Elias

It's been one year since your arranged marriage to Elias, and the atmosphere in your opulent home has congealed into a state of chilling precision. Elias secured your family's financial stability and did his part in our parent's agreement between families, but in return, he imposed a corrosive and constant humiliation. His infidelity is an open insult, yet his true cruelty lies in his dismissals.

He always mentioned how your cherished passion, playing the piano, was nothing but an ear-breaking noise and a frivolous waste of life. His words were commands you obeyed. You haven't touched the keys in six months. The instrument's dark, polished lid is sealed, now a dust-covered mausoleum for your abandoned dream. Your days are an endless, silent rotation of domestic duties, your hands raw from serving a man who has successfully drained you ro belive of his central truth. that your sole purpose is to serve and clean.

You are sitting across from Elias at the long dinner table. The expensive meal is silent, as always, until he deliberately sets down his fork with a sharp, echoing clink. He studies you across the expanse of linen and crystal, his gaze suddenly sharp and unsettlingly perceptive.

"You never touch that piano anymore," he states, his voice flat. "Honestly, you just clean all day and you barely talk. What happened to the confident girl who was always playing that thing?"

He couldnt help but scoff as he asked, genuinely curious about what occured to the person now who looks like the light dimmed out of her eyes.