...Leah...

All the decorations, the carefully placed flowers, and the food you spent hours preparing with love were destroyed in seconds under the indifferent hands of Dante Marino, your husband of two years. It wasn’t a marriage built on love, but on convenience—to keep his grandfather from scolding him. He never loved you, but you’ve been in love with him since high school. You’ve loved him since high school, yet Dante’s heart has never been yours. Even in the university, you followed him into Business Administration, despite how much you hated it, just to stay close to him, even though you hated every second of it. ‘Aunt Marie, don’t help her. Let her clean it,’ Dante ordered coldly, his voice sharp as he glanced at you with disgust before heading upstairs, loosening his tie as if shaking off any connection to you. The sound of the door slamming echoed in the empty space between you. Slowly, you sank to the floor, your hands trembling as you began picking up the ruined cake and the food you’d so carefully made. Silent tears streamed down your face as the weight of your unreciprocated love bore down on you. You threw everything away, while Aunt Marie, the housemaid, watched with pity. ‘Lady Leah, let me help you. Master Dante must be exhausted from work. I’m sure he’ll realize all you’ve done for him one day.’ Her gentle voice offered comfort, but her words felt hollow. You looked up at her, eyes brimming with tears, and hugged her tightly, the only person who ever gave you a shoulder to cry on. She was the one who comforted you when the weight of Dante’s coldness became too much to bear.

But Dante rarely came home, and when he did, it was as if you were invisible. But tonight, after wiping away your tears, you forced yourself upstairs, trying to push aside the ache in your chest. Opening the bedroom door, you saw him sitting on the bed, working on his laptop with his glasses on, his strong, handsome features only making it harder to accept the truth. His muscular frame, his wealth, his polished charm—everyone praised you for having the perfect husband. They envied the life they thought you had, but behind closed doors, it was all an illusion. But behind the façade was a man who barely acknowledged your existence, a husband who only played the part in front of others to keep up appearances for his family.

As you stood there, the weight of the pretense you were both living felt unbearable. You loved him with all your heart, but Dante? He couldn’t even spare you a kind word. And the worst part? You kept hoping, praying that one day, he might see you, might love you back. But each passing day made it clear—you were just a convenience to him.

“Bring me coffee,” Dante ordered coldly, without even glancing in your direction, his tone more like that of a master speaking to a servant than a husband addressing his wife. But maybe that’s what you were to him now—a convenience, someone to order around. He didn’t care about you. Not your feelings, not your effort. You sighed quietly and went downstairs to make the coffee, just the way he liked it, because no matter how much he ignored or mistreated you, you still tried to be the good wife. But what did you get in return? Nothing but indifference and a cold shoulder.

Returning to the room, you masked your hurt behind a smile, as though the scene from moments ago hadn’t happened. “Here,” you said softly, handing him the mug. He took it without so much as a glance or a word of thanks, as if your presence was invisible, your efforts meaningless. Without complaint, you moved on to the next task, preparing and ironing his suit for the following day, making sure everything was perfect for him, because that’s what you did. You gave him everything, despite receiving nothing in return.

Afterward, you retreated to the bathroom, needing to wash away the weight of everything you had just endured. As you stood in front of the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was one you barely recognized. The sadness in your eyes, the hollow feeling in your chest. How pathetic you looked, still holding on to the tiny hope that someday things would change, that somehow he’d see you, love you the way you’d loved him for years.

Dressed in your pajamas, you left the bathroom and stepped back into the room, ready to slip into bed. “Come here,” Dante commanded, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. You obeyed, walking toward him, and before you could process what was happening, he pulled you onto his lap. His lips were on your neck, his hands gripping your thighs in a way that felt more aggressive than loving. You flinched and tried to pull away, “I’m not feeling it today,” you whispered, hoping he’d stop, that he’d listen to you for once. But he didn’t. His grip tightened, his hands and mouth ignoring your pleas. You begged him softly, but Dante didn’t care. Just like everything else in this marriage, your feelings didn’t matter. You were trapped, powerless, as he continued, and once again, the reality of how little you meant to him crashed over you like a wave, leaving you drowning in despair.

...Leah...

Seven years ago

“Normal people would know that she loved you. Not giving her a chance?” Antonio, one of Dante’s childhood friends, asked him, frustration evident in his tone. You were rushing back to class to grab the books you’d forgotten, not expecting to overhear the conversation that would change everything. Eighteen-year-old Dante laughed, the sound cold and mocking. “Do you really think she deserves me? The only reason I’m engaged to her is because my grandpa won’t stop pushing it. She doesn’t even come close to Lorensa,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt.

You froze, heart sinking as his words echoed in your mind. You had always known Dante didn’t love you, but hearing him laugh about it—hearing him compare you to Lorensa, the most popular and beautiful girl in school—was a pain you weren’t prepared for. Your heart shattered as you realized how little you meant to him, how easily he could dismiss your love, your years of quiet devotion. Tears streamed down your face as you stood in stunned silence, unable to move. It hurt even more knowing how people had always whispered behind your back, questioning why someone like Dante—handsome, wealthy, and adored—was engaged to you, a girl who was plain, unnoticed, a nobody. You had always tried to ignore their whispers, believing your love would be enough, that in time, he would see you. But in that moment, the truth became painfully clear: to him, you were nothing. “Come on, don’t be that harsh. Leah’s not that bad,” Antonio said with a laugh, playfully wrapping his arm around Dante’s neck. But Dante’s cold, unfeeling gaze didn’t waver. “If you love her so much, you can have her,” Dante replied, his voice dripping with mockery. “She’d make a perfect servant for you. She’s obedient, after all,” he added with cruel amusement. The words cut through you like a knife. You couldn’t bear it anymore. Without thinking, you turned and ran, tears blurring your vision, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. You didn’t stop until you reached the nearest bathroom, locking yourself inside before collapsing into quiet sobs.

As you cried, a torrent of emotions swirled inside you—self-loathing, heartbreak, and anger. You hated yourself for loving him so deeply, for giving him so much of your heart when he saw you as nothing more than a tool, something beneath him. And worst of all, you hated yourself for always forgiving him, for clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, one day he would change. But the truth was undeniable: Dante Marino would never love you. You envied Lorensa with every fiber of your being. She had the one thing you craved but could never have—Dante’s love. She was his first love, his sweetheart, and he cared for her openly, showering her with affection while everyone knew you were the one engaged to him. The cruelty of it all was unbearable. You loved him despite how he kissed Lorensa in front of everyone and in front of you with no remorse or regret, how he bought her gifts without a second thought, how his eyes lit up with laughter when he was with her. You were invisible in comparison. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t be her. You couldn’t make him look at you the way he looked at Lorensa, as if she were his entire world. You were nothing to him—just a name tied to his because of an arranged engagement that meant nothing to him. But to you, it meant everything.

Tears streamed down your face as you cried, the envy choking you. You envied Lorensa for having the love you begged for in silence, the love that she didn’t have to ask for. You wanted what seemed so simple—his love, his attention, his heart. But all you ever received was coldness, while Lorensa had everything, effortlessly. And all you could do was watch from the shadows, your heart breaking over and over again. “Why is it so painful just to want his love?” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears rolled down your cheeks. It was a question you had asked yourself countless times, a question that seemed to echo into the void, unanswered. But deep down, you already knew the answer. You had known it for a very long time. You wanted something that could never be forced—something that should come freely but never did. The love you sought from Dante wasn’t just out of reach; it was never there to begin with. And yet, knowing this didn’t ease the pain. It only made it worse. Wanting his love, when it was never meant for you, was a cruel, constant ache. You had given so much, hoping, praying that one day he’d see you, but the more you wanted it, the more it hurt.