Prison For Love, Drowning In Deceit

Alexis Brandt POV:

Five days confined to a dark, isolated room. Five days of silence, of my own thoughts, echoing and re-echoing the bitter truths. When Austin finally opened the door, his eyes, for a fleeting moment, held a flicker of something that looked like regret. My body felt brittle, my face gaunt.

"Alexis," he said, his voice hesitant, almost formal. "I didn't mean to push you so hard. But you messed things up. You always do." He paused, avoiding my gaze. "Once the baby is born, we'll have a proper wedding. Grand, just like you always wanted. My wife, Mrs. Alexander, that's what you'll be. Just… behave. Understand?"

I stared through him, not at him. His words were a meaningless drone. I recoiled when he tried to touch my arm. A knot of frustration tightened in his jaw.

"What do you want, Alexis?" he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Just tell me. Anything."

"I want to go out," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "And I want a welcome-back dinner. In the city. At our old spots."

He blinked, taken aback by my simple request. But then, he saw it. The faint spark in my eyes. The ghost of our past. He nodded. "Alright, Alexis. Tonight."

He drove me around the city, showing me all our old haunts. The tiny coffee shop where we' d first met, the park bench where he' d proposed, the bookstore where we' d spent hours lost in words. But each place felt hollow, a stage set for a play that had ended years ago. My face remained blank, my eyes empty. The memories were just that – memories. They no longer hurt.

As we drove past the Huangpu River, I pointed. "Let's have dinner there," I said, my voice flat. "A farewell dinner."

Austin looked at me, a strange expression on his face, but he agreed.

On the way home, his phone rang. He hesitated, glancing at me. "I need to take this," he said, his voice strained. "I'll drop you off."

"Go," I said quietly, already opening the door.

I walked into the silent house. The study door was ajar. Inside, a mess. An old cardboard box had been overturned, spilling its contents. Photos. Our photos. Austin and me, laughing, holding hands, our faces young and full of hope. My fingers traced the faded images. The memories, once so cherished, now felt like a crushing weight.

I sank to the floor, clutching the photos, tears streaming down my face. I sobbed until my throat was raw, until there were no more tears left. Then, slowly, painfully, I got up. I found a metal bucket, a lighter. One by one, I fed the photos to the flames, watching them curl and blacken, turning to ash. The past. All of it. Gone. It no longer mattered. Austin no longer mattered. My heart was a stone.