The following morning was soaked in silence, bitter tension, and all the unspoken words from the night before.

The rarely seen household staff had already set out the usual Sunday breakfast spread—freshly baked pastries, delicate slices of smoked salmon, fruit arranged like art, and a pot of strong black coffee Nicolas always insisted on.

It annoyed Emily sometimes that they had always had the same meal every Sunday since they got married but for whatever strange reason, Nicolas preferred it that way. He didn’t like any kind of change. He was too calculated.

He liked too much control.

And Sunday mornings were meant to be calm, controlled and predictable.

Emily sat across from him at the sleek glass table, mechanically stirring her coffee. The clink of her spoon against the ceramic cup was the only sound in the vast dining room. Across from her, Nicolas was hidden behind the broad expanse of one of his company reports, just like every Sunday—he'd rather work than have any interaction with her.

Except today felt different. She could literally feel him burning behind that report. His silence wasn’t lazy, intentional or indifferent like usual. It was tight and restless.

He didn’t look at her, didn’t speak, but his anger rolled off him in waves. Emily felt it wrap around her like smoke, suffocating her with its dangerous intensity.

She tried to act unaffected, lifting her cup with steady hands, but her nerves were frayed. The tension from last night lingered too long and it was aching just the same.

Finally, the sound of the report book broke the painful silence.

He slammed the report down on the table with so much aggression she jerked back. When he looked at her, his eyes were dark and filled with numerous questions she was sure he was about to ask.

“I wanted to forget about it but I can't get it out of my head. Where the hell did you go all day?” he demanded, his voice calm but still dangerous.

Emily stared back at him, unblinking. “Why do you want to know?” she asked softly, aiming to get him more annoyed. “I go out one time and you're acting like I did something criminal. Have I ever questioned your whereabouts, Nicolas?”

“This isn’t about me, Emily. Plus, I am the head of this house so I do not need to tell you where I go.” he shot back, jaw tight.

“Head of the house my foot. This isn’t about you, yes but maybe it should be,” she replied, pushing her plate away. “Maybe it’s time someone asked about your behavior. About the women you probably think I don’t know about. About your arrogance. About how you strut through life acting like marriage is just another business contract.”

“Because that's exactly what this marriage is,” he said bluntly, as if that justified everything.

Her laugh was hollow. “That’s what it is? So why are you bothered about where I've been,Nicolas? I’m finally ready to stop pretending and being delusional. I’m tired of being naive and I'd like to act like you in a way now. I've never confronted you about being with other women so can you back off and let me enjoy this beautiful morning?”

His eyes narrowed.

“I'm really trying not to lose my shit right now, Emily. There’s no way you spent the entire day with another man.” he said, calmly… too calm. It was the kind of voice that made the hairs on her arms rise.

Emily knew that tone. That quietness that came just before he snapped.

But she was feeling too charged up to back down.

“Well, what if I did?” she whispered recklessly. “What are you going to do about it, huh? Lock me in a room? Find new, creative ways to emotionally torment me?”

“You really went to meet another man?” he asked, his voice like steel wrapped in ice.

She swallowed, a cold shiver trailing down her spine. She’d pushed too far.

“I asked you a question, Emily. Don't go silent now.” he said. “Did you meet another man?”

The confidence she felt a few minutes ago disappeared in a matter of seconds. The look in his eyes was scary. She had to calm him down in a way.

“It’s not like that, I..I mean…I didn’t meet a..anyone,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at her, eyes blazing. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“And you're a great one.” she said, gripping the edge of the table to ground herself. “I swear I really didn't meet any man or woman. I just needed a bit of space.”

He scoffed. “A bit of space,” he repeated with contempt, like the word offended him.

“Yes,” she said fiercely. “I needed space to get away from you and from this joyless existence we call a marriage. I don’t want this anymore. I don't want to work things out with you. I want my life back, Nicolas. I want to be free from you. I want a divorce.”

His face didn’t change. Not even a flicker. Just a slow blink, like he was processing her words.

“You’ll get your precious divorce when you get me an heir,” he said finally, his voice cold and resolute.

Emily stared at him in disbelief. “That’s… disgusting,” she whispered. “Why would you even want to get a child through a woman you can barely stand? What if he or she looks like me? You'll reject and emotionally abuse the kid too?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze sharpened as he studied her face, like he was searching for something.

“I see. So all this time, you really didn't know.” he murmured.

Her brows pulled together. “I didn’t know what?”

He didn’t answer.

“Nicolas,” she pressed, her voice rising. “What is this about?”

“Firstly, why are we married? I mean, why did you really want to marry me?” he asked suddenly, his tone unreadable.

Emily stiffened. That wound, long scarred over, threatened to reopen.

“I do not have to answer that, Nicolas. I'm sure you know the reason already.” she said quietly, bitterly.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. It depends.” he said with a little smirk.

She exhaled shakily, her hands trembling now. “God, you really enjoy watching me squirm, don’t you?”

He said nothing, just stared.

The pressure of his gaze was too much. She pushed her chair back and stood abruptly. The room tilted slightly. She swayed.

In a flash, he was beside her.

“You should be more careful,” he said sharply, reaching out to steady her. “Do you feel okay?”

She jerked away from his touch. “I’m okay. I just lost balance or something. Can I leave now?”

“No you cannot,” he said again, voice low. “You haven’t answered my question properly. Why did you marry me?”

“Oh, for fucks sake, Nicolas. Can you give it a rest? Aren't you tired of making fun of me and my feelings?”

“What if I'm not making fun of you? Don't you trust your handsome, god-looking husband?” he said, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Emily clenched her jaw. He was doing it again. Playing games, yanking her back and forth emotionally like it meant nothing.

“Please, Nicolas, can you just stop? I don't have the energy for this.” she whispered, more to herself than him.

“So if my guess is correct, you love me?” he asked, and the awe in his voice undid her.

She stared at him, furious. “Loved. Past tense…every good feeling I felt for you is dead now,” she whispered. “You killed it, Nicolas. Every cold word. Every betrayal. Every time you made me feel invisible. It’s gone. So please let's just get this divorce as soon as possible. I can't stand being here with you anymore.”

She turned to leave, but his voice followed her like it was her shadow.

“I think we should talk more. I'm sure you don't want to get a divorce.” he said, although it sounded like he was talking to himself.

She paused for a beat, but then kept walking. Her head was high, her back was straight, but her heart… her heart felt like shattered glass.