(The theme of this story is dark)
A girl with bruishes all over her body was covered in blood
As red as a rose—
She wasn't crying nor she was in pain, she was staring at something without a blink with her eyes that had nothing.
Her eyes just didn't have emotions.
Her eyes were dead...
"You're not a child anymore. You're fourteen—so why can't you understand?" a woman's voice lashed out, sharp and cold.
The figure before her was blurred, distant, as though seen through fog.
"You can't do anything on your own!"
The girl said nothing. She only stared.
"You're just a doll. A doll we control. Do you understand?!" the woman screamed, her voice echoing harshly. "ROSELIA?!"
Roselia's slowly opened her eyes.
It was dream of a past.
And as she woke up nothing but silence greeted her.
No voices. No footsteps. No one.
Only the faint, hollow stillness of the room.
Her face was pale, lifeless—like porcelain. Like something fragile, yet already broken. A doll, just as they had said.
A doll anyone could use.
Outside, Hayuel paused mid-step, his gaze drifting toward a sleek black car parked near Ziyan's house.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the unfamiliar sight.
"Who the hell lives in that house…?" he muttered under his breath, before turning away and continuing on his path.
Inside the house, Ziyan sat alone, leaning back in his chair. The room was quiet, almost too quiet, as his thoughts circled around a certain girl.
Roselia.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"That was a terrible excuse…" he murmured to himself.
His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest.
"She doesn't even know how to lie properly."
He let out a quiet sigh, reaching for his phone.
"Who would believe a cat injured her leg?"
The smirk lingered—but behind it, there was something sharper.
Curiosity.
Something about her didn't add up.
'4 OCTOBER 2023, WEDNESDAY, TIME:09:27AM'
Night had settled quietly over the house.
A faint light glowed from the kitchen, where Roselia sat on a chair near the dining table. She hadn't moved for a while—just sitting there, still and silent, like a figure placed carefully and forgotten.
The door clicked open.
Hayuel stepped inside, loosening his tie as he walked in.
His gaze fell on her instantly. Without a word, he moved toward the table and took the seat beside her.
"Hey," he said casually, "next month, we have to attend a party."
Roselia turned her head slightly, her expression unchanged. The faint marks along her neck were visible under the dim light.
"Do I have to go as well?" she asked, her voice flat.
Hayuel let out a small breath, leaning closer—too close. His eyes locked onto hers.
"Obviously," he murmured. "You're my wife, after all."
Silence followed.
Thick. Heavy.
The ticking of the clock echoed loudly in the stillness, each second stretching longer than the last. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved.
"Umm… okay," Roselia finally said, her voice breaking through the quiet. There was hesitation in her eyes as she met his gaze, as if even that small agreement had cost her something.
Hayuel leaned back slightly, his attention drifting elsewhere.
"Anyway…" he began, almost casually, "I got a call from your mother today."
The words hit differently.
Roselia's expression didn't change much—but something in her eyes dimmed.
"Oh… why did she call you?"
"She just wanted to know how you're doing."
That was all. No emotion. No curiosity.
Roselia blinked once. Then twice. Then a third time.
Her eyes had begun to glisten.
"Oh… is that so…?" she whispered softly.
THE NEXT DAY
Ziyan sat by his desk, focused on his laptop, the faint tapping of keys filling the room.
Suddenly, his phone rang.
He picked it up without much thought. "Hello?"
"Hey!" a woman's voice came from the other end.
A small smile formed on his lips. "Hey, Liya."
"So," Liya's voice turned teasing, "are you still single, or did you finally find someone?"
Ziyan let out a quiet chuckle, leaning back in his chair.
"There is someone I like," he admitted, "but I'm not in a relationship."
As he spoke, he stood up and walked toward the window. His eyes instinctively drifted toward the house across from his.
Roselia's house.
Liya sighed dramatically. "You're thirty-two now, Ziyan. How long are you planning to stay single? When are you getting married?"
"I never had the time," he replied calmly. "Work keeps me busy. And honestly… I'm not interested in marriage."
A frustrated groan came from the other end.
"If you don't have time for dating, then just get an arranged marriage! Or let me set you up on a blind date. Mom really wants to see you with a wife—you know that, brother."
Ziyan smiled faintly.
"Didn't you hear me, Liya? I'm not interested. Marriage without love isn't really a life, is it?"
"Ugh! I'm tired of you!" she snapped. "At this rate, you're going to die single, you idiot!"
The call ended abruptly.
Ziyan let out a soft laugh, lowering his phone—but his gaze never left the house across from his.
"I guess things would've been different… if I had met you before your marriage," he murmured under his breath.
A faint smile lingered on his lips.
"But I hope you live a happy life… Roselia."
The smile faded slowly.
Because something didn't sit right.
The memory of that night surfaced—the distant sounds of shouting… something falling… breaking the silence.
And then her face.
The bruises. The injuries. The way she had looked.
His eyes darkened slightly.
"Are you really happy… Roselia?" he whispered, though he already knew there would be no answer.
"A billionaire husband… a perfect life… or is it?"
He exhaled softly, still staring at the house.
"I'd like to know how you got those injuries."
After a moment, he turned away, heading back to the living room.
"As far as I know, Hayuel keeps his personal life hidden," he muttered. "He never even revealed his wife to the world. Only a few people have seen her."
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"I guess he's afraid other men might fall for her…"
His eyes flickered slightly.
"…and he's not wrong."
To be continued...