The Tangled Truth: Between Betrayal and Belief

ch : 1

Jule pov :

I lay there, sprawled across the chair, my gaze fixed on the ceiling above. It was an intricate tapestry of shadows and light, the ornate plasterwork a silent witness to my inner turmoil. The first rays of dawn crept through the window, casting a golden glow that sliced through the dimness of the room.

With a sigh, I sat up, the red gown clinging to my curves, a low cut that teased the imagination with glimpses of my chest and collarbone. My dark skin seemed to absorb the room's faint light, and my curly hair framed my face like a halo of untamed thoughts.

I stood, the fabric of my gown whispering against my skin as I moved towards the bathroom. The door creaked open, revealing the mirror that had always been an ally, but now felt like a stranger. My reflection greeted me—a woman in a red gown, but it was the eyes that held me captive. They were empty, void of the fire that once lived there. I leaned in closer, searching for a flicker of recognition, but found none. "What the hell did you do to yourself? Who the fuck are you?" I asked the woman in the mirror, a bitter chuckle escaping my lips.

The laughter was hollow, echoing off the tiles as I shed the gown, letting it pool at my feet. My naked reflection stood before me, a canvas stripped of its artistry. My eyes, once vibrant with dreams and defiance, now reflected nothing—or perhaps they mirrored the loneliness that had become my constant companion.

"When the hell was someone ever with me?" I mused aloud, the words a whisper of defiance in the quiet room.

I stepped into the shower, the tap turned, and water cascaded over me like a cleansing flood. I closed my eyes, and the memories of last night unfurled in my mind

***
Perched on the edge of the plush couch, I can't help but let my gaze drift to the door, willing it to open. The clock on the wall reads 12:35, and with a heavy sigh, my eyes move to the dining table where the food sits untouched. It's a grand room in a grand house-vaulted ceilings, gilded edges, and a chandelier that twinkles like the stars I used to wish upon as a child. I wanted a castle to call my own, a palace where I'd reign like a princess. Yet here I am, in this cavernous space, feeling nothing but the echo of my own solitude.

I chuckle, a bitter sound that doesn't quite match the opulence surrounding me. All of this-every stone, every carving, every piece of art-it's all become meaningless. I know why, and the realization is a dull ache in my chest. Another sigh escapes me, and my stomach growls in protest. The food is tempting, but I can't bring myself to eat-not alone, not tonight.

It's our third anniversary, and I've prepared his favorite dish, donned the red dress with the daring slit-red, Adrian's favorite color. But the night wears on, and he's nowhere to be seen. Did he forget? Or worse, does he no longer care? The thought sends another wave of frustration through me, and I sigh yet again, the sound lost in the vastness of the room.

Three years have flown by, a whirlwind of love, laughter, and tears. But tonight, the laughter is absent, and the tears threaten to fall. I'm dressed up with nowhere to go, waiting for a man who may not even remember the significance of this day. The anger simmers within me, a quiet storm brewing beneath the surface of my calm exterior. I'm tired of waiting, tired of hoping, tired of feeling like I'm the only one holding onto something that might already be gone.

The door swings open, and there he stands-Adrian, my husband, the enigma. His eyes, usually a storm of darkness, are now calm seas, revealing nothing. He's clad in a grey suit, the collar casually undone, one hand nonchalantly tucked in his pocket, the other gripping the door. As he steps into the house, his gaze lands on me, and his brow furrows in a frown.