Chapter Fifteen: Crack the Surface
The next morning, Aiden wasn't in the kitchen.
Elena didn't look for him.
She made her tea, sat by the window, and scrolled through the gala coverage. Photos everywhere. Headlines vague but charged:
"The Other Mrs. Black Shines"
"From Stand-In to Statement"
"Mystery Wife, Real Presence"
There was a photo of her alone—shoulders bare, face calm, eyes unreadable.
She saved it.
Not out of vanity.
Out of proof.
That she was no longer invisible.
---
Aiden came in around noon, blazer slung over one shoulder, tie loose.
He looked tired.
She didn't ask why.
"I have a meeting tonight," he said. "It'll run late."
"Okay."
"You don't want to know where?"He asked looking at her with brows raised in question
She looked up. "Do you want me to?"
He hesitated. "No."
"Then why ask?"
He didn't answer.
---
She spent the afternoon reading.
Then cooking.
Not for him. For herself.
Simple pasta. Fresh basil. Olive oil, no sauce.
He came in around eight. Tie gone, hair slightly messy, something off in his expression.
She didn't get up.
He walked into the kitchen, paused.
"You cooked."
"Yes."
"For me?"
She gave him a look. "Does everything have to be about you?"
He didn't smile. "Apparently, yes."He said his voice rough and hard
He went quiet, watching her.
"I saw the article," he said finally.
"Which one?"
"You know."
She did.
"What did you think?"
A pause. "I didn't expect to feel proud."
She blinked. That, she hadn't expected.
"But I did," he said. "You looked..."
He stopped. Shook his head.
"Forget it."
She stood. Carried her plate to the sink.
"Say it."
He leaned against the counter. Tired. Raw.
"You looked like someone I didn't deserve."
She froze, just for a second.
Then turned the water on.
Washed the plate in silence.
---
Later that night, she heard him outside her door.
He didn't knock.
Didn't say anything.
Just stood there.
She didn't open it.
She didn't need to.
Let him feel the silence.
---
AIDEN'S POV
He hated how quiet she'd become.
Not cold.Not cruel.Just... self-contained.
Untouchable.
He wanted her to yell. To fight. Scream,cry anything . To feel something toward him—even if it was anger.
But instead, she gave him nothing.
No validation.
No affection.
Not even resentment.
It made him restless. Off balance.
He kept thinking about what she'd said: "Does everything have to be about you?"
Maybe it did.
Maybe that was the problem.
---
ELENA'S POV
She stood in the shower longer than she needed to, letting the steam rise around her like fog.
His words replayed in her head.
"You looked like someone I didn't deserve."
Not an apology.
Not a confession.
Just... a crack in the surface.
She touched her own shoulder gently.
Not broken.
Not bitter.
Still here.
Still herself.
And maybe, finally, that was enough to start building something real.
Not with him.
With herself…