In the hallway, chaos reigns. A woman is tearing through the space, her hands slamming into expensive sculptures, sending shards of marble and glass clattering across the polished floor. She’s tall, impossibly beautiful, every inch of her exuding wealth and power, but her rage makes her almost unrecognizable.
I don’t know who she is, but obviously, Mike does.
Security guards swarm her, trying to restrain her, but she moves like a tempest, dodging them with a terrifying grace.
Mike’s jaw tightens. He steps forward, hands flexing at his sides, every motion controlled. He grabs her arm with a firm, unyielding grip. “Leave. Now.”
She spits back, fury and venom in her voice. “You’re going to regret this marriage.”
“I won’t tell you to leave again. Don’t make me force you!”
The lady growls, “You’ll regret this!”
Her gaze snaps toward me, blazing with contempt, before she storms off, leaving the shattered sculptures in her wake.
Mike waves to the security team. “Clean this up. Secure the floor.”
He turns back and strides toward the suite door. I follow silently, entering the quiet after the storm. He steps in behind me.
“Jealous ex?” I ask, trying to mask the tremor in my voice.
He smirks faintly, just a twitch of lips. “You’d be surprised how many women want me.”
I lift my chin, stubborn. “I will never be one of them.”
His expression darkens, sharp and dangerous, and his voice drops low. “That’s what you think.”
Chapter 6 – Mike
A week passes after the wedding, and the mansion settles into a strained imitation of domestic life.
Nothing about it feels stable.
The routines that once governed my world—early briefings, security assessments, strategic calls—are constantly interrupted by the volatile presence of my new wife. I can hardly concentrate, knowing she’s in the same house with me and yet refuses any form of communication between us.
Ellie moves through the estate like a displaced force. Restless. Furious. Unwilling to adapt to confinement.
She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t cry.
Instead, she resists me in quieter ways. Steady ways.
Every morning, she sits across from me at breakfast, silent but visibly bristling with tension. When she finishes eating, she rises and walks to the library, where she spends the entire day. I doubt she reads much. The library has simply become her territory.
At night, we return to the bedroom.
The same bed.
We lie beside each other without touching.
It’s torture.
Every morning, she asks the same question: “Can I return to the university laboratory?”
Every morning, I give the same answer: “No.”
I don’t look up from my plate. I don’t offer an explanation. I simply continue eating.
Ellie never argues.
