The soft sound of heels clicking on the marble floor echoed through the house as Kezia stood by the door, clutching the handle with white knuckles. Ethan had just come home—late, as usual. His presence filled the room, and she felt herself instinctively shrinking away from him.
"Good evening, my love," he greeted her with that same lazy smile that sent a shiver down her spine. The words sounded empty, and she hated how they still made her heart flutter.
He dropped his briefcase on the table with a thud, his eyes briefly scanning her before he made his way to the living room. She stood frozen for a moment, torn between the desire to stay silent and the fear of what would come if she did.
"I have someone coming over tonight. Prepare the guest room," he said casually, without even looking back at her. His tone, though soft, carried the same commanding weight it always had.
"Yes, sir," she replied, her voice barely audible.
His indifference stung, but it wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last. She moved slowly towards the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.
As she passed his office, she could hear muffled voices. He had already started his evening entertainment, his latest conquest no doubt. Kezia clenched her jaw and kept walking, her mind swirling with memories of the past. Ethan, the man who was supposed to love her, had never shown her kindness beyond his own selfish needs. She was trapped in a gilded cage, and the bars were made of promises she could never trust.
**Later that night**, Kezia found herself standing in the kitchen, preparing tea as Ethan and his guest chatted in the living room. The laughter that drifted in felt like daggers piercing her chest. She wondered, sometimes, if she had ever meant anything to him at all, or if she had always just been a trophy to be displayed when convenient.
The door to the guest room creaked open, and Kezia froze, the cup in her hand shaking slightly. She could hear them clearly now, Ethan's voice carrying that flirtatious tone he reserved for women who weren't her.
"Kezia," he called out lazily from the hallway, "can you bring us some refreshments? My friend is thirsty."
Kezia felt the familiar sting in her chest as she nodded. "Of course."
She didn't dare look up at him. The moment their eyes met, the facade she had been carefully maintaining would crack. She had to keep up the charade—keep pretending that everything was fine, even as her heart slowly broke into pieces.
As she walked back into the living room, her eyes flicked to the woman sitting beside Ethan on the couch. She was younger, prettier, with that confident air that Kezia had never been able to muster. The woman smiled at Kezia, her gaze calculating. Kezia returned the smile, though it felt more like a grimace.
Ethan's arm was draped around the woman's shoulders casually, as though Kezia wasn't even there. When their eyes met, his lips curled into a smirk, the same smirk he gave her when he was about to strike her with his words.
"Enjoying yourself, love?" he asked, his voice dripping with mock sweetness.
Kezia wanted to scream at him, wanted to throw the tea she was carrying in his face, but instead, she forced a smile. "Of course. I just want you both to feel at home."
His eyes twinkled with amusement, a satisfied look settling on his face as he saw her discomfort. He didn't care that she was broken inside; he didn't care about the years of sacrifice she had given him. All that mattered was that she played her role.
As she placed the tea on the table, she could feel his gaze follow her, as though he was watching a puppet dance on invisible strings. The woman beside him laughed, and it was as if Kezia wasn't even in the room anymore. She wanted to scream, to shout at them that this was her life—her marriage—but she couldn't.
Kezia retreated back to the kitchen, her mind a whirlwind of frustration and sorrow. The clattering of dishes was the only sound in the otherwise silent room. How had it come to this?
She was the wife, the one who had been promised a future by this man. And yet, here she was—treated like an invisible servant, a non-entity in her own home.
**Later**, as she was preparing a late-night meal, Ethan's voice floated in from the living room again. "Kezia, food."
The simple demand felt like a blow to her chest. With a sigh, she grabbed the rice and the bowls, her hands trembling as she moved to the dining room. The tension in her body was unbearable—she knew what was coming.
But as she turned the corner, her foot caught on the edge of the rug. Her balance faltered. In that instant, everything seemed to slow down as she watched the bowl of rice flip from her hands and spill—right onto Ethan and his guest.
The world went silent for a moment as the rice fell in slow motion, landing perfectly across Ethan's lap and onto the guest's pristine clothes.
"Damn it!" Ethan shouted, leaping up from his seat, the woman next to him gasping in shock.
Kezia stood frozen, the spilled rice still falling like a cruel reminder of how far she had fallen. Her pulse raced, her cheeks burning with shame and fear. She had ruined everything. This was her last chance to prove she was still worthy of his attention. And now she had destroyed that.
"I—I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—" Kezia stammered, scrambling to gather napkins, but her words caught in her throat. Ethan's eyes were cold, his fury evident in the sharpness of his gaze.
"Just get out of here," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I can't believe you'd be so careless. You're completely useless."
The words hit her like a physical blow, but Kezia didn't dare argue. Instead, she nodded and backed away, the tears threatening to spill, but she didn't allow them to fall—not in front of them.
As she turned to leave, Catherine's voice called out from the doorway, sharp and mocking.
"You really should be more careful, Kezia. Or do you enjoy humiliating yourself like this?"
Kezia kept her head down, biting her lip to keep from responding. She knew what Catherine was doing—putting her in her place, making sure she understood that she would never be anything more than what they allowed her to be.
The door clicked shut behind her as she retreated to the kitchen, her heart sinking. She had made a mistake—a huge mistake. And in this house, mistakes had consequences.
**Later**, as she lay in their bed—her bed, but it no longer felt like hers—she stared at the ceiling, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. The soft sound of Ethan's voice filtering through the walls as he entertained his guest was all she could hear.
Catherine's words echoed in her mind: *You owe us everything. You were bought, and now you will stay. You don't get to leave.*
Kezia clenched her fists. The suffocating weight of her situation was overwhelming, and yet, there was no escape.
Her thoughts wandered back to the day she had met Ethan, the day her parents had sold her to him as though she were an object to be traded. That day, she had been so naive—so hopeful, believing that with time, she would learn to love him and that he might love her back.
Now, all that was left was a shell of that naive girl, hollowed out by years of manipulation, isolation, and betrayal.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry I let this happen."
The tears she had been holding back spilled over, and she buried her face in her pillow, suffocating in both the grief and the guilt.
She was trapped. But even in her darkest moments, Kezia couldn't help but wonder—was this really all there was to her life? Would it always be like this?
No. Something deep within her stirred, a flicker of rebellion that she hadn't allowed herself to acknowledge before. She wasn't going to stay in this hell forever.
Not anymore.