The morning sun filtered in through the tall windows of the Voss mansion, brushing soft gold against cold marble. Auren sat on the edge of the living room couch, staring at nothing—wrapped in one of Damir's oversized white shirts, legs pulled up like a child in hiding.
His fingers trembled slightly around the warm cup of untouched tea.
Last night was a blur. He remembered the rooftop. The bottle. The weight of emotions is too heavy to name. He remembered tears. And Damir's arms.
But nothing else.
The silence around him was so deep, it almost hurt.
Then he heard the main door click open.
His breath caught.
Damir walked in, dressed sharply as always. Black shirt. Watch gleaming. Cold elegance. His eyes landed on Auren, sitting still like a misplaced object in his own house.
For a second, something flickered in Damir's eyes. Not warmth. Not concern.
A small smirk.
It vanished as quickly as it came.
Without a word, he turned away and walked past the couch, heading straight to his office. His footsteps echoed—each one like a soft blow to Auren's chest.
Auren looked down into his tea. It had gone cold.
---
He couldn't sit still.
Later that morning, wrapped in silence and restless energy, Auren began tidying the room. Not because it needed it—but because he needed it. Something to distract his thoughts. Something to keep his hands busy while his heart screamed in silence.
He bent to push a stack of scattered books under the shelf when—
Click. Clack.
His foot hit something small and hard.
A tiny black object rolled out from beneath the cabinet.
Auren picked it up slowly.
His breath hitched.
It was a camera.
A hidden one.
For a moment, he just stared at it—his mind spinning in circles, refusing to believe what was in his hand.
"Whose is this?" he whispered, almost to himself.
---
Without thinking, he marched toward the service hallway. His fingers gripped the camera tightly as he called out to one of the maids—a middle-aged woman who had served the Voss family for years.
"Miss Rana," he said, voice tight, "Do you know what this is?"
Her face turned pale the second she saw it.
"I—Sir, I…"
"Did you put this in my room?"
"No! I mean, no sir, I would never—"
"Then who did?"
She hesitated. Eyes darted away.
"Orders," she said quietly, almost trembling. "It was... the master's instruction."
Auren felt the floor disappear beneath him.
His vision swam. His heart thudded like thunder in his ears.
The master's instruction.
Damir.
He couldn't breathe.
Auren stood in front of Damir's office door, fists clenched so tightly the edges of the camera dug into his palm.
He had no plan—just rage boiling beneath his skin. Betrayal burning like acid in his chest.
He knocked once.
Didn't wait.
Pushed the door open.
Damir sat behind his desk, phone in hand, scrolling through something like he had the entire world under his thumb.
He didn't even look up.
"You put cameras in my room?"
His voice didn't shake. It shattered.
Damir paused.
Looked up slowly, like the question didn't deserve urgency.
"Yes," he said, simply. "What about it?"
Auren stepped forward, fury lacing every breath. "You were watching me?"
"I needed to."
"Needed to?! I'm your husband, not a prisoner—"
"Exactly," Damir cut in, standing up. His voice was cold, controlled. "You are my husband. And yet I don't know what you're hiding."
Auren blinked. "I'm hiding? From you?"
"You have secrets," Damir said, circling the desk slowly, like a panther that smelled fear. "Your family. Your past. Your smiles. They're not real."
Auren's voice cracked. "You think planting cameras is the answer? You think destroying what little trust we have—"
"There was never trust," Damir snapped.
Silence.
That hurt more than any slap.
Auren's hands trembled, camera still clutched between his fingers. His throat tightened. "I gave you everything, Damir. My heart. My dreams. My vows."
Damir's expression didn't change.
Auren stepped back, voice soft now—more dangerous. "And you gave me… surveillance? Control? Was this your plan from the start? To cage me? To play with me until I broke?"
Damir stepped closer. "Don't play the victim, Auren."
"What am I supposed to play, then?" Auren whispered. "The puppet you control? The doll you throw smiles at in public while spying on behind closed doors?"
The camera slipped from his hand, clattering on the marble floor between them.
It sounded like the breaking point.
"I hate this version of you," Auren whispered.
Damir didn't move.
"You married me to destroy me, didn't you?" Auren said, eyes glassy. "Just say it."
He waited.
No answer.
Just silence.
Which was worse than a yes.
---
Auren turned away, heart hollow, chest burning. He stormed out of the office, his footsteps echoing louder than the silence Damir left behind.
Behind him, Damir stood in the center of the room, gazing at the broken camera at his feet.
He didn't pick it up.
He didn't move.
But for the first time in a long time, the weight in his chest wasn't controlled.
It was guilt.
And something dangerously close to regret.
The door shut behind him with a hollow thud.
Auren didn't even look back.
His hands were shaking—still stained with the betrayal he'd uncovered moments ago. A camera. Hidden beneath a corner table. Disguised, but not well enough.
How long had he been watched? How many of his smiles were recorded—how many tears?
Damir's cold smirk earlier that morning. The silent walk past him. The locked office.
It all made sense now.
He didn't know where else to go.
So he sent a message. Just one.
"Can you meet me?"
Now, he sat alone in a quiet café. One of those places where time moved slowly, where the clinking of teaspoons and the hum of soft jazz made heartbreak seem even louder.
Auren didn't touch his drink.
He just stared at the table, fingers clenched in his lap.
Then—
"Auren?"
He blinked. Looked up.
A familiar face stood in front of him—older, but still unmistakably gentle. The soft brown hair. The thoughtful eyes.
"Lior," Auren breathed.
Lior offered a smile. "I came as soon as I saw the message."
He pulled the chair and sat down across from Auren. But Auren didn't speak. He couldn't. His lips trembled, his throat ached.
Lior studied his face for a moment, then asked, quietly—
"Is this what love is supposed to feel like?"
The question cracked something inside Auren.
He looked up, and his vision blurred.
The first tear slipped. And then another. And then he completely broke down, his face collapsing into a silent, desperate cry.
Lior didn't hesitate. He stood up, walked around the table, and sat beside him. No questions. No awkward pity.
Just warmth.
Auren leaned into him—his forehead resting on Lior's shoulder as he cried. His sobs were quiet, but the pain in them was anything but.
Outside, through the soft frost of the café window, a man in a sleek black suit stood under a tree, a phone pressed to his ear.
"…He's at the café," he said into the line. "With someone else."
He ended the call without waiting for a reply, slipping the phone into his pocket.
His gaze remained on the glass—on the blurred figure of Auren with his head resting on another man's shoulder.
He didn't move.
He just watched.
To be continued.....
Thank you darlings