The Silent Punishment

She had been hauled upstairs like a felon, and her knees hurt and were bruised where she had fallen. Long, lonesome shadows were cast over the spacious bedroom by the moonlight, which also painted silver lines on the smooth surface.

She smelt the subtle aroma of lemon polish as she placed her forehead against the wall. A steady cadence of denial pounded in her heart. Her eyes strayed to the unfinished tray of food that Natalia Westbrook had left hours earlier, and to the velvet armchair in the corner. The tea in a porcelain teacup, long since cooled to a murky amber, sat askew.

There was nothing that I stole.

In the suffocating silence, she clung to the silent chant that formed on her lips. Squeezing her eyes tight, she relived the moment Camilla's voice rang with false innocence as security told her to stand: "I saw it myself! She dropped the jewellery from her purse.

She felt a heave in her chest.

The keyhole was filled with light, harsh, and familiar laughter.

Camilla's voice echoed over the corridor, "She's lucky Isaac hasn't thrown her out already." "I told you she'd crack under pressure."

Vivienne Hastings's voice came next, measured and calm. "Have patience, my love. Soon enough, the girl will break. When they recognise their helplessness, everyone does.

Evelyn scraped her fingernails on the marble. Like a boot against her ribs, the weight of their words crushed down on her chest.

How much longer can I put up with this?

Nights merged with days. Evelyn was unable to distinguish between the two.

The wall-mounted antique clock ticked with unrelenting accuracy. Like a dull sword, each second cut through the silence. Perched on the bed's edge, she gazed at the unfinished breakfast tray at the door. A buttered croissant, a grapefruit slice, and one boiled egg. Her stomach turned to knots at the sight of it.

The door opened with a squeak. With her pointed heels clicking on the marble, Natalia Westbrook stepped inside. Her gaze drifted over Evelyn, lingering on her rumpled clothing and pale face. The housekeeper's mouth went thin.

Natalia placed a new tray on the table and stated, "If you don't eat, you'll starve." The breeze carried the subtle aroma of coffee.

Evelyn took a swallow. Her voice sounded unfamiliar. "Maybe I should."

Natalia furrowed her brow. Her face briefly displayed what appeared to be sympathy before she straightened and hardened.

She whispered, "Don't give them the satisfaction," as she turned to face the exit.

Behind her, the lock snapped shut. Evelyn's fists clenched.

The Manhattan skyline, bright and lively, stretched on forever outside the window. But here she was, imprisoned like a prisoner in a cage of gold.

She turned to look at the digital clock on the bedside table. Three days. She hadn't seen her husband in three days. Isaac Blackwell had left her to suffer in this opulent prison for three days without saying a thing.

Has he given up on me entirely?

Heart pounding, Evelyn sat up straight. She gripped the silk throw pillow tightly in her lap. Footsteps, familiar and measured, came across the threshold.

Blackwell, Isaac.

His hands were in his trouser pockets as he stood near the window, facing away from her. His rigid physique was highlighted by the amber illumination of the metropolitan skyline, which transformed his profile into icy quiet and dark edges.

Evelyn got up. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she walked closer, her footsteps muted by the carpet.

"Why?" Before she could stop herself, the question escaped her lips.

He remained still.

She questioned more loudly, "Why didn't you defend me?" "You knew I didn’t steal that bracelet."

He exhaled deeply, shifting his shoulders. "You’re still here," he murmured quietly.

She balled her fists. "That’s not an answer."

Slowly, he turned, and the sight of him was like a kick to the gut. The angular jawline and the storm-gray eyes are both familiar and far away. She had married him in order to survive. Her dignity was torn by the guy who had her freedom in his hands and had done nothing while his family destroyed hers.

He looked directly into her eyes. "I warned you this wouldn’t be easy," he stated.

Her throat tightened each breath. Simple? I was accused of stealing. They made me look bad in front of everybody. And you simply allow them."

He still had an expressionless face. "Evelyn, you signed the deal. What you signed up for is this.

Her eyes were scorched by tears. "You don’t care, do you?"

His mouth twitched. She briefly hoped he would say something else. However, he turned and moved in the direction of the door.

She shouted out, "Isac!"

Without turning around, he stopped and placed his hand on the doorframe.

She murmured, "You once said you protect what's yours," "Was that a lie?"

There was silence between them. At last, he responded.

"I protect what matters."

With a sense of empty finality, the door shut behind him.

Evelyn shook as she stood there.

The connotation was obvious.

She was irrelevant.

Evelyn Drake strolled across the well-kept garden of the estate. The scent of moist earth and thorns grounded her jangled nerves as the dew glistened on the petals like broken glass. A shadow came across the stone path, causing her steps to falter.

Beside her, Vivienne Hastings emerged, wearing a cream silk coat with casual elegance. Her ice-blue eyes never met the smile that curled her lips. She took a deep red rose from the closest bush, twirled the stem between her well-groomed fingers, and crushed the bloom in her palm without saying a word. Like drips of blood, the petals fell to the ground.

Gently, Vivienne brushed crimson flakes from her hand and remarked, "You might have fooled Isaac for now." "But you’re just a placeholder."

Evelyn's heartbeat accelerated. Like unseen chains, the weight of Vivienne's presence weighed down on her. She made herself look into the woman's eyes. She said, "I'm not trying to fool anyone," in a tone more composed than she actually felt.

Vivienne laughed softly, almost melodiously. "You are, of course. Adorable young convent girl pretending to be the wife of a billionaire. You don't belong here, though. Her grin grew angular. "And I’ll make sure you’re gone before the year is over."

Evelyn stood amid the fallen rose petals as the older woman turned and left. The wind carried Vivienne's warning and perfume into the chilly morning air, coating her tongue with the metallic tang of terror.

What is she going to do next?

With its familiar, recurring creak, Evelyn's bedroom door opened. She entered and stopped.

Her closet was in a state of disarray. Once neatly hung in colour-coded sequence, the dresses were now ripped and scattered all over the floor. The seams of delicate silk blouses were ripped apart, as if they had been pulled apart by clawed hands. Like a broken noose, the pearl necklace Isaac had given her for the charity banquet swayed gently as it hung from the chandelier.

Evelyn felt her chest constrict. She turned to look at the mirror over the dresser made of mahogany. A pearl-studded earring held a single message pinned to the glass.

You have no place here.

Like poisoned veins, the words, written in strong red ink, spilt down the paper.

She was still tormented by the humiliation of being accused of stealing. This now. Another reminder that she was only a trespasser in their world, no matter how hard she tried.

She swallowed the tears that hurt her eyes. No. She would not shatter. Not in this place. Not for them.

After grabbing the note off the mirror and crumpling it in her fist, Evelyn went to the dresser. Her chest trembled with air.

With a murmur, "I will survive this," she said.

Overhead, the chandelier squeaked. Soft laughing echoed outside as footsteps backed off down the hallway.

Camilla.

Evelyn's knuckles grew white as her fingers clenched around the paper, crushing it.

Allow them to arrive. Give it a shot. I will no longer be their victim.