FLASHBACK CONTINUED….
The first month of our marriage was the longest month of my life. It was filled with silence and loneliness I had never experienced before. Asher and I hardly saw each other, hardly talked to each other. I didn't even know when he used to come at home or whether he used to come home at all.
During the first month of our wedding, the only times we were together were when we had to attend a public event. For others, we were the perfect couple, madly in love with each other but only I knew the reality behind the smile on my face. I still remember the day we attended our first gala together.
A white envelope was placed on the silver tray in the living room. There was a card inside it, embossed with the Wang Corporation Logo. It was an invitation to the annual Zhang Foundation Gala. A small note was attached to it in Asher's handwriting.
Gala - Friday, 8 PM. Wear the emerald set. Car at 7:30.
Key Points:
- Smile. Engage with Zhang's wife about her charity. Keep it light.
- Do not discuss my father's recent stock sale.
- Stay by my side.
It was not an invitation. It was a set of instructions for the employee playing the part of "Mrs. Wang."
Friday arrived. I dressed in the emeralds as he had ordered. At 7:30 PM, the car was in the driveway. Asher was already inside, typing on his phone. He glanced up as I slid in, his eyes noting my appearance.
"The emeralds look nice." He said, returning to his screen.
The gala shimmered with blinding light and noise. Asher's hand was firm on my back, walking me through the crowd. He was a master of this performance.
"Louis, good to see you. This is my wife, Rysa." He introduced me with a charming smile.
I played my part. I smiled. I shook hands. I found Zhang's wife and asked about her charity work. Asher and I never spoke to each other, only signalled each other with our eyes.
At one point, an older gentleman made a joke. I laughed politely. Asher's hand tightened slightly on my back.
It was a signal: That's enough.
The entire evening passed without a single personal word between us. When we left, the silence in the car was heavier than when we arrived.
Thinking about our relationship at that time, we were like portraits hanging side by side on a wall. We were beautiful to look at but separated from each other.
The performance of our public life was a mask I learned to wear perfectly. But the silence that awaited me at home tortured me. It was during one of these afternoons that my mother came to visit.
She sat across from me in the living room. She sipped her tea, looking with pity at me.
"Rysa, darling, the Zhang Gala pictures were in the paper. You looked beautiful."
"Thank you, Mom."
"I know this marriage is difficult. A man like Asher, he's driven. He's not like other men. You can't expect flowers and love."
I stared out at the garden, saying nothing.
"Perhaps, you could try a different approach. A man's heart, even a heart like his, can be reached through his stomach or through reminding him of the beauty he has at home."
I turned to look at her.
"What are you saying, Mom?"
"Make him a meal yourself! Something he likes. Don't take help from the staff, and wear something lovely. Remind him that inside this business partnership is a beautiful young woman. Do something he likes. Make him notice you." She gave me a hopeful smile. "Just make an effort, my love, for your future."
Her words were meant to be helpful, but they felt like a condemnation.
Win your cold husband with a home cooked meal and a pretty dress.
It confirmed that even my own mother believed our distance was my fault.
"Perhaps you're right, Mom. I'll think about it." I replied with a smile.
After she left, I thought about her advice. I decided to give it a go but not to win his heart, but as a final test. I would make the meal. I would wear the dress, I will try to involve myself with what he likes, and when it will fail, I would be finally able to give up on him without any regrets.
I chose a Tuesday. I dismissed the chef and the kitchen staff for the evening with an excuse about wanting privacy. The truth was, I didn't want an audience for my humiliation. The kitchen was unfamiliar to me but I started. After working for three hours, I prepared the dish he'd once said was his favorite: roasted duck.
I set the dining table, the lighting. I waited and waited. The duck grew cold. Finally, just past midnight, I heard the sound of the front door opening. I straightened my dress and forced a smile onto my face.
Asher walked in, loosening his tie. He stopped in the doorway, his eyes scanning the scene: the candlelit table, the crockery, me standing there like a hostess waiting for her guest of honor.
"Rysa, what is all this?"
"It's dinner." I said. "I made it for us."
He frowned.
"Why would you do that? We have a chef for a reason." He walked towards the bar, and poured himself whiskey.
"I know." I stammered. "I just thought... it would be nice to have a meal together."
He took a sip of the whiskey, his back was facing me.
"Don't bother with this. I eat at the club after late meetings." He turned around, and looked at the food I had prepared. "And tell the staff not to let this go to waste."
Then, without another glance in my direction, he walked out of the dining room. I kept standing there alone looking at the cold food.
The sting of that night lingered for days. I decided to change tactics. If a domestic approach failed, perhaps an intellectual one would work. I found an opportunity a week later when I saw him in his study, surrounded by the financial charts on multiple screens. The door was slightly open. I took a deep breath and knocked carefully. He didn't look up.
"What is it?"
I stepped inside.
"I... I read about the Chen merger in the Financial Times today. It sounds like a very complex negotiation. I was curious about the supply chain integration challenges."
This time, he did look up. But the expression on his face wasn't one of interest, it was of annoyance.
"Rysa." His voice was as cold as steel. "It is complex which is why I am working on it." He gestured at the screens. "Your concerns are the household and being seen with me when required. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do."
He turned back to his screens. I felt my face flush with shame and anger. I had ventured into his world of business and power that was the only thing he truly cared about, and I had been dismissed as someone irrelevant.
The final nail in the coffin of my hope came on the morning of my first birthday as Mrs. Wang. I woke up alone, as usual. Then, my phone beeped. It was a bank notification.
Transaction Credit: $50,000
For Personal Expenses.
I stared at the screen. The number was huge. But it wasn't a gift, it was a transaction. It was the payment for the services I offered.
There was no "Happy Birthday," no "With Love."
That night, I sat at the vanity in my dressing room. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me was pale, her eyes were filled with sadness.
A single tear fell down on my cheek. It was a symbol of weakness. Then, with an angry swipe of my hand, I wiped it away.
Crying for him was pointless.
I made a vow then. No more self cooked dinners. No more attempts at conversation. No more hoping for a card, a glance, a shred of warmth.
I would become exactly what he wanted me to be: silent, efficient, and manageable. I would be the perfect ghost in his golden mansion.