd shattered.
*Later That Night*
Zayn stood in his office, the lights off, the room lit only by the city outside. He stared at the photos again, a sick feeling curdling in his chest.
He hadn't expected them to land in her hands.
Who sent them?
And worse, why did it hurt that she had walked away?
He poured himself a glass of whiskey but didn't drink it.
Her words echoed in his mind.
*"You made me forget how to smile."*
He had built walls around himself for years—never letting anyone close. He'd agreed to the marriage because it was convenient. Because it served a purpose. Because Elira was quiet, obedient, non-confrontational.
But now... now she wasn't any of those things.
Now she was fierce. Bold. Leaving him.
And it terrified him.
*Meanwhile...*
Elira sat on the guest room bed in her friend Anaya's apartment, curled beneath a blanket. Anaya watched her silently from the kitchen before placing a cup of tea on the nightstand.
"So... you finally left him."
Elira nodded, eyes hollow.
"I thought it would hurt more," she murmured. "But all I feel is relief."
Anaya sat beside her. "You're stronger than you think, Elira. You deserve a man who sees you—not someone who only learns your value when you walk away."
Tears slid down Elira's cheeks. Not from sadness this time. But from release.
Tomorrow would be different.
Tomorrow, she would start over.