She could smell the bergamot and cedarwood scent on her husband, a scent that had never belonged to her. Her gaze fell on his wrist, on the Patek Philippe watch he never took off. The movement of the second hand seemed to record the passage of time with cold precision. Each tick meant another part of her life was slipping away, dissolving into this luxurious and silent "prison."
Then, everything ended abruptly. Damien stood up quickly, looking down at the rumpled bed, without kissing her again or even glancing at her. He picked up his phone and the custom suit jacket, as if nothing had happened before-no encounter, nothing at all.
He quickly put on the suit, phone already pressed to his ear. In the interval while dialing, he turned to Alex and said, "Monitor it on schedule. You are not allowed to call me until you have pregnancy symptoms!"
Then there was a voice reporting over the phone. He was silent for a moment, then said, his voice clear and forceful: "The acquisition plan has been approved. Proceed as planned."
Alex lay in bed, listening to him discuss the nine-figure deal. To her, she was like a rag doll-just another "asset" in his vast portfolio.
He hung up, tossed the phone onto the nightstand. Then he walked toward the door without hesitation, as if he had somewhere urgent to be.
He opened the door, and the housekeeper's voice came from down the hall: "Mr. Carlisle, are you leaving?"
"Yes," Damien said, his voice cold and curt. "I have a meeting to attend."
The door closed. In the silence around her, Alex slowly sat up. The silk sheet fell to her waist, revealing faint red marks left by his body pressing against hers. She limped into the huge adjoining bathroom. Two sets of toiletries sat on the marble vanity, but one set-his-had barely been used.
She stood under the scalding shower, trying to wash away his scent, the feel of his hands, and that bone-deep humiliation. Mechanically, she followed the post-intercourse cleansing routine recommended by the fertility specialist-steps meant to improve the chances of conception. She felt like a lab technician experimenting on herself.
She wrapped herself in a thick towel and stared at the pale, expressionless woman in the mirror.
Back in the bedroom, Damien's phone on the nightstand lit up with a new notification. A strange impulse she had not felt in years drove her to pick it up. She knew the passcode-it was their daughter Clara's birthday.
On the screen was a photo of Damien and Seraphina Sanford, the woman her husband adored and had once publicly declared his love for. In the photo, they stood in front of the Eiffel Tower, Damien holding Seraphina, both smiling.
Seeing their intimacy in the photo, and then herself left behind alone, Alex could not suppress her jealousy, even anger.
She clicked on the message notification. It was from "Sera." The message read: "The stars miss you, and so do I. I hope the assignment wasn't too awful."
An assignment. Alex tasted the words, feeling a strange mockery in them. Was having a child merely a task? A child should be the fruit of love, but they had reversed the order of things.
She scrolled down with her thumb and saw Damien's tender reply-a tenderness she had never experienced from him. "Almost done. See you tonight. Love, Damien."
Alex's breath caught in her throat. She threw the phone back onto the nightstand as if it had burned her.
She put on a simple dress and walked out of the master bedroom. At the top of the grand staircase, she met Mrs. Foster. A flicker of what seemed like pity showed in the housekeeper's eyes.
"Madam, your tea is ready, in the sunroom," Mrs. Foster said softly.
"Thank you, Mrs. Foster." Alex forced a faint smile, her voice barely audible.
She entered the sunroom alone. The grand mansion was like a gilded cage. She sat on the soft sofa but did not touch the tea, only gazing at the neatly manicured gardens. Her hand brushed lightly over her flat stomach. Perhaps a new life was already growing there-a life born as a bargaining chip.
A girl was not enough; his family needed a boy as heir.
A wave of nausea and deep sorrow rose in her heart. Five years. She had operated like a perfect machine, but now she felt she was about to break down.
Her phone rang. It was an alarm. Time to take the medication that helped improve fertility.
Alex stared at the notification for a long moment. Then, with a steady hand, she pressed "Off." She did not want to take any more medication.
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