By the Time I Regretted, It Was Over

Every time my husband brought his secretary into the bedroom, he made me kneel at the bedside and wait—like a servant awaiting orders.

If the secretary fumbled or hesitated, he'd coldly gesture to me.

"Show her how it’s done," he'd say.

So I did. Step by humiliating step.

I waited quietly until they were finished, then rose to serve them tea and water as if nothing had happened.

One night, Alaric gripped my neck tightly.

"Aren’t you jealous?"

I calmly shook my head. I even laid out the contraceptives for them in advance, making sure everything was in order.

He snapped.

He threw me onto the bed, rage consuming him.

He punished me over and over again until morning light crept through the curtains.

And still, when the sun rose, I knelt at the foot of their bed again—silent and obedient.

He looked at me like I was something vile.

"Elysia," he growled, "you’re such a fucking bitch."

I only smiled at him.

Because he didn’t know—

This was the last time I would ever kneel for him.

——

When I got home that night, the scene on the sofa was all too familiar.

Arianne Carrington’s back was turned toward me, but the second she heard my footsteps, she turned, her lips curling with smug satisfaction.

I made sure she heard me. Loud, clear steps.

I tied on my apron as if I hadn’t seen anything, and quietly entered the kitchen.

I began chopping vegetables, biding my time as they finished their affair. When the living room finally fell silent, I returned to clean up their mess like I always did.

Arianne, voice hoarse from exertion, reached for the honey water I had prepared.

I knelt and offered it with both hands.

I felt like a servant from another era, bound by invisible chains.

Alaric sat smoking, his expression unreadable.

Suddenly—splash!

Arianne “accidentally” let the cup fall. The hot honey water spilled onto me, burning my skin.

"Ouch—" I gasped.

She rushed to my side, all false concern.

"Sister, are you okay?"

As she spoke, she pinched my arm hard, the pain making me flinch.

She tilted her head sweetly, masking the threat in her eyes from Alaric.

"Sister, you’re so careless. If you don’t want to serve me, just say so. No need to make a scene."

I swallowed the pain and forced a smile.

"Why should I trouble you?"

She flounced to the sofa while I crouched to wipe up the spilled honey, my hands and knees raw from the floor. Every touch stung, but I didn’t let it show. I even lifted her feet gently to clean beneath them.

"Go back."

Alaric spoke suddenly, tossing her clothes toward her.

"Alaric?"

"You’re not needed here anymore."

Arianne pouted but obeyed. She dressed, picked up the designer handbag Alaric had bought her, and walked out with one last resentful glance my way.

I stayed on the floor, unmoving.

Not because I didn’t want to get up—

but because my scraped knees made it too painful to try.

"You still have nothing to say?"

Alaric’s voice was ice.

I said nothing.

He ground his teeth in frustration.

"It’s just the two of us. No cameras, no microphones. So speak."

I nodded slowly. "I know."

With a snarl, he tossed aside his cigarette, grabbed my neck again, and shoved a photo in front of me.

"You and I both know he’s the murderer. So why won’t you testify? What’s your connection to him?"

I stared at the face in the photo and gave a bitter smile.

"I don’t know him."

"Then why are you protecting him?"

I met his fury head-on.

"I’m not."

He shoved me to the ground. Pacing like a caged animal, he snapped:

"My sister treated you like family. Didn’t she?"

The mention of Seraphine twisted something in my chest.

"She was the best friend I ever had," I whispered.

He knelt and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"And this is how you repay her? By letting the man who killed her walk free?"