At exactly eleven o'clock at night, the rain fell heavily. Seren's anxiety grew as her husband, Mark, had not yet returned home.
On the dining table, various types of luxurious dishes had lost their heat five hours ago. The thin Seren sat until her back stiffened, but she refused to leave. She wore her best silk dress, hoping that tonight there would be a little warmth for her.
Today, three years had passed in a devotion she called marriage. Among the remnants of her hopes, Seren only wanted to mark this day with a small, sincere celebration.
Seren stared blankly at the white candles that had now melted almost to the bottom of their holders—standing unsteadily, emitting a sharp smell of paraffin and black smoke that danced in the air. Next to her plate lay a small blue velvet box. Inside were a pair of simple silver cufflinks. Seren had bought them with her own savings over many months—money she had painstakingly set aside from the household budget, which was closely monitored by her mother-in-law.
Beep!
A soft electronic beep sounded. Footsteps approached. Mark entered the dining room in his perfectly pressed black suit, not a single wrinkle in sight. The cold scent of his expensive perfume instantly filled the room.
Mark didn't even glance at the dining table. He immediately turned toward the stairs leading to the floor.
"Mark," Seren said after a long silence.
Mark stopped walking. He turned his head slightly, revealing his strong jawline and sharp but empty gaze.
"Why aren't you asleep yet?" Mark asked flatly. There was no guilt in his voice.
"I was waiting for you. Today is our wedding anniversary. I cooked your favorite food," Seren stood up, her hands trembling slightly as she touched the edge of the table.
Mark finally turned his body completely. His eyes scanned the dining table with a cynical gaze. He saw the roast duck with its hardened skin and the abalone soup with its frozen surface.
"I already ate out," Mark said.
"But I prepared it since this afternoon, Mark. I just wanted us to eat together, just for a little while."
Mark stepped closer. He stopped right in front of Seren, separated by the wide dining table. He looked Seren up and down with a gaze that was almost condescending.
"Three years, Seren. You should understand by now that I don't have time for domestic drama like this," Mark said coldly. "Mom said you need to get plenty of rest because you're in poor health, but instead you're wasting your energy on useless things."
"This is our marriage, Mark. It's not useless."
Mark snorted softly. "This marriage exists because of Grandfather's will. Never forget that. You're in this house out of pity, not because I need a cook."
Seren fell silent, her chest feeling tight. She reached into the blue velvet box on the table and handed it to Mark with trembling hands.
"I bought this for you. I hope you'll wear it to the office."
Mark took the box with his fingertips. He opened it briefly, then closed it again with a sharp click.
"Silver cufflinks?" Mark stared at the buttons as if they were trash that had accidentally stuck to his shoes. "Seren, you know I only wear the finest platinum jewelry. This thing..."
Mark weighed the box in his hand before dropping it into the silver trash can in the corner of the room.
"This thing smells cheap. Very cheap. It's embarrassing to use it in front of my business colleagues."
The thud as the box hit the bottom of the trash can sounded very loud in Seren's ears, her heart seemed to fall there too.
"Don't ever buy me cheap stuff again. It ruins my taste," Mark added expressionlessly.
Mark turned around, ready to leave. However, he paused for a moment and threw a brown envelope onto the dining table, right on top of the cold soup plate.
"Tomorrow, a guest will be staying here. She is pregnant. And since you cannot fulfill your duty as a wife to give me an heir, you will take care of all her needs. Don't make her stressed."
The blood seemed to stop flowing in Seren's body.
"Pregnant? Who is she?" Seren hissed.
"Your sister...?" His voice trembled, barely audible in the vast, silent dining room.
Mark turned, looking at Seren as if she were a minor annoyance. "The woman I love. Something you'll never understand. Clear this table, then go to bed. I don't want to see your pale face tomorrow morning when she arrives."
Mark walked away without looking back, leaving Seren standing frozen.
"Mark! Wait!"
Seren gasped. She ran, trying to catch up with Mark, who was already at the bottom of the stairs. With trembling fingers, she dared to grab the sleeve of Mark's Suit.
Mark stopped in his tracks. He didn't turn around, but his shoulders tensed, showing his clear dislike of the touch.
"Mark... you haven't forgotten, have you?" whispered Seren, her eyes beginning to well up. "Isn't tomorrow the day you promised to accompany me to the hospital to have my heart checked? The doctor said my uterus needs to be re-examined too—"
Mark jerked his arm away roughly, causing Seren's hand to slip from his grasp. He turned, looking down at Seren with eyes flashing with hatred.
"Cancel the appointment!" Mark said sharply. "I have a woman who is my priority now. But... it's definitely not you! I don't have time to take you for routine checkups that always have the same results. You're healthy, Seren. Stop using your illness as an excuse to hold me back."
"But Mark, the doctor said—"
"Enough!" Mark cut her off coldly. "If you can stand here arguing, that means you're strong enough to go to the hospital on your own. Don't make me say it twice, prepare a room for her now!"
Mark turned and climbed the stairs with long strides, leaving Seren standing frozen in place.
The night passed in suffocating silence, until dawn broke, bringing a chill that was even more painful for Seren.
Seren was already in the kitchen, standing with what little energy she had left after barely sleeping the night before.
She was pouring hot water into a crystal glass when the sharp, rapid rhythm of high heels echoed across the marble floor of the lobby. Seren didn't need to turn around to know who was coming. That rhythm belonged to the true ruler of this house.
Beatrice Valerius entered with intimidating elegance. The woman wore a stiff maroon wool suit, not a single strand of hair out of her perfect bun. In one hand, she carried a small crocodile leather bag, and in the other, a small, tightly sealed amber glass bottle.
Beatrice's face showed none of the warmth of a mother-in-law. To her, Seren was not a daughter-in-law, but a failed investment whose damage had to be constantly monitored.
"You still look like a living corpse, Seren,"