Chapter 4

Three days later, the Met Museum charity gala arrived as scheduled.

Since that night's confrontation, Alexander and I had barely spoken. He wandered through this enormous mansion like a ghost. Occasionally, I'd hear sounds from his study, or the shower running endlessly in the dead of night.

But tonight, we had to play the loving couple.

"This is our final performance," I said to my reflection while adjusting the shoulder straps of my deep blue off-shoulder evening gown. "Once this charade is over, everything ends."

The woman in the mirror looked elegantly perfect, but I knew it was all pretense. For three days, I'd been counting down to our divorce. Four more days.

I stepped out of the bedroom to find Alexander waiting at the top of the stairs. He wore a dark tailcoat, his hair impeccably styled, but I could see the dark circles under his eyes and his haggard appearance.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice more hoarse than usual.

I nodded without saying much. We needed to attend this damn charity gala, needed to perform our perfect marriage act in front of everyone.

In the car, we maintained our silence. I gazed out the window at New York's night skyline, thinking this might be our last public appearance together.

Under the crystal chandeliers, New York's elite mingled with champagne glasses, jewels glittering amid undercurrents of tension. I held my champagne, wearing the practiced social smile I'd perfected over countless events.

"You look beautiful," Alexander appeared beside me, his voice more gravelly than usual.

I didn't turn around, keeping my gaze fixed on a painting in the distance. "Thank you. This should be our last public appearance together."

I could feel his body stiffen, hear his sharp intake of breath. From the corner of my eye, I saw his knuckles turn white around his champagne flute.

"Isadora, could we—" He started to say something, but was cut off by a sharp female voice.

"Mrs. Sterling!" Social reporter Miranda strode toward us, photographer in tow, camera flashes popping. I inwardly sighed. Inevitable.

"I hear you and your husband are considering separation? Care to comment?" Miranda's eyes were hawk-like, her microphone practically thrust in my face.

The surrounding guests instantly fell silent, all eyes focusing on us.

I could feel Alexander's entire body tense, but I maintained my graceful smile. "Tonight we're only discussing charity, Miranda. Don't you think these artworks deserve more attention?"

"But the online rumors—"

"Are nothing but idle speculation," Alexander suddenly spoke up. Though his voice remained calm, I could hear his hidden tension. "My wife and I have a very good relationship."

I nearly scoffed aloud. A good relationship? If frequent missing items, fears of being watched, and a sexually distant husband counted as "good."

After several rounds of polite but firm deflection, Miranda finally gave up her pursuit. After she left, the whispered conversations around us made me feel irritated.

"I need to rest for a moment," I said quietly to Alexander before turning away.

From my peripheral vision, I saw Alexander try to follow but was intercepted by several business partners. His gaze followed my retreating figure intensely, that burning stare making me uncomfortable.

I made my way through the crowd to find the museum's VIP lounge. It was quiet and dimly lit, with only a table lamp casting warm light. I pushed through the door, kicked off my heels, and half-reclined on the velvet sofa.

Dealing with the reporter's questions had exhausted me, and the champagne made me feel slightly dizzy. I closed my eyes, trying to ease my headache.

Just as I was beginning to relax, I heard footsteps and low conversation from outside the door.

"...your compulsive behaviors are worsening, Alexander. Collecting her belongings, repetitive bathing... these are all symptoms."

My eyes snapped open, my heart racing. That was an unfamiliar man's voice, professionally detached. Collecting my belongings?

"I know, but I can't control it," Alexander's voice was filled with pain I'd never heard before. "I used that lingerie from her fashion show... it's the only way I can sleep."

What? I nearly sat bolt upright. My La Perla set... he had stolen it?

I held my breath, covering my mouth, afraid to make any sound.

"This behavior is extremely dangerous, do you realize that?" the man continued. "Possessiveness, kleptomania, compulsive washing... if she discovers—"

"She'll never find out," Alexander's voice turned dark. "I'm careful."

My world began spinning. So those missing perfumes, scarves, towels... he had stolen them all? My supposedly cold husband had been secretly collecting my personal items?

"But she mentioned divorce, which has caused you tremendous shock. You lost control again last night, didn't you?"

After a brief silence, Alexander let out a pained moan. "She wants a divorce. I'm losing my mind, Dr. Wilson. I'd rather have her hate me than let her leave."

I trembled with shock. So that sound of breaking glass from his study last night... he had lost control?

"You need to tell her the truth, Alexander. Seven years of secret love, three years of planning... she should know about all of this."

Seven years of secret love? Three years of planning? I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"No!" Alexander's voice became agitated. "If she knew how I've been watching her, how I've been gathering information about her, how I planned all of this... she would leave me completely."

My blood turned to ice. Watching me? Gathering information about me? Planning all of this? What was he talking about?

"But your current state is dangerous. Every time you have physical contact with her, you have to shower because you're afraid of losing control... this self-suppression will explode eventually."

Now I understood. I finally realized why he rushed to the bathroom after every intimate moment, why he always refused to go further. It wasn't because he felt nothing for me—it was because he felt too much.

"I've loved her for seven years. I can't lose her like this," Alexander's voice carried desperate anguish. "She's my reason for existing. Without her, I'm nothing."

My phone suddenly slipped from my trembling fingers, hitting the carpet with a sharp sound.

The conversation outside went silent instantly.

"Is someone in there?" Dr. Wilson's voice was alert.

Footsteps quickly retreated, and the hallway returned to silence.

I slumped on the sofa, my mind echoing every word I'd just heard. Seven years of secret love? Collecting my belongings? Compulsive bathing?

I shakily picked up my phone. The screen showed several missed calls. All from Alexander.

My emotions were a chaotic mix. Shock, confusion, and something I couldn't quite name... excitement?

The husband I thought was cold and unfeeling had actually loved me for seven whole years. This feeling of being conquered, of being possessed, made my heart race and my blood boil in my veins.

Just then, the door was gently pushed open. Alexander stood in the doorway, pale as paper, his eyes flickering with fear and desperation.

"How... how much did you hear?" His voice was almost pleading.

"I..." My voice trembled. "I just needed some air."

Alexander's eyes searched my face carefully, as if trying to see into my soul. After a few seconds of silence, he slowly nodded.

"We should go back." He said, his voice back to its usual calm, but I could detect the tension hidden beneath.

I nodded and stood up, slipping on my heels. As we walked out of the lounge side by side, those words kept echoing in my mind.

Seven years of secret love... collecting my belongings... I've loved her for seven years...

We spent the rest of the evening putting on an act.

He gracefully handed me champagne, I gently took his arm, but we both knew deep down—everything had changed.