ALIANA
Seven years.
That's how long I've been Mrs Dominic Blake — spouse, entertainer, decorator, and mute.
If I reach heaven someday, I'm certain the angels will chuckle upon discovering that my greatest sin was loving my husband excessively.
I linger in the corner of the ballroom, the glass of white wine in my hand remaining full. My image glimmers on the glassy surface — serene, refined, impeccably poised — resembling the lifeless replica of the woman I once was.
Dominic’s laughter cuts through the atmosphere. He’s positioned across the hallway, his arm around the waist of a different woman. Her red dress hugs her curves as if she were sewn into it. I can't remember her name at all. There have been an excessive number of women hanging off his arm lately.
I don’t waver. I simply take a sip of my wine.
“Are you still pretending to be a statue, Mrs Blake?”
The sound originates from behind me — cutting, entertaining. It’s Jenna, Dominic’s sibling and the only individual who interacts with me genuinely instead of acting as if I’m unseen.
“Someone needs to ensure that the guests remember this is a Blake event,” I say gently. “Dominic is too occupied… socialising.”
Jenna lets out a snort. “Connecting with others?” "Is that what we're referring to as making out with the new intern now?"
I grin slightly. "I can't say." I’m not included in his meetings.
Her laughter fades as she examines my expression. “Ali, you cannot continue behaving this way.”
"I’m okay."
“Actually, you are not.” You’ve been okay for seven years. You're like those women from classic films who just smile while their husbands cheat with the maid.
I chuckle — softly, with bitterness. "I would need to be permitted in the same space for that to occur."
For a brief period, neither of us speaks. The orchestra grows louder, chandeliers sparkle, and Dominic bends close to murmur something to the woman that causes her to toss her head back and laugh. He appears relaxed — unlike how he usually is at home.
If I can truly refer to it as home.
Jenna exhales deeply. "I don't understand, Aliana." You’re stunning. You possess a degree. If you wished, you could operate your own business. “Why stay?”
Because I'm foolish.
Because I believed love could mend a person who never sought to be mended.
"I took an oath," I responded in turn. “And I never go back on my word.”
"Even when he does so?"
Her inquiry hurts. I look at my wedding band — simple platinum, without embellishments. I remember the weightiness as he placed it on my finger, his smile rigid, his gaze fixed on the cameras rather than on me.
"I suppose someone needs to maintain the stance," I murmur.
Jenna begins to speak up in disagreement, but then Dominic's voice resonates throughout the room.
“Ali!”
All heads swivel. My heart races despite my awareness at this point.
He gestures for me to come closer, smiling as if I’m his preferred ornament. The woman next to him remains on his arm, a lipstick stain already smeared close to his jaw.
I place my glass on the table and adjust my dress. "Time to shine," I whisper.
When I get to him, he pecks my cheek — chilly, practised. “Darling, you recall Cassandra, don't you?” “She is the new public relations consultant.”
Cassandra smiles brightly. “It’s a joy making your acquaintance, Mrs Blake.” “Dominic has shared a lot about you with me.”
I maintain a courteous smile. “I trust everything is well.”
“Oh, certainly." He mentions that you’re quite… encouraging.”
I’m curious if “supportive” implies “endures public humiliation silently.”
“Cassandra is coming with us on the Monte Carlo trip,” Dominic adds, unaware. "She excels with global clients."
My gaze shifts to his. "The trip to Monte Carlo?" “The one we arranged months back?”
“Sure,” he responds, sounding overly relaxed. “I expect it to be more effective to utilise a smaller group.”
That means I’m not included. Once more.
"Certainly," I reply effortlessly. "You need effectiveness."
Cassandra chuckles. "Indeed, he is correct, you are very understanding and he's completely correct in his analysis."
Okay....Business and enjoyment. Frequently combined in the privacy of some hotels.
Dominic gives my back a pat — as if I’m a long-time coworker. "That’s the reason I adore her," he proclaims, ensuring everyone can hear. “She comprehends.”
The audience bursts into laughter. Naturally, understand my place as a distraction.
Later that evening, after the final glass sounds and the visitors have left, I position myself at the window of our penthouse, observing the city lights blend into the skyline. My reflection gazes back — serene, graceful, devoid of life.
Dominic enters, relaxing his tie. “You were silent this evening.”
I rotate. “Should I have participated in your jokes?”
He gives a slight shrug. "You understand how these occasions are."
"Yes." I do so.... You flirt, they chuckle, and I grin so no one sees I’m unseen.
His gaze sharpens. “Please don’t start, Aliana.”
"I did not start anything." You accomplished that — seven years back.”
“Don’t act so theatrical,” he murmurs, throwing his tie onto the sofa.
"I am acting theatrical?" I chuckle. “You kissed a different woman while I was there.”
He looks at me as if I'm acting like a child. "It was business." PR.”
"Oh, of course.” You need to be extremely detailed in your public relations.
His patience breaks. "You were aware of what this marriage entailed, Aliana."
I gaze at him. "Refresh my memory, Dominic." What was that? A consolidation? A publicity gimmick? “A photo opportunity for your investors?”
He runs his fingers through his hair, appearing irritated instead of remorseful. “You consented to this.”
“I accepted to be your spouse, not your shadow.”
For the first time, a glimmer appears in his eyes — remorse, or perhaps compassion. He moves in nearer. “Let's keep this from getting ugly.” You’ve received all you’ve ever desired — wealth, security, prestige—”
"Everything but love," I concluded gently.
He breathes out forcefully. “ Love doesn’t cover expenses.”
“Not at all,” I responded. “Yet it prevents people from breaking Dominic. I have loved you for a decade ”
He remains silent. He simply looks away, picking up his phone.
“Are you phoning her?” I inquire.
He avoids making eye contact with me. “Go to bed, Aliana.”
I agree. "Absolutely."
He steps outside, his image fading down the corridor, and I finally allow my breath to tremble. After years, I am not crying this time. I simply remain still — gazing at the skyline as if it’s a chart of my own existence.
Perhaps it is.
The following morning, I rose before dawn. The bed on Dominic’s side is chilly. He did not return home. Once more.
The housekeeper sets breakfast on the table — untasted. I sit there gazing at the uneaten toast and suddenly recognise something absurd: I can't remember the last time I had a meal I enjoyed.
I take out my phone, launch the browser, and enter:
“Accounting professionals being recruited by law firms.”
I used to enjoy numbers — financial statements, trends, reasoning. They were logical when everything else was confusing. I scroll until a single name catches my attention.
Hamilton & Associates
The largest, most prestigious company in the nation. The one that people murmur about as if it’s a celestial portal — inaccessible unless you're born into heritage or forged from iron.
“Excellent,” I whisper. "I might require the unachievable."
I press Apply.
Three weeks later, I find myself in the lobby of Hamilton & Co., amidst individuals who appear to be sculpted from determination. My hands are clammy, my heart racing as if I'm betraying Dominic — yet, in truth, this is the first truly loyal choice I've made for myself in years.
The receptionist offers me a forced smile. “Mr Hamilton is ready to see you now.”
Hold on — Mr Hamilton?
I thought that I would meet with a department leader. Not Michael Hamilton — the CEO who created a dynasty from legal battles and gossip.
“Um… thanks,” I replied awkwardly, getting to my feet.
Upon entering his office, the atmosphere shifts. It’s chillier, quieter. Everything is stylish — glass, metal, exactness.
He stands by the window, tall, striking, captivating in that inaccessible manner. The tabloids refer to him as the Ghost King — intelligent, relentless, unfeeling. And allegedly homosexual.
As he moves, his stare pierces through me — dark as ice, impossible to decipher.
“Mrs Blake,” he states.
My throat feels constricted. "You… are aware of my identity."
"I ensure that I know the names of all individuals who apply here." Particularly when they are wed to one of my rivals.
I gulp slowly. “Dominic Blake is not your rival.” He manages a property business empire. You operate a legal practice.
“Anyone who can take away my client's attention over mine is competition,” he responds straightforwardly.
His tone is serene, measured, as if each word is a strategic play. He motions toward the chair opposite his desk. “Take a seat.”
I comply, sensing his gaze upon me as if it were a burden.
He examines my résumé quietly. The seconds elongate as if they were hours.
“You possess a top-notch degree,” he finally states. “Why have you been unemployed for seven years?”
“Marriage,” I confess. “My husband needed my assistance.”
His eyebrows raise slightly. "You sacrificed your profession to assist him." "Impressive."
“Foolish,” I amend.
For the first time, his lips quiver — not a grin precisely, but near enough. "You are honest."
“I’ve done plenty of rehearsing deceiving myself,” I whisper.
He reclines in his chair, observing me with unsettling calmness. “Why choose Hami