Kezia moved about the dimly lit kitchen, arranging dinner meticulously, as if each detail could somehow appease the tension that seemed to cling to every corner of their home. Ethan had requested a full meal tonight, some elaborate dish she'd struggled to find the ingredients for. Catherine, too, had dropped by earlier, inspecting her every move with that same piercing, judging gaze. Tonight, Kezia was on edge.
She brought the meal to the table, placing it before Ethan, who barely glanced at her. He merely scrolled through his phone, oblivious, his attention far from her, as though she were just part of the furniture. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the echoes of a thousand words unspoken.
She stood by, hands clasped, hoping for some acknowledgment—anything that might make her feel like a person in this marriage instead of a placeholder. After a long pause, Ethan sighed dramatically.
"Why are you just standing there? Go get me some water."
Kezia swallowed, trying to contain the bitterness rising in her chest. The man hadn't even muttered a simple "thank you." Her hands clenched for a moment before she forced them to relax. With a slight bow of her head, she murmured, "Of course," and went back into the kitchen.
When she returned, glass in hand, Ethan's focus had finally shifted from his phone. He was watching her, a mocking smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looked at her as though she were some curiosity, something to be examined and then dismissed.
"Why are you always so nervous?" he drawled, amusement flickering in his eyes. "I've never seen anyone try so hard to keep from falling apart."
Kezia bit her lip, struggling to keep her voice steady. "I'm only trying to make you comfortable."
His laughter was cold, almost dismissive. "Comfortable? I've had assistants more relaxed than you." He leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the chair, looking every bit the picture of arrogance. "You act as if I'll bite your head off if you make the slightest mistake."
But it wasn't a mistake Kezia feared. It was the knowledge that her every action would be twisted, scrutinized, judged—and she'd be the one left apologizing, begging for forgiveness over things she hadn't even done wrong. She felt herself flinch, instinctively stepping back. Her movement caught his attention, and he raised a brow, a dark glint in his eyes.
"What? Afraid of me now?"
She didn't respond, but the silence was answer enough.
Just then, Catherine entered the room, her presence commanding as always. She took one look at the table, and an almost imperceptible smirk tugged at her lips. "Well, at least you're somewhat competent in the kitchen," she remarked, her tone sharp. "You could've made yourself useful in other ways, though."
Catherine's words cut deep, but Kezia was used to them by now. Every visit from Ethan's mother felt like a test, as though Kezia was on constant trial, forever judged for every action or perceived failure. And, as usual, Catherine wasted no opportunity to remind her of her supposed insignificance.
"You know," Catherine continued, pulling up a chair beside Ethan, "I expected a little more grace from you. It's not as though you don't know how to be a proper wife."
Kezia swallowed, feeling the weight of Catherine's words. Her hands itched to defend herself, to say something—anything—but the threat of Catherine's last conversation hung heavy in her mind. She remembered that cold, steely voice reminding her she had "nowhere else to go."
Kezia could still hear the harshness of that warning, like a shadow cast over her every decision. She was trapped, bound by an invisible chain, and Catherine was its keeper.
"Yes, mother," she replied meekly, dropping her gaze.
Ethan chuckled, thoroughly entertained by the dynamic at the table. He reached out, casually placing a hand on Catherine's shoulder. "Mother's right, Kezia. You've got a lot to learn."
Their laughter washed over her, another reminder that she was out of place, unwanted—a mere accessory to the family name. Still, she tried to find solace in her silence, a small refuge where she could keep her pain hidden. But it was hard to ignore the sting of humiliation as they both sat there, bonding over her inadequacy.
Later that evening, as she cleaned up the dining room, she could hear Ethan's voice from the other room, speaking in a low, flirtatious tone. Her stomach twisted; she recognized that tone. It was the voice he used when he wanted something—or rather, someone.
Kezia moved closer, and from the hallway, she caught sight of him leaning against the doorframe, phone in hand, an expression of shameless interest on his face. He was talking to another woman, his smile softer than she'd ever seen it when he looked at her.
"Maybe you can come over tomorrow. My wife is... well, she doesn't mind."
Her cheeks burned, her fists clenching at her sides as she realized he was planning to bring someone home, once again, like she was some absent entity in her own marriage. It was one thing to suspect, but hearing him make plans so boldly felt like a punch to the gut.
She forced herself to turn away, but her chest felt heavy, her steps faltering as she stumbled toward the kitchen. Her emotions were a tangled mess of anger, sorrow, and helplessness. She felt her fingers tighten around the tray she was holding, her mind replaying his words over and over.
What did it mean to be a wife if he could treat her so casually, dismiss her so easily? Why did she endure this? But even as the questions rose, a familiar voice echoed in her mind: *"You have nowhere to go."*
The weight of Catherine's warning felt suffocating, chaining her to this miserable life. She felt the pressure building within her, a storm she couldn't release, and for a moment, she thought of leaving, of walking out the door and never looking back. But the reminder of her family, the deal Catherine made, and the debt they owed—all of it held her back.
And so, she did what she always did: she swallowed her pride, buried her pain, and continued with her duties, cleaning the table, washing the dishes, tidying up the home that never felt like hers.
As she scrubbed the plates, she could hear Catherine's earlier words replay in her mind. "You know," she'd said, "I bought you off from your parents. If you even think about leaving, they'll have to pay back every penny. And if you can't afford that, well, I could always... recover my losses."
Kezia shuddered at the veiled threat. *Selling her organs, taking back what was hers.* It sounded absurd, horrific, but Kezia knew Catherine well enough to understand she meant every word. In this twisted game, she was nothing more than property, a pawn to be used and discarded.
As the evening wore on and she cleaned in silence, she vowed to herself, however faintly, that one day she'd escape this nightmare, that one day she'd find a way out of this web. But for now, all she could do was survive—and keep pretending that nothing was wrong.