Clara stared at the small bottle in her hand. For five years, that bottle had never been far from her life.
Every night, without fail, she swallowed one pill—because her husband told her to.
Because her husband didn't want her to get pregnant.
Her fingers tightened around it. The plastic felt heavier than it should, as if it carried not medicine, but every silent tear she had shed since the day she became Sean's wife.
Without realizing it, her lips trembled.
"Just one more," she whispered softly.
She opened the bottle and took a pill. It slid down her throat like a quiet reminder—of a marriage that had never truly begun.
The house around her was grand. Too grand.
Italian leather sofas, abstract paintings worth a fortune, crystal vases resting on polished marble tables—everything spoke of wealth.
But none of it had warmth.
This place was not a home. It was a beautiful cage. And Clara… was the one locked inside it.
"I hope you come home early today. I miss you so much, Sean."
Her voice was barely audible, swallowed by the empty silence.
Five years.
For five years, Clara had loved alone.
In this arranged marriage, she was the only one who tried. The only one who held on.
Sean?
He had never even looked back.
Clara stood in front of the mirror, wiping away the tears on her cheeks. Slowly, she forced a smile.
"I have to look happy," she murmured to her reflection.
"I chose this love… so I have to endure it."
At exactly eight o'clock, the sound of a car engine broke the silence outside.
Clara's heart immediately raced.
She rushed to the door, her smile already in place—the same smile she had been practicing all day.
The door opened.
Sean stepped in.
Handsome. Cold. Distant.
His black suit was slightly wrinkled, his white shirt loose at the collar—but Clara knew it wasn't from work.
She knew.
She always knew.
"You're home…" she said softly.
Sean walked past her without even sparing a glance.
No response. No acknowledgment.
As if she didn't exist.
He tossed his keys onto the table and headed straight toward the bedroom.
Clara followed behind him, her steps hesitant—yet unable to stop herself.
"Do you want me to prepare dinner?" she asked carefully.
"I've already eaten."
Short. Flat. Final.
Clara nodded slowly.
She didn't ask the question burning in her chest.
With whom?
Because she already knew the answer.
Moana.
Sean unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside carelessly.
Clara's gaze fell on the collar.
A burgundy lipstick stain.
Not her color.
Never hers.
Her chest tightened, but she swallowed the pain before it could spill out. She had learned to do that—again and again.
"Honey…" she tried, her voice softer this time.
"Can we talk for a minute?"
"I'm tired. Don't start."
"I just want to—"
"Stop, Clara."
His voice snapped like a whip.
"I told you not to bother me."
The words hit harder than any slap.
Clara froze.
Her eyes dropped to the cold marble floor beneath her feet.
Moments later, the bathroom door slammed shut.
And just like that… she was alone again.
That night, Clara sat at the dining table by herself.
The food she had prepared with care had gone cold.
The candle she lit had already melted halfway down.
Despite having maids, she always cooked for him.
Hoping.
Waiting.
Only to be disappointed.
Again.
Clara stared at the empty chair across from her.
"Why am I still holding on…?" she whispered.
Silence answered her.
But deep inside, a voice echoed softly—
Because you love him.
Clara let out a bitter smile.
Love.
Such a simple word.
Such a cruel one.
Her hand slowly moved to her flat stomach.
She wanted a child.
She wanted to carry the child of the man she loved.
But that dream had been crushed… long ago.
"I don't want children with you," Sean once said coldly.
"I'm not ready to be tied to you any deeper than this."
Clara covered her face.
Her shoulders trembled silently.
"Honey… why is it so hard for you to accept me…?"
No answer came.
So she ate alone.
Like always.
It was close to midnight when the bathroom door finally opened.
Sean walked out, dried his hair, and sat on the edge of the bed.
His attention was fixed on his phone.
His lips curved into a small smile.
A smile Clara hadn't seen in a long time.
"Moana…?" Clara asked quietly.
Sean shot her a sharp look.
"That's none of your business."
"I'm your wife…" she said, forcing the words out.
"Don't I have the right to know?"
Sean stood up.
He walked toward her slowly.
Close enough for her to feel the coldness in his presence.
"Listen carefully, Clara," he said in a low, chilling voice.
"I married you because I was forced to. Not because I love you."
Clara felt something inside her collapse.
"Don't ever think you can have my heart."
Her lips parted.
"I love you…" she whispered.
Sean let out a quiet laugh.
Mocking.
Indifferent.
"That's your problem," he said.
"Not mine."
He turned away, lay on the bed, and turned off the lights.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Clara stood there, hugging herself.
Because no one else would.
At two in the morning, Clara stepped onto the balcony.
The night wind brushed against her tear-stained face.
Below, the city lights sparkled beautifully.
But her world remained dark.
"Am I wrong… to love him?" she whispered to the sky.
No answer came.
Only silence.
She closed her eyes.
"I'll stay," she murmured.
"Until one day… he finally sees me."
Clara returned to the room and lay down beside her husband.
"Honey…" she called softly, looking at his sleeping face.
But then—
Sean's lips curved slightly.
His eyes opened.
He wasn't asleep.
Not at all.
"What is it?" he said lazily.
A faint smirk appeared on his lips.
"Do you miss my touch…"
He leaned closer.
"…or are you just jealous of the woman who had it tonight?"
"What do you mean?" Clara murmured.
Sean smirked.
"Want to make love?" He said flatly.
A faint smirk appeared on his lips.
"Fine. Let's do it."
He stepped closer, his eyes cold.
"You must be missing me, right?"
His voice dropped into a whisper—
Clara froze.
"Clara .... I can make love with you…"
He paused, then let out a quiet, cruel chuckle.
"While imagining Moana's face."