Chapter 5.

The first days at the Blackthorne mansion made Elena feel like every step she took was trapped in an endless hallway, while those magnificent walls stared at her like an ever-assessing eye.

From the outside, the mansion looked beautiful. Classic architecture, manicured gardens, gleaming marble floors. But to Elena, every corner was an invisible grate. The smiles of the servants, the orderly pace, and even the silence at night, all made her feel watched.

Damien always kept his distance, leaving Elena standing alone at the dining table, her hands in her pockets, her eyes staring out the window, as if she wasn't in the same room. One night, when Elena ventured to ask why she was forced to live in that house, Damien's answer was only a cold sentence:

"You're just a symbol, Elena. Blackthorne's wife on paper. Nothing more than that."

The words slammed into his chest. Symbol. A puppet. She felt her existence was just a display to cover the family's wounds, while her fragile heart was never considered.

---

A few days later, Victoria forced her to attend a family business event. Elena was dressed in a simple black dress, her hair neatly styled by a servant, then she was taken to a large hall full of people in suits and fancy dresses.

"This is Elena Marlowe," Victoria's voice was loud, full of false pride. "Damien Blackthorne's wife."

The whispers were instantly audible.

"Shouldn't she be Adrian's wife?"

"A surrogate mother, apparently."

"What a pity."

Elena bowed her head, trying to hold back the tears. Her chest felt tight, as if all those stares were piercing her skin. She wanted to scream, wanted to run out of the room, but she knew Julian was still in this family's grasp. For her sister's sake, she held back.

Damien stood beside her, silent. His face was calm and cool, as if unperturbed by people's comments. But Elena felt, from the corner of her eye, Damien glanced at her, as if he wanted to make sure that she could survive.

---

In the following days, Elena began to notice Damien's habits. He often came home late at night, his steps heavy, sometimes with a strong odor of alcohol. One day, Elena woke up to the sound of his bedroom door opening.

With curiosity mixed with fear, she peeked through the crack in the door. Damien sat alone in his chair, his shirt rumpled and his hair a little messy. In front of him were family photos of Adrian, Damien, and their parents as children.

The look in Damien's eyes held something-a tear that didn't fall, a hardened jaw, a hand that resisted the urge to reach for the photo. Elena thought she caught a glimpse of the past wounds that Damien hid behind a cold mask.

But when Damien noticed her presence, he quickly closed the album and put his cold mask back on. Elena stepped back, pretending not to see anything.

---

That night, Elena woke up again. Not because of footsteps, but because of a whisper.

Soft, almost like the caress of the wind, but clear. "You have to trust me..."

Elena jumped, cold sweat running down her forehead. Her eyes swept the empty room, accompanied by the dim light of the table lamp.

"Adrian?" Her voice broke, shaking.

There was no answer. Just a long silence. Elena hugged herself, trying to convince herself if it was a dream or reality. But her heart was sure this wasn't just a dream.

---

The next day, Damien took her to the family barn. "There's something you should see," he said briefly.

The warehouse was full of old paintings, some of which were covered with white cloth. Elena scanned the room with careful steps, her fingers touching the dusty frames.

Then her eyes fell on a large painting. Adrian.

But not the Adrian she knew on her wedding night. In the painting, Adrian was young, dressed in a neat suit, his smile was warm, and his eyes were full of the light of life.

Elena was stunned. What a contrast to the Adrian she had last seen. cold, full of tension, then forcibly snatched from her side.

"Does... he really love me?" she whispered to herself.

Damien just stood behind her, silent, staring at the painting with an incomprehensible gaze.

---

That very day, someone new appeared in the mansion: a beautiful woman with shiny black hair and a confident smile.

Her name was Isolde.

She introduced herself to the family in a sweet yet sharp voice. "I am Adrian's former lover. Nice to meet you, Elena."

Elena stiffened, her blood rushing. Isolde's gaze was piercing, her smile thin but full of judgment, as if she was assessing every weakness she could exploit.

In front of everyone, Isolde added, "You poor thing. You don't even know who your husband is."

The whispers started again. Elena held her breath, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Victoria just smiled faintly, as if enjoying the show. Damien looked at Isolde intently, but said nothing.

---

Not quite. Isolde approached him privately after the show was over.

"You know, Adrian never loved you," she said, playing with the necklace around her neck. "He married you only for the family. You were just a pawn, Elena. If he were alive, you would know how little you mean to him."

The words struck Elena's heart. Her tears were about to fall. Yet there was something inside her that refused to believe it. Adrian might be full of secrets, but she remembered the warm look in his eyes at the altar. It wasn't a lie... was it?

Elena wanted to answer, but her body felt weak. Her head was spinning, her breath coming in short gasps. The world seemed to shake.

It was dark.

---

When she came to, she was already in her room. A blanket covered his body, and a doctor was tidying up the medical equipment on the table. In a chair near the bed, Damien sat silently, his face tense.

For the first time, Elena saw the worry clearly. It was Damien who brought her back, Damien who called the doctor, making sure that she was okay.

But as soon as she was fully awake, Damien got up, coolly suppressing his emotions.

"You have to be stronger. Don't let someone like Isolde bring you down," he said flatly and left the room without turning around.

Elena stared at the closed door. Underneath all that coldness, she could feel something vibrating inside Damien. Something he was hiding.

---

That night, Elena couldn't sleep. She walked slowly towards the balcony, hoping the fresh air would ease her mind. But a sound from the study below caught her attention.

The sound of arguing.

"Elena must be bound immediately," Victoria's voice sounded hard, full of pressure. "Otherwise, she will become a burden to this family."

Damien's reply surprised Elena. His voice was strained, but clear. "She's not a tool, Mother. I won't treat her like one."

Elena held her breath. Damien's voice was firm, tense, yet full of certainty: "He's not a tool, Mom. I won't treat her like that. It was just that this time, his cold demeanor seemed to... soften, at least a little.