The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ava lay curled on the edge of the large bed.Her body still remembered everything.
The roughness.His eyes, so angry.
The way he didn't stop even when she whimpered.
But she didn't cry.Tears felt useless now.
She stared at the ceiling, hands gripping the blanket tightly, mind drifting into a daze.
Click.
Her breath hitched.The door slowly creaked open.
Footsteps.Heavy. Familiar.
And then, there he was standing at the threshold.
Devid.
Shirt undone, sleeves rolled to his elbows, chest slightly heaving… eyes unreadable.
She sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around herself.
"You… need something?" she whispered, voice fragile.
He didn't answer.
Just shut the door behind him and locked it with a soft click.
The air shifted instantly.Her heart raced. She felt it coming.
He took slow steps toward her bed. Ava instinctively moved back, her back hitting the headboard.
He didn't speak only climbed onto the mattress, hovering above her like a storm.
"I told myself I wouldn't come," he murmured, voice low, cold. "But then I remembered… this is the only way I can silence everything."
She looked up at him, wide eyes trembling.
"Please…" she whispered. "I-I still hurt—"
"Good," he growled, his hand grabbing her wrist, pulling her beneath him. "Maybe then you'll remember whose wife you are."
"Devid..."
"I told you not to say my name," he hissed, lips brushing her neck, breath hot and rough. "You're only allowed to moan it."
He pushed the blanket off her, his mouth already bruising her collarbone.
No softness. No hesitation.
And yet… something was different.
This time… he stared at her face as he took her.Watched every tear.Every breath.Every broken whimper.
His fingers laced with hers at some point tight, possessive, like he was fighting himself.
He didn't stop till her body gave in again. Till the pain became pleasure. Till her voice finally broke and begged not for him to stop but to keep going.
By the time he collapsed beside her, drenched in sweat and silence…
He didn't speak.
But he didn't leave either.
He just stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling.
And for the first time… he reached out.Placed a hand on her stomach.Not sexual. Just quiet.Grounding.
And that… confused her more than anything.
Two weeks had passed since their wedding.
Devid left early each morning for the company, barely sparing her a glance. He hadn't touched her again since that second night. No kisses. No words. Not even a cold insult.
Just… silence.
And yet, Ava tried.
Every day, she woke up before him to prepare his breakfast. Polished his shoes. Steamed his suit. She watched tutorials on how to prepare his favorite coffee, hoping for just one compliment.
He never said a word.
Not when she bowed and handed him his blazer.
Not when she placed warm meals at the table each night.
But she still smiled. Softly. Obediently.
Because she was his wife.
And that meant something to her… even if it meant nothing to him.
But the moment he stepped out, Mrs. Maron changed.
"You didn't iron the curtains," she snapped one morning. "Do it again. Properly."
"Yes, mother," Ava said quietly.
"And the floors are still dusty. You're not a guest anymore. You live here. You work here. Understand?"
"Yes…"
"Speak louder."
"Yes, mother."
Mrs. Maron tossed her the long list of chores. "I want dinner ready by 7. I'll be inviting the wives' committee. Don't embarrass us like the last time. And wear something that doesn't make you look like an orphan."
That word still stung.
But Ava only bowed again.
All day, she worked nonstop laundry, cooking, flower arrangement, silverware polishing. Her hands burned from hot water, her knees bruised from scrubbing. Yet she made no complaints.
At 6:45, the food was ready. The table is perfect. Ava had tied her hair in a neat bun, wearing a modest beige dress with soft makeup, looking exactly how a quiet CEO's wife should.
The women arrived, all dressed in pearls and perfume.
Ava stood by with a gentle smile, offering tea.
But she heard their whispers.
"She's so plain."
"No family, no class. Can't believe the Marons accepted her."
"I heard Devid hasn't even touched her since the wedding night."
Her fingers trembled but didn't spill the cup.
That night, when she went to their shared bedroom and collapsed on the bed with swollen feet and silent tears, she reminded herself:
You're still his wife.Even if no one sees you as one.Even if he doesn't.
Midnight.
Devid in his study room.
Devid woke, throat parched. The glass on the table was empty.
He glanced at the clock 2:11 a.m.
With a groan, he got up, rubbing his temples. His steps were slow as he walked downstairs to the kitchen, expecting complete silence.
But instead, he froze mid-step.
The kitchen lights were on.
And there bent over the sink stood Ava.
Hair messily tied, sleeves rolled up, quietly washing the last of the dishes. Her back slightly hunched, her movements tired. A barely-there limp in her steps.
She didn't hear him.
Too lost in routine.
She looked… drained.
Not in a lazy way but overused. Like a candle burning at both ends.
He stepped closer.
Her soft hum to herself faltered when she noticed him.
"Oh..!" She quickly wiped her hands and bowed slightly. "Y-You're awake. I didn't hear you."
"What the hell are you doing at this hour?" he asked flatly.
She hesitated, eyes dropping. "Your mother said the glasses weren't polished right. I didn't want to leave them till morning."
His jaw clenched.
"She made you do all this?"
"No," she lied. "I wanted to. I-I'm your wife… it's my duty."
The silence that followed made her shrink further.
He noticed the faint redness on her wrists, the barely-there bruise on her ankle. The exhaustion in her eyes. Not just physical emotional.
She didn't wait up for him tonight.
And why would she?
He hadn't spoken a single kind word to her in two weeks.
But here she was… still serving. Still showing up.
Still obeying.
Devid stepped forward and without a word, took the dish towel from her hands and tossed it aside.
"Go to bed," he said, voice quieter than usual.
"But the"
"I said go."
She looked up at him, confused at the sudden softness in his tone. But obeyed, slowly nodding and walking away without another word.
Only after she left did he glance at the dishes… and the perfectly polished glasses.
He didn't touch the water.Didn't drink.
He stood there… for a long time.
Something in his chest shifting.