I awoke abruptly, my breathing labored, and my eyes swollen. Had I succumbed to tears once more in my sleep? It seemed I had. I often tried to avoid sleep altogether; the fewer hours I slept, the fewer nightmares haunted me. The recurring dream was a relentless cycle — encroaching walls, a window with Noel smiling on the other side. I struggled to dismantle the barrier between us, but time always ran out; the walls inexorably closed in, and I'd awaken, screaming for release.

I pondered if Zacchaeus heard my screams, if it affected him in any way. Since the day the doctor visited me, Zacchaeus and I had not crossed paths. For once, I found solace in the vast house where two people could coexist without encountering each other. Zacchaeus resided on the first floor, while my room occupied the upper one. This arrangement suited both of us — he could move freely, and I could relish my solitude. The only interactions I had were with the staff, the cleaning women, and the butler who delivered my meals. Despite my aversion to being waited on, something within me restrained me from leaving the confines of my room. The house was not mine; I did not belong there. I had no right to roam around as if I owned the place.

Pulling a robe tightly around myself, I shivered in my silk nightgown. My belongings arrived from my former house, prompting a breakdown. Clothes, shoes, books, old photographs — all meticulously packed in boxes. A bitter laugh escaped me as I realized not a single item related to Noel was included. The gifts he had given me — a framed photograph, the occasional teddy bear, some jewelry — none of it made the journey. Perhaps my mother believed it was for the best, erasing any reminders of the past in my new life. If only she knew that my new existence felt more like purgatory; then, perhaps, she would have shown compassion and sent the things that connected me to the one good memory from my old life.

I ascended to the balcony attached to my room, taking in the crisp morning air around six a.m., my usual waking time. Mist enveloped everything, casting an eerie, lifeless atmosphere. Each day, I harbored hope that something would change, that a miracle would occur, and I could finally accept this place as my new home. However, the Winston mansion loomed just as formidable and grim, unwavering in its refusal to accept me. It remained loyal to its owner.

The screeching of tires jolted me, and I peered down to witness Zacchaeus's Ferrari speeding through the gates. Had he been out all night? I watched, waiting for him to emerge. To my surprise, the first person stepping out of the car was wearing high heels.

My heart skipped a beat. My initial hope, perhaps Olianna had returned, maybe he had found her, maybe there was a chance to save my life. The person who emerged, however, was blonde, clad in clothes even my sister would shy away from. Zacchaeus walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and kissing her neck. A slight clumsiness in his walk hinted at his inebriation. I gulped as the two engaged in an intense make-out session in the foyer. I expected pain to hit, but it didn't. I felt nothing. He could do as he pleased; I didn't care. Tearing my eyes away, I headed to the bathroom for a shower.

Two hours later, while randomly changing TV channels, I heard the sound of something shattering from outside. Help wouldn't arrive until about nine, leaving only one or rather two people who could be here. Panic set in, realizing I didn't want to face either.

The sounds persisted, loud crashes of things being thrown, objects violently breaking. I decided it was enough. With determination, I left the safety of my room, only to find the living room in complete disarray. Everything was turned inside out, and anything destructible was reduced to pieces. Lamps were broken, vases shattered, paintings strewn across the floor, and cushions torn open. Amidst the chaos stood Zacchaeus, looking murderous. When his eyes met mine, his rage seemed to intensify tenfold.

To be honest, I was terrified. His anger was palpable, sending a chill down my spine. I began to retreat carefully, hoping not to attract attention, but it wasn't careful enough. Zacchaeus caught up to me before I could reach my room, grabbing my arm and pushing me against the wall. The scent of alcohol on his breath sickened me, his gray eyes piercing mine. I cowered under his touch, his grip on my arm unrelenting.

"Zacchaeus," I whispered, hoping he would sense the pleading in my voice.

"Shut up! Shut the hell up," he yelled, and I instinctively closed my eyes, terrified of what was to come. Would he hit me? Did he hate me that much?

"You ruined everything," he growled, running his free hand through his hair.

I regarded him with questioning eyes, tears stinging mine as I struggled to keep it all together. This was the moment I had feared, anticipating his breakdown and blaming me for ruining his life. I wanted to convey that this situation was just as challenging for me as it was for him, but I doubted he cared. The alcohol in his system had robbed him of rationality, and there was nothing I could do to make him see reason.

"I couldn't be with that girl I brought home! I couldn't touch her without the guilt eating at me. You did this to me," he spat, leaving me speechless.

He pushed himself off me and struggled to walk straight; he was on the verge of falling when I quickly ran and caught him, his weight crushing me. He muttered a few more incoherent things, words aimed to hurt me. I did my best to support his weight, grappling to get him to my room, the closest one. I managed to lay him down on the bed, doing so more roughly than I intended. After taking off his shoes and placing a blanket over him, I stared at the sleeping form of my husband. Try as I might, I couldn't summon anger toward him. He wasn't at fault; what he had been subjected to was not something he deserved. He hated me, I knew that, and I was far from loving him, but there was something I needed to do, something that would mend his wounded heart.

Late on a Tuesday night, Zacchaeus entered my room nonchalantly, seemingly oblivious to our previous confrontation and the fear it had instilled in me. Perhaps he had indeed forgotten, as he made no attempt to apologize, and I decided to avoid any potential confrontation by leaving him to his own devices. I rarely ventured outside, and this seclusion was taking a toll on my mental clarity. My thoughts became muddled and confusing, causing concern for my own sanity. My parents hadn't reached out to me, and I had no expectation of their visit anytime soon. They were likely ashamed of their actions, and truth be told, I wasn't eager to see them either. Any reminder of my past life was too painful to bear.

A white envelope was tossed onto my bed in a rather careless manner. I wrinkled my nose at the strong scent of alcohol emanating from Zacchaeus as I cautiously picked up the envelope. Inside, I found a plane ticket to Florida, with the departure scheduled for the next day. Perplexed, I looked at him, my voice sounding foreign to my ears after days of little use.

"Why are we leaving?" I inquired, noticing the curt tone in his response.

"We need to get away from the city for a while. Dad thinks it'd be a good idea to visit our family's vacation home since not many people know about it," he explained, and I nodded in understanding. It made sense that our families would want us to vanish for a while, allowing the public interest in our recent high-profile wedding to wane. They had already concocted enough excuses for our absence from events, including our own wedding reception. Florida offered an opportunity for the fervor surrounding our union to settle, paving the way for our eventual return.

As Zacchaeus prepared to leave, he suddenly halted, bending down to pick something up. Curious, I scooted to the edge of my bed to see what had captured his attention. Nervously playing with my fingers, I watched as he retrieved the broken pieces of my phone. The screen bore a prominent crack, and the back exhibited significant dents. I had intentionally rendered it useless to resist the temptation of contacting him or responding to his calls. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on perspective, my inability to recall phone numbers meant slim chances of reaching out to Noel again. Perhaps, in some strange way, it was for the best.

He scrutinized the broken phone, then shifted his gaze to me, seeking an explanation. I nonchalantly shrugged and said, "It fell." He pursed his lips, as if contemplating further inquiry, but then chose to drop the matter. Pocketing my damaged phone, he stated, "I'll get you a new one. I'll take this so they can retrieve the SIM card." Tempted to protest, I reconsidered and decided against giving him a reason to pry into my affairs. He left my room, leaving me once again in solitude. Switching on the TV, I tuned into the news, letting the reporters' voices become a mere backdrop as I conjured mental images to ward off unwelcome thoughts until sleep claimed me.

The following day, the butler and other staff members busied themselves helping me pack. Unaccustomed to the task, I allowed Mrs. Hotch to sift through my belongings and decide what to take. Zacchaeus had already packed, and I learned he was having breakfast in the dining room downstairs. Typically, I opted for meals to be delivered to my room, but this morning, an inexplicable urge pushed me to leave my sanctuary and join him. Perhaps leaving the city would coincide with a shift in our dynamic. I didn't anticipate love, but perhaps we could find a way to coexist until we figured out our predicament.

A timid voice interrupted my thoughts, "Miss, Mr. Winston is waiting for you downstairs." I saw a frightened-looking young girl of around 16, her eyes meeting mine. I smiled warmly at her, acknowledging her presence. It was time to depart, and I couldn't be more eager to leave this house. Walking down, I noticed that all our luggage had been loaded into the car, and Zacchaeus, visibly impatient, tapped his foot against the floor, leaning against the door frame. I hastened downstairs, the sound of my heels drawing his attention. With a bored expression, he signaled the driver to bring the car to the front and left without acknowledging me. Suppressing the urge to stomp my foot in frustration, I glared at his retreating figure. Who did he think he was, unable to offer even a simple greeting?

"Did you pack everything you need?" he inquired once we were in the car en route to the airport. I nodded and turned my face away from him.

"Are you sure?" he asked again. "I don't want to have to turn back just because you forgot a pair of earrings or something." I rolled my eyes and, unable to restrain myself, retorted, "I'm not Olianna." I bit my lip as soon as the words escaped me, watching my husband flinch and clench his fists. Apologizing crossed my mind, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. I didn't feel indebted to him for anything, not even an apology.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, and soon we arrived at the airport to check in. Zacchaeus handled everything, treating me like a child incapable of managing such responsibilities. Despite my inclination to inform him that I'd traveled alone many times, I stayed silent, letting him take charge. After checking in, we headed for the waiting area, with Zacchaeus walking at least twenty steps ahead of me. I rolled my eyes and trailed behind, my focus fixed on the back of his head. So engrossed was I in glaring at him that I didn't notice someone walking toward me. It only became apparent when I collided with the person, causing her belongings to crash to the ground with a loud noise. Zacchaeus turned to identify the source of the commotion and groaned when he realized I was involved. I bent down to help the woman retrieve her fallen items, muttering apologies repeatedly.

It wasn't until I handed her some papers that I got a good look at her. I froze upon seeing her, feeling my blood pound and heart thud heavily. The woman, just 21, stared at me with her mouth agape. Before either of us could speak, Zacchaeus appeared beside me, maintaining his composure.

"I'm so sorry for my wife's clumsiness; I hope nothing got broken," he said, indicating the laptop she carried. I had given it to her on her birthday, in her favorite color, red. The laptop now mirrored the shade of her face as she glared at me. He had said wife, and she must have caught that. I needed to explain before she got angry and spilled the truth to him. As I opened my mouth to speak, eyes slightly watery, she beat me to it. Her hand connected with my cheek, stinging from the impact. The pain intensified as my eyes welled with tears. In a shaky voice, I pleaded, "Lexie, please, this isn't what it looks like."

"You bitch!" she spat, raising her hand as if to strike again. I closed my eyes, bracing for the pain. But Zacchaeus snapped back to his senses, standing protectively in front of me and catching her wrist just in time.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed at her, his eyes ablaze.

"I'm giving this cheating whore what she deserves," she retorted, her tone laced with acidity.

Zacchaeus shifted his gaze between me and Lexie, then back to me. He stood in front of me, arms crossed protectively, blocking Lexie from view.

"Ariyah, what is going on?" he demanded, anger and embarrassment evident in his tone. The surrounding crowd stared at us, and Zacchaeus's ears turned red due to the spectacle.

I gulped and looked down at my feet, debating whether to lie. But considering Lexie was right there, the truth seemed the better option.

"I used to date her brother," I confessed, each word echoing as if magnified a million times.