Shattered

‎Chapter Five

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‎By late afternoon, the house stirred with nervous energy. Servants rushed about, polishing cutlery until it gleamed, straightening tablecloths that already lay smooth, adjusting flowers that gave off a sweetness too sharp for the heaviness in the air. The corridors smelled faintly of wax and roses, though nothing could mask the unease that spread from room to room.

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‎Daniel’s family was coming for dinner.

‎I stood by the guest room window as the sound of engines rose from the drive. Cars rolled in, glossy and dark, their reflections flashing against the stone pillars. Laughter carried ahead of the arrivals, voices rising bright and confident as though the evening were nothing but a celebration.

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‎One by one, they entered the house. His mother first, regal and sharp-eyed, followed by his father with his controlled stride. His brothers and their wives trailed behind, dressed in elegance, their smiles practiced for the photographs they knew would follow. And Elizabeth, of course, glided forward to greet them as though she had been born into their circle.

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‎ She wore cream silk, understated yet luminous, the sort of color that whispered purity while hiding poison beneath.

‎I lingered in the shadows of the hall, my palms damp. Part of me wished to disappear altogether, to avoid the weight of their eyes, their whispers. Yet another part, smaller but stubborn, wanted them to see me, wanted them to remember that I was not a ghost in my own house.

‎When dinner was announced, I forced myself into the dining room.

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‎The chandeliers spilled golden light over the long mahogany table. Crystal glasses glittered, silver gleamed, and the air shimmered with the scent of roasted meats and wine. Daniel took the head seat, Elizabeth beside him, already claiming her place as if she belonged. His family filled the other chairs with easy laughter and polite chatter.

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‎And me. I sat at the far end, removed, isolated, as though my very presence might stain the evening if I came too close.

‎The first course arrived, carried by silent servants. Conversation circled around business, travel, and the season’s social gatherings. No one asked me a question. No one addressed me directly. I might have been furniture.

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‎I touched my spoon lightly to my soup, though my stomach twisted too tightly to accept food. My eyes stayed lowered, watching the ripple of golden broth while the voices around me swelled.

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‎Then Daniel’s voice cut through, calm and measured. “There is something I must share.”

‎The table hushed instantly. Even the servants stilled, hands pausing mid-motion. All attention shifted to him.

‎My chest constricted.

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‎Daniel lifted his wine glass, the candlelight catching the liquid in a crimson glow. His eyes swept the table, lingering a heartbeat on his mother, then his father. Finally, his gaze turned to me. Cold, steady, unforgiving.

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‎“This marriage has failed,” he said. “And soon, I will divorce her.”

‎The words cracked the air like thunder.

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‎Gasps rippled. His sisters-in-law pressed hands to their lips. His father’s brows drew together in a faint frown. His mother’s eyes flickered, sharp with quiet triumph she did not bother to disguise.

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‎And somewhere at the back of the room, a flash went off. Then another. Hidden among the guests were reporters, invited for this moment. Their cameras caught everything, each burst of light freezing my humiliation into an image that would spread far beyond these walls.

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‎My breath faltered. My hand trembled against the tablecloth. For one terrifying moment, the room spun and my knees weakened. Collapse seemed inevitable.

‎But I did not fall.

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‎I forced myself upright, pressing both palms flat on the table to steady my trembling. My heart raced, my blood pounded in my ears, yet I lifted my chin. My body might have screamed weakness, but I refused to give them my tears.

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‎A murmur swept the table. Some avoided my eyes. Others stared openly, curiosity gleaming like knives. Elizabeth leaned toward Daniel, her smile sweet, her fingers brushing his sleeve in a gesture that shouted possession.

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‎I stayed standing until the silence grew too heavy, until Daniel turned away, dismissing me entirely. Then I sank slowly back into my chair, my movements controlled, as though I still held some fragment of dignity.

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‎The rest of dinner passed in fragments I barely registered. Words and laughter blurred around me. Plates were set and cleared, glasses refilled, conversations sparked and died. I tasted nothing. I felt nothing but the raw ache of being torn open in front of them all.

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‎Later, after the last dish had been cleared and the family settled into the drawing room, I escaped to the corridor. My reflection in the gilded mirror mocked me: pale skin, hollowed eyes, lips pressed too tightly against the storm within. Behind me, laughter floated still, Elizabeth’s voice rising above the rest like a bell.

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‎I climbed the stairs, each step heavy, each breath tighter than the last. The guest room door closed behind me with a finality that echoed in my chest.

‎But the night was not finished.

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‎By midnight, the rumors had already taken flight. Elizabeth fed them herself, whispering lies to hungry ears, then pushing them further into the open. Online, stories appeared painting me as unfaithful, claiming affairs with drivers, with guards, with men who lingered in the background of our lives. Words twisted truth into dirt.

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‎Soon came the photographs. Paparazzi shots that looked convincing, staged with precision. Images of me leaving a car, speaking to a man in a corridor, my expression caught mid-blink. Enough to twist into scandal. Enough to convince strangers that I was nothing but a whore hiding behind wealth.

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‎By the time I saw them, it was too late. They were everywhere.

‎The door to my room burst open. Daniel entered, his face carved in fury, his hands gripping a thick envelope. Without a word, he threw it at me. The photographs spilled across the carpet, glossy and sharp, spreading like a circle of fire around me.

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‎I bent slowly, gathering one. My fingers shook as I lifted it into the light. My own face stared back at me, caught in angles that suggested intimacy where there was none. Lies printed in color.

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‎“You disgust me,” Daniel spat. His voice was low but cut deeper than any shout. “All this time, I thought you weak. But weakness would have been kinder than this. You are shameless.”

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‎The words hit harder than the slap that morning.

‎My throat closed. I swallowed, forcing the words out though they broke against my tongue. “I have been faithful.”

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‎He laughed, sharp and cold. “Faithful? Look at you. Look at what the world sees. You are filth.”

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‎The door slammed behind him, rattling the frame. Silence swelled, broken only by the pounding of my pulse.

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‎I knelt among the photographs, my hands trembling as I gathered them. They slipped through my fingers, slick, impossible to hold. My chest heaved with the effort of keeping breath inside me, of holding myself together when everything begged to shatter.

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‎No tears came. My eyes burned, but they stayed dry. Perhaps I had none left.

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‎The room felt colder, darker. The weight of their lies pressed heavy on my shoulders. Yet beneath it, somewhere deep, the fire still smoldered.

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‎They could strip me of dignity, drag my name through mud, brand me with shame that was not mine. They could laugh, they could destroy every piece of the life I had built.

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‎But I was not gone.

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‎Not yet.

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‎I pressed my palms flat against the floor, grounding myself, forcing air into my lungs. Slowly, I rose. My legs were unsteady, my body weak, but I stood among the scattered photographs with my chin lifted, even if no one could see me.

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‎I was still here.

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