Emma’s POV

Five years ago.

I sat on the edge of our bed, my hands gripping the hem of my dress as I tried to steady my breathing, my entire body trembled from the confrontation earlier that morning.

My husband, if I could call him that, we've been married for almost a year now and I have never felt like his wife or even felt like I was living with a husband, he had always made me feel unwelcomed and unwanted whenever I was in his presence.

And today was just another day of him doing just that, he had done it again. He had torn into me with words so sharp, they had cut through me deeper than any blade ever could.

“You’re pathetic Emma. A complete waste of space.” He had spat before storming out.

That was Jeff, the man who had once vowed to love and cherish me, the man who now seemed to despise everything about me.

I had spent the entire day trapped in my own mind, replaying his words over and over, trying to understand what I had done wrong this time, but the answer was always the same, nothing.

I never did anything, yet he always found a reason to belittle me.

By evening, I had expected him to come home late, probably reeking of whiskey and arrogance. Instead, he walked in, straightened his tie, and looked at me with a cold expression.

“Get ready.” He said flatly, shrugging off his suit jacket.

I blinked, confused, “For what?”

He barely spared me a glance as he unbuttoned his cufflinks, “We’re attending a gala tonight.”

My lips parted in shock, a gala? Why was I only hearing about this now?

Jeff scoffed at my reaction, “Don’t look so surprised. You’re my wife and people expect to see you by my side, unfortunately.”

I flinched at his words, but I swallowed the pain, “You could’ve told me earlier than this evening.” I said quietly.

He rolled his eyes, “Like you have anything better to do or do you do anything other than just sit in this house all day and stuff your face with my food?”

I dropped my gaze, my fingers twisting in my lap. He wasn’t wrong, I spent most of my days in this house, because he had refused to allow me to work, waiting for a husband who barely acknowledged me.

Before I could say anything else, he sighed in irritation, “I already hired people to make you look presentable, they’ll be here in ten minutes.”

I frowned, “What?”

Jeff leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, “Your fashion sense is a crime Emma. If you show up looking like your usual self, people will assume I married a maid.” His lips curled into a smirk, “Actually, even the maids at the gala would be dressed better than you.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop the tears from forming. Crying in front of him would only make things worse.

“Go take a shower.” He ordered before walking away.

I obeyed, because that was all I could do, that was all I did. Just obey him mindlessly. 

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting stiffly in front of a vanity mirror while a team of professionals worked around me.

The makeup artist, a woman named Kris, studied my face with an appraising look, “You have beautiful features,” she mused, “A little enhancement, and you’ll look absolutely stunning.”

I almost laughed, if only she knew how impossible that was.

A stylist named Marie was flipping through an array of designer dresses, while a hair technician, Damien, ran his fingers through my damp hair, muttering something about “wasted potential.”

I felt out of place, like a mannequin they were fixing up for display.

As they worked, I stole a glance at my reflection. The woman in the mirror looked exhausted, defeated. A stranger in her own skin.

“Don’t worry,” Kris said with a kind smile, “By the time we’re done, your husband won’t recognize you.”

I doubted it, Jeff barely looked at me as it was.

But as the transformation progressed, I felt a shift. My skin glowed under Kris’ careful touch, my lips painted a deep shade of red, my eyes lined with precision, making them appear larger and more expressive.

Damien worked wonders on my hair, styling it into loose waves that cascaded over my shoulders, glossy and elegant.

And then, the dress.

Marie helped me slip into a breathtaking white gown that hugged my curves in all the right places. It was classy, sophisticated, and dare I say, beautiful.

When I finally stood in front of the full-length mirror, I didn’t recognize myself.

“Wow.” Kris murmured in approval.

Marie clapped her hands together, “You look divine.”

I swallowed hard. For the first time in years, I felt different, not invisible, but then, Jeff walked in.

His steps faltered. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his face hardened.

“Let’s go.” He said coldly.

No compliment. No reaction. Nothing.

I felt the disappointment settle in my chest, but I should’ve known better.

As I moved past him, he muttered under his breath, “Even dressed like this, you’re still ugly.”

The words shattered something inside me but I didn’t let it show. I refused to give him the satisfaction.

The car ride was silent, tense.

I stared out the window, my fingers clutching the folds of my dress.

Jeff finally spoke, “Tonight, you will behave.”

I turned to him slowly, “What?”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel, “I don’t need you embarrassing me Emma. You will stay by my side, smile when necessary, and keep your mouth shut. Understood?”

A lump formed in my throat. I nodded, “Understood.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple, “Good.”

I wanted to ask why he even brought me along if he despised me so much, but I already knew the answer, appearances, I was here to put on a show on his behalf. He didn’t want a loving wife, he wanted a trophy, something to parade around tonight. 

As we neared the venue, my heart pounded.

I was afraid. Afraid of him, afraid of what the night would bring, afraid that, no matter how much they tried to make me look beautiful, I would always feel worthless in his eyes.

And yet, despite everything, I still wanted him to see me

The moment we stepped out of the car, I was greeted by the blinding flashes of cameras and the deafening chatter of paparazzi.

My breath caught in my throat. The red carpet was lined with photographers, reporters, and guests in dazzling outfits, their attention fixated on Jeff and me.

Or maybe just Jeff.

I had expected this, but I hadn't anticipated the suffocating weight of their eyes on me, the whispers I could already hear among the crowd.

"Is that his wife?"

"She looks… different. Not in a bad way, but still…"

"She doesn’t exactly fit the picture, does she?"

Jeff, standing beside me, placed a hand on the small of my back, not out of affection, but as a silent command to move forward.

I stiffened at his touch, forcing myself to smile as we took a few pictures together. The cameras snapped relentlessly, and though I kept my posture poised, my hands trembled at my sides.

Just as I started to steady myself, Jeff leaned in, his breath hot against my ear.

"They're all staring at you." His voice was laced with cruel amusement.

I turned slightly to look at him, confusion knitting my brows.

"For the wrong reasons." He added with a scoff.

The world around me blurred, my stomach twisted.

"Jeff… "

"You really think they’re impressed?" He chuckled lowly, "They’re looking at you because you don’t belong here Emma. You're like a poorly wrapped gift, pretty packaging, but disappointing when opened."

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. I wanted to run, but I stood still, gripping the sides of my dress to keep myself from breaking.

Jeff straightened, flashing a charming smile at the cameras, before leading me into the hall.

The moment we entered, a wave of murmurs followed us. The gala was in full swing, golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the vast ballroom, and elegantly dressed guests mingled, holding champagne flutes and exchanging pleasantries.

Yet, all I could focus on were the glances people were throwing in my direction, the subtle smirks, the judgment in their eyes.

“She’s the wife?”

“She’s not what I expected.”

"Maybe it's the dress."

Or maybe it was me.

Jeff turned to me, his lips curling into a smirk, "See? I told you. You should be grateful I had you fixed up tonight, otherwise, you’d be even more of an embarrassment."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned and walked off, greeting his business colleagues with a confident stride.

And I?

I simply stood there, the perfect trophy wife, silent and obedient.

Hours passed.

I stood by Jeff's side as instructed, smiling at the right moments, nodding when necessary, pretending to be as elegant and composed as the other women in the room.

But unlike them, I was nothing more than a shadow, a decoration in Jeff’s world.

I wanted to contribute to the conversations, some of the topics being discussed were subjects I actually had knowledge of, but I knew better.

I knew what would happen if I stepped out of line.

So, I held my tongue and watched as Jeff indulged in drink after drink, his arrogance growing with each sip.

I lost count of how many times he laughed, how many times he placed a hand on a woman’s back as he spoke to them, how many times he ignored my presence completely.

I felt drained, exhausted.

And when the night finally ended, relief washed over me.

The car ride home was eerily quiet.

Jeff was tipsy, not completely drunk, but enough to be looser with his words.

I stared out of the window, wishing I could disappear into the night.

Then, out of nowhere, Jeff spoke.

“They kept saying you looked beautiful tonight.”

I turned to him in surprise.

He scoffed, “Can you believe that?” He laughed dryly, shaking his head, "Some guys wouldn’t shut up about it. It was irritating."

I blinked, unsure if I had heard him correctly, “Why would that bother you?"

Jeff’s jaw clenched, “Because Emma. They were staring at you like…” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, “Like they wanted you.”

Something in my chest tightened.

I studied his face, his expression was unreadable, but his grip on the steering wheel was tense.

I swallowed, "And why does that matter to you?"

Jeff let out a bitter laugh, "Don't flatter yourself."

But there was something in his tone. Something that made me press further.

"Why do you treat me this way Jeff?" My voice was quieter than I intended, "Why do you go out of your way to hurt me?"

He didn’t respond immediately, his fingers tapped against the wheel, his gaze fixed ahead. Then, barely above a whisper, he muttered, "Because I'm scared."

I frowned, "Scared?"

Jeff scoffed, shaking his head as if he regretted speaking, "Forget it."

"No," I pressed, my heartbeat quickening, "Tell me Jeff."

He exhaled, his grip on the wheel tightening, "I'm scared that if I let myself care about you, if I let myself.. " He cut himself off, his eyes darkening, "I’ll lose you."

His confession knocked the air out of me.

"You push me away because you're afraid of losing me?" My voice wavered.

Jeff let out a low chuckle, "It sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud."

I shook my head, "No, Jeff. It’s not ridiculous."

He turned to me, his eyes searching mine, "Then what is it?"

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, "It’s heartbreaking."

He didn’t say anything, but something shifted in his expression.

A moment of silence passed before he spoke again, voice lower, rougher.

"You're really staying, aren't you?"

I met his gaze, "I'm here Jeff, I'm not going anywhere."

A pause. Then, suddenly, he reached for me, the kiss was unexpected, but I didn’t pull away.

It was desperate, needy, his lips rough against mine, as if he was trying to drown out the emotions he had just revealed.

Before I could process what was happening, he pulled me onto his lap, his hands roaming my body in a way they never had before.

There was no hesitation, no coldness in his touch.

For the first time, he didn’t treat me like a burden.

He treated me like a woman.

Like his wife.

One thing led to another, and that night, we fell into each other’s arms, passion replacing all the pain, all the distance, all the hostility that had once existed between us.

For the first time in our marriage, I felt wanted.

I felt loved.

And I foolishly believed that things would change.

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed.

I turned, expecting to find Jeff beside me, but he was already up, dressed, his expression unreadable.

“Jeff… ”

"Last night meant nothing."

The words sliced through me like a blade.

I sat up, clutching the sheets to my chest, "What?"

He turned to me, his face void of emotion, "You were a mistake Emma. Don’t read into it."

My stomach twisted painfully.

I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him that it did mean something, that I felt it but the coldness in his eyes stopped me.

"I understand." I whispered instead.

Jeff nodded, satisfied, before walking out.

And just like that, I was alone again.

Heartbroken.

Foolish.

What I didn’t know then, what I couldn’t have possibly known, was that last night had changed everything because that was the night I got pregnant.

And Jeff, whether he liked it or not, was about to have something he couldn't push away.