Chapter five : Scarlett Hayes

Saturday came cloaked in silk and silence.

Which meant it was time to smear expensive lipstick over trembling lips, step into the kind of dress that clung like expectations, and walk out of a house that hadn’t felt like home in years. On Adrian’s arm, of course. Always on his arm. Always pretending.

The ride to the event was quiet, suffocatingly so. I sat with my legs pressed together, not because I wanted to—but because I had to. My thighs burned. My hips throbbed. Every bump in the road sent little tremors of pain through me, reminders of the violence wrapped in silk sheets that morning.

He’d seen Damien Knight’s name on the guest list. I knew the second he did. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkened, and then he turned to me like I was the switch he could flip to pour all his fury into.

He never said a word. He never had to.

The session that followed wasn’t about desire. It never was. It was a punishment. A purge. And I was just the body that absorbed it. No voice. No choice. Just pain and silence.

Now, dressed in a black gown with puffed sleeves and a tight waist, I looked exactly how he wanted me to. Decorated. Owned. Untouchable from the outside.

A white bead necklace lay softly against my collarbone, the irony almost poetic. Purity. Innocence. Neither lived in me anymore. My hair was styled into a perfect bun, not a strand out of place. I wore designer heels that clicked with practiced grace, even though every step stabbed at my skin. But the show had to go on. It always did.

When we arrived, Mr. Carter greeted us like we were royalty. His smile was warm, his hands soft as he shook Adrian’s hand and leaned in to kiss both of our cheeks. I matched his energy with a radiant smile—my lips parting like I hadn’t just been ripped apart hours ago.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hayes,” he beamed, “you look divine.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice a melody even I didn’t recognize anymore.

We walked inside, and the music wrapped itself around the guests like a slow-moving fog. It was beautiful, the room aglow in soft golds and floating laughter. But all I wanted was to sit, just for a moment. My legs begged for it. My spine trembled under the weight of my body.

But I didn’t sit.

Adrian’s hand rested at the small of my back like a reminder. His face was unreadable, still. But I knew him. I knew that silence meant war. His eyes darted across the room, and I knew—he was looking for him.

For Damien.

And I... I just wanted to breathe.

But tonight, like every night, I would smile. I would stand straight. And I would pretend. Because that’s what being Mrs. Hayes demanded.

Even if it was slowly killing me.

The party danced on—lavish, glowing, alive.

And I… I was dying slowly inside my own body.

My toes throbbed inside those pretty designer heels, each step another little punishment. My legs were screaming, muscles sore and stretched. Every motion reminded me of the morning. Of the violence dressed in silence. Of the agony that had no voice.

A dull ache began pulsing behind my eyes—my head pounding in rhythm with the bass of the music. The chandeliers above spun a little too brightly, too dizzyingly. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for a glass of water from the passing waiter.

That’s when some older woman—draped in velvet and perfume—looped her arm through Adrian’s and whisked him away for a “quick word about a future investment.”

His fingers dropped from my back. His presence left like the sun behind clouds.

For a moment, I could breathe.

“I’ll go walk around,” I murmured, knowing he didn’t care enough to ask.

And so I wandered. Past the clinks of champagne glasses. Past the dancers floating effortlessly across the polished marble floor. I was just trying to escape the pain pressing into my bones. Just looking for a moment to rest, to exist.

Then I saw him.

He hadn’t noticed me yet, but I knew that profile. That proud jaw, that storm-dark hair slicked back, those broad shoulders wrapped in a perfectly tailored suit.

Damien Knight.

The moment his eyes caught mine, my stomach twisted so tight I forgot how to breathe.

Our gazes locked—and something inside me ignited. Panic? Curiosity? Shame? I didn’t know. But I wanted to run. I wanted to find Adrian and glue myself to his side.

But I couldn’t move.

And then he walked toward me.

Each step deliberate. His smirk blooming slowly across his face like a secret unraveled.

“Hey, pretty lady,” he said smoothly, voice low. “I remember you… Scarlett, yeah?”

I swallowed, hard.

A small, tight smile stretched across my lips. “Nice to meet you too… Mr. Damien.”

He leaned in, too close, his cologne mingling with the heavy perfume around the room. “Where’s your beloved husband?”

I lifted my hand and pointed vaguely across the room. “Somewhere over there.”

His gaze followed the direction, lingering. And then he turned back to me. “So... wanna dance with me?”

My heart skipped. “I’m sorry, my husband is here,” I said quickly, breath hitching.

He gave a soft shrug, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “It’s just a dance. I don’t have a partner. I came alone. Would you mind giving me a few steps? Just this once?”

“I… I’m afraid I can’t,” I whispered. “Almost everyone here knows me.”

He smiled. “We’re at the edge of the hall. It’s dim. No one will see us.”

The music swelled. The world blurred. I hesitated.

And then—I said yes.

He took my hands, gentle but firm, and placed them over his shoulders. His palms slid to my waist, and the breath caught in my throat as he pulled me closer.

The pain in my legs still pulsed, but it faded beneath the fire of his touch.

We moved—slowly, quietly. Swaying to a rhythm that wasn’t just in the music, but in the storm between us.

His eyes stayed on mine. So dark. So unreadable. Yet they pierced through every guarded part of me. I was scared. Terrified that someone might see. That my husband might find out.

Because if he did… there’d be nothing left of me. Just bruises. Just bones.

But for now, in this shadowed corner, I melted.

And for the first time in so long…

I didn’t feel like Mrs. Hayes.

I felt like Scarlett.

We danced so beautifully…

So effortlessly.

The music faded into the background, a dull hum compared to the rhythm of his hands on my waist and the pounding in my chest. Damien’s eyes never left mine—intense, unreadable, as if trying to carve his way into my soul.

And for that brief, stolen moment…

I didn’t want it to end.

Then he moved to spin me. His hand gently caught my arm, guiding me around with practiced ease. But halfway through the turn, a sharp pain sliced through my side—right on the hip where the morning had left its mark.

"Ouch," I gasped, stumbling slightly and bending over just a bit, trying to catch my breath without drawing attention.

Damien froze. “Oh my god, did I hurt you?”

He stepped closer, concern flashing across his face. “I’m really sorry. Did I—did I hurt you?”

I shook my head quickly, forcing a tight smile. “No, no. It’s just... a slight pain. I had it from the morning.”

I didn’t want to say that. I didn’t mean to say that.

But the words tumbled out before I could stop them.

His brows furrowed. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” I answered too quickly. “Just a slight... pain.”

He didn’t look convinced. His jaw ticked subtly. “You sure, Mrs. Hayes?”

Mrs. Hayes.

The name landed like a slap.

Right. I’m Mrs. Hayes. Adrian Hayes’s wife.

What the hell am I doing?

Why am I in a stranger’s arms?

Why am I dancing with him like he’s my sanctuary?

I suddenly felt cold. Exposed.

I pulled my hands from his shoulders and took a step back. “Thank you for the dance,” I said softly, but firmly. My smile was forced now, my chest tight.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on mine, but he didn’t stop me.

I turned and made my way back through the crowd, my legs shaky beneath the weight of reality. I spotted Adrian near the bar, still deep in conversation. He hadn’t noticed. He probably never would.

But my heart knew.

And for the rest of the night, no matter how many smiles I pasted on my face or how elegantly I carried myself—

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted inside me.

Something I couldn’t take back.

I spotted him by the bar, no longer deep in conversation. The old woman was gone. Now, Adrian stood alone, glass in hand, eyes scanning the room like a hawk.

I swallowed hard, fixed my dress, and steadied my breath before making my way to him.

He noticed me before I even reached. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and unreadable.

“Where were you?” he asked, his voice low but firm.

My heart skipped, but I kept my face neutral, calm. “I just went to the other corner,” I replied, forcing my voice to sound casual. “Too many people here, I needed a little air.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Hmm.”

I gulped.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, trying to sound soft. “Is everything okay?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at me.

Then he said, “No. I was just looking for you.”

“Oh,” I replied quietly, nodding like it meant nothing. But it meant everything. He never looked for me.

That could only mean one thing:

He noticed something.

The dance.

The moment.

Damien.

I felt the guilt rise like bile in my throat, but I pushed it down. I smiled faintly and took a sip of water from a passing tray, desperate for something to hold on to.

He didn’t ask anything else.

And I didn’t offer.

But the silence between us felt heavy—like a storm was gathering.

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