Chapter 2 up
The front door slammed open just before midnight.
Nyla, who had been sitting in the living room, wasn’t surprised. Since the afternoon, she had known Clark would come home late—or perhaps not come home at all. The stench of alcohol hit her nose even before the man fully stepped inside.
Clark Summer staggered in, his tie undone, his expensive shirt wrinkled, his face flushed. His eyes were half-lidded, his steps heavy and unsteady.
“Clark,” Nyla said flatly, her voice almost devoid of emotion. “You’re drunk.”
Clark let out a low chuckle, a laugh that sounded foreign to her ears. “I came home, didn’t I?” he said as he kicked the door shut. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
He moved closer—too close. Nyla could smell the sharp scent of liquor mixed with a woman’s perfume, not the one she used.
Clark grabbed Nyla’s wrist, pulling her toward him without asking for permission.
“I’m tired,” he muttered. “You know… the world is cruel.”
Nyla held her breath as Clark’s arm wrapped around her waist. The touch made her want to vomit.
“Let go of me,” she said softly.
But Clark didn’t listen. Or perhaps he pretended not to.
He leaned down, his lips moving toward Nyla’s face. His movements were clumsy, nothing like the loving kisses they had once shared.
Nyla turned her face away, but Clark’s hand still brushed her cheek.
“Selena…” Clark suddenly breathed, his voice soft—far too soft.
Nyla’s body stiffened instantly.
“I love you, Selena,” Clark continued, his eyes closed, as if Nyla didn’t even exist in front of him. “I love you so much…”
Time seemed to stop.
That name. Not hers.
Not Nyla.
Her heart felt like it was being crushed, then shattered without mercy.
“Clark,” Nyla’s voice trembled. “Open your eyes.”
Clark gave a small laugh, then opened his eyes halfway. His vision was blurred, but when he finally focused on Nyla’s face, his brows furrowed—not in relief, but in disappointment.
“Oh,” he murmured. “You…”
That single word hurt more than a thousand insults.
“What am I?” Nyla asked quietly.
Clark released his grip and stepped back. He rubbed his face roughly, then laughed bitterly.
“Why is it you?” he said honestly, without a filter. “It should have been Selena.”
Nyla’s tears finally fell.
Not because she was weak—but because she had been strong for far too long.
“So all this time,” her voice was barely audible, “I was just a replacement?”
Clark was silent for a moment, then dropped heavily onto the sofa. He leaned his head back against it, staring at the ceiling as if Nyla was no longer his wife—just another piece of furniture.
“I regret it,” he said suddenly.
Nyla’s heart pounded.
“Regret what?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
Clark let out a short, bitter laugh. “Marrying you.”
The words fell like a death sentence.
“I shouldn’t have done it,” Clark continued without hesitation. “I thought I could learn to love you. I thought you would be enough. But you weren’t.”
He turned and looked at Nyla with bloodshot eyes—not from tears, but from alcohol.
“Selena is different,” he said softly, as if confessing the greatest truth of his life. “She makes me feel alive.”
Nyla wrapped her arms around herself, as if her body had suddenly grown cold.
“Then what about me?” she asked. “What do you feel for me, Clark?”
Clark was silent for a long time. Then he sighed.
“Obligation.”
One word. A single word that erased three years of marriage.
“You’re a good wife,” Clark went on. “Too good. But I’ve never fallen in love with you the way I’ve fallen in love with Selena.”
Nyla let out a small laugh—a fragile sound that almost turned into a sob.
“So all of this,” she said, glancing around the large house, “was just a performance?”
Clark didn’t answer. His silence was enough.
Nyla stepped back, keeping her distance, as if Clark were a stranger who had just destroyed her life.
“I gave everything up for you,” she said, her voice breaking. “My career, my dreams, my self-respect. I endured it when your family looked down on me. I stayed silent when you grew cold toward me.”
Clark closed his eyes, clearly unwilling to listen.
“And you don’t even regret it,” Nyla continued. “You only regret marrying me.”
Clark stood up with difficulty, his steps unsteady.
“Don’t make this harder,” he said roughly. “You know I won’t divorce you now. I need stability.”
Stability.
Not love. Not respect.
Just convenience.
Nyla wiped away her tears. Slowly, but surely, her heart hardened.
“Don’t worry,” she said gently—far too gently for someone who had just been destroyed. “I won’t ask you to love me anymore.”
Clark looked at her in confusion.
“Because I won’t ask you for anything at all,” Nyla continued. “I won’t cry. I won’t beg.”
She turned and walked toward the stairs.
“Go to sleep,” she said without looking back. “You’re drunk.”
Clark didn’t answer. He simply collapsed back onto the sofa, his head hanging low.
In the bedroom, Nyla locked the door.
She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her own reflection—swollen eyes, cheeks wet with tears.
“Enough,” she whispered to the image of herself.