Chapter Three

The silence in the room felt heavier than before. I wiped my face quickly as if erasing the tears would also erase the frustration twisting inside me. David had come and gone in seconds, barely acknowledging my presence. Again.

I sank back onto the couch, gripping the edge of my dress. What was I even expecting? A conversation? A sign that he actually saw me?

The air felt thick with unsaid words, and I knew if I sat in this silence any longer, it would swallow me whole. Pushing myself up, I took a deep breath, forcing steadiness into my steps as I made my way to my room.

“At least in my own room, I can find some peace,” I thought, the ache in my chest deepening. If my supposed husband didn’t care, then what was the point of hoping for more? I pulled the covers over me, curling into myself as the weight of loneliness settled in. The moment my head touched the pillow, sleep claimed me, offering the only escape I had left.

*******************

“Hello, madam… madam, hello…”

The voice echoed through my sleep, distant yet persistent. At first, I thought it was just another dream, but the sudden pressure of hands shaking me snapped me awake.

I jolted upright with my heart hammering. “What the hell?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. My mind raced, still caught between the haze of sleep and the fear that something was wrong.

A young woman stood before me with her hands clasped in front of her. She wore a crisp uniform and a hesitant smile. “Good morning, madam. My name is Ann. I was hired last night as your personal maid. I was instructed to start at 4:00 a.m. and ensure your morning routine is prepared. You’re scheduled to wake up at 5:00 a.m., madam, and—” she glanced at the clock, “—it’s two minutes past five. You’re already late.”

For a second, I just stared at her, processing her words. Then, out of nowhere, laughter bubbled up in my throat. It was sharp, unexpected. I hadn’t even realized I was laughing until I heard my voice fill the room.

“Of course. Of course, David could hire someone to manage my schedule, yet he couldn’t spare a single moment to acknowledge me.” The irony was so ridiculous that I couldn’t help but laugh.

I let my laughter fade, shaking my head as I exhaled slowly. Then, looking at the girl standing before me, I softened my tone. “I’ll decide what I want to do and when I want to do it.” My voice was firm but not unkind.

She looked barely younger than me—maybe by a year or two. But then again, I wasn’t old either. Twenty-two hardly made me a woman grown, yet my mother had made me feel ancient the moment I turned eighteen. Like youth was something I had lost the right to claim too soon.

The girl—Ann—shifted uncomfortably, her fingers twisting together. “No, madam, I don’t think that’s possible,” she said hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. “The boss strictly told me you have to follow everything set before you… or I’ll lose my job.”

She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as if holding back tears, and something inside me twisted. Of course. Another person thrown into David’s world of control, following orders he wouldn’t even bother delivering himself.

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. So this was how my mornings would begin now. Not with warmth, not with a husband’s presence—just schedules and strangers enforcing them.

I exhaled slowly, pushing away my irritation. “Ann, right?” I confirmed, trying to ground myself in something—anything—other than the absurdity of this situation. If nothing else, at least she was someone I could talk to in this suffocating house.

“Yes, madam,” she answered quickly, clasping her hands in front of her again. “You need to shower now. Mr. Smith is expecting you in the garden for your morning exercise. You’re already behind schedule.” Her voice held a quiet urgency as if she was bracing for my resistance.

I just stood there, absorbing the weight of it all. So this was my life now—ordered, scheduled, controlled. My every move dictated not by my desires, but by someone who couldn’t even be bothered to face me. And yet, the idea of seeing David this early sent a surge of conflicting emotions through me—anger, frustration, even the faintest trace of something I refused to name. He always had a way of pulling out feelings I never wanted to confront.

"Give me some minutes," I said stepping into the bathroom, letting the cool water wash over me. If David wanted to control everything, fine. But he wouldn’t control how I felt about it.

By the time I was done showering, Ann led me straight to the garden, where the crisp morning air did little to cool the simmering frustration inside me. David was already there, his muscles flexing as he lifted heavy bars with ease, his focus entirely on his workout. He didn’t glance up when I arrived—just noted my presence with a clipped remark.  

“You’re late.” His voice was firm, almost indifferent. “I won’t tolerate a lackadaisical attitude in my house, Samantha.”  

“House. Not home”. The word stung in a way I wasn’t prepared for.  

I crossed my arms, ignoring the curious gazes of his staff lingering nearby. “Mr. Command-it-All, I’d appreciate it if I had time to myself. You don’t own me, you know?” My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care.  

That got his attention. He set the weights down and finally looked at me, his jaw tightening, the veins at his temple standing out. There was a storm behind his eyes—anger, dominance, something else I couldn’t quite name.  

“Did you forget?” His tone was dangerously calm, each word measured. “I changed your life overnight. Took you from a nobody the world despised to the most envied woman in this city. You’re the richest woman now—because I made you so. I own you, Samantha. You owe me.”  

The weight of his words settled over me like a cold shadow. I refused to let him see how deeply they cut, how much they twisted something inside me. Instead, I held my head high, meeting his stare with unwavering defiance.

If he thought I would break, he was wrong.

"David, you shouldn’t talk to your wife like that—" The words slipped out before I could stop them. Contract or not, I was still a human being, deserving of at least a shred of respect, but he didn’t let me finish.  

"Samantha, enough," he cut in, his tone dismissive. "I’ve told you who and what you are to me. Stop fighting it already."  

The finality in his voice sent a bitter taste to my mouth. My chest tightened, but I forced myself to stay upright, my chin lifting in defiance.  

He turned away as if the conversation was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Just make sure you at least do something before leaving, the garden" he ordered, gesturing to one of his men before striding off toward the flower section of the garden.  

I let out a slow breath, my gaze trailing after him. The moment his back was turned, something about him shifted. His rigid posture had eased, and his sharp edges softened. I watched, confused, as he crouched among the blue tulips that dominated the garden, his fingers brushing over the petals with surprising gentleness.  

A small, humorless laugh bubbled up in my throat. "So he could be this soft? This careful?"

Since I’ve known David even in the media, I hadn’t seen even a glimpse of warmth in him. Not in his words, not in his actions. And yet, here he was—handling delicate flowers as if they meant something to him.  

Or maybe I was just seeing things. 

Out of curiosity, I found myself trailing after David as he walked toward the back of the mansion. His men didn’t follow—like they already knew where he was going, as if this was something he did often. But I didn’t care. I needed to know why his entire demeanor had shifted. Why a man who had shown nothing but cold arrogance was suddenly so… careful.  

The further I walked, the quieter everything became. The vast mansion loomed behind me, but ahead, the path narrowed, leading to a secluded space I hadn’t noticed before. My steps slowed when I saw it.  

A graveyard.  

My breath caught in my throat.  

David stopped in front of a single gravestone, his broad shoulders tense, his hands clenching and unclenching like he was battling something deep inside him. Then, to my utter shock, he dropped to his knees.  

A deep, ragged breath left him. And then, I heard a sound I never thought I’d hear from David Smith.  

A sob.  

It was not a quiet, controlled grief. No. This was raw, in fact, shattered.  

I stood frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs. My mind scrambled to process what I was seeing. This man—this ruthless, untouchable man—was falling apart before my eyes.  

I swallowed hard, my gaze drifting to the gravestone.  

Kimberly Aiden. 

Something about the name pulled at me, tugging at a long-forgotten memory. I stared at it, my brain struggling to make the connection. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force my mind to cooperate. Kimberly… Kimberly… My fingers curled into fists as I racked my brain.  

Then—like a puzzle clicking into place—everything rushed back.  

My eyes flew open.  

"Oh my God, Kimberly Aiden, my high school classmate and bully. The girl who went missing five years ago during a boat cruise. The girl whose body was never found."

Shock crashed over me in waves, each realization hitting harder than the last, and the series of letters in the notebook I saw yesterday night now made sense. "Kimberly… was connected to David?"

I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me. "How?" Her disappearance had been all over the news. But never—not once—was David’s name ever linked to her. And yet… here he was. Mourning her like a man who had lost everything. My chest tightened painfully.  

"David still loves her." 

The affairs, the scandals, the rumors—none of it had ever been about pleasure or recklessness. It was a distraction. A cover. A way to drown out the grief of losing her.

And that’s when it hit me.  

I will never matter to David. Not in the way I wanted to. Not in the way she did. Because my place in his life wasn’t love. It was a contract. A scandal cover. Meanwhile, the only woman who had ever truly held his heart was buried right in front of him.  

The weight of it all crushed me, squeezing the air from my lungs. I took an unsteady step back, but just as I turned to leave—  

David’s breath hitched. His head tilted slightly.  

For a second, I thought he had noticed me.  

But instead, his trembling fingers brushed against the gravestone as he whispered—so softly I almost missed it—  

"I’m sorry… I couldn’t save you."  

A chill ran down my spine.  

"Couldn’t save her, what did that mean?"

Kimberly wasn’t just missing… David knew something.

Something the world didn’t, and if that was true…  

Then maybe Kimberly Aiden wasn’t dead at all.