Chapter 3 Echoes Of Hwat We Were

The day had been long. Elowen had played the perfect wife at lunch, smiled through the bland conversation with the PR assistant, waved to shareholders she didn’t recognize, and returned home with sore feet and a heavier heart. Now, in the quiet of her en suite, Elowen soaked in the oversized tub. The lights were dim, candles flickering beside her wine glass. The scent of lavender filled the air—but her mind was anything but calm. She let her head fall back, eyes closed. And suddenly, she was twenty-four again. Flashback – Five Years Ago Rain drummed softly against the balcony doors of their first penthouse apartment. Elowen stood in a short silk robe, her bare legs cold against the marble floor. Rowan approached from behind, shirtless, eyes filled with something raw. “You’re mine now,” he’d whispered that night after their wedding. “No turning back?” she teased, wine in hand. “Never,” he answered, taking the glass from her and placing it aside. Then he dropped to his knees in front of her, pulling her close. His tongue traced along the inside of her thigh. She gasped, hands tangling in his hair as he made her fall apart on the edge of the bed—again and again. Later, he scooped her up and laid her across fresh sheets, holding her close until the storm passed. “I’ll build you a kingdom,” he whispered. “You’ll never need anything.” She believed him. God, she had believed him. Present A knock pulled her from the memory. “Mommy?” a little voice called. Elowen perked up. “Come in, baby.” The door opened slowly, and Cleo, her eight-year-old daughter, tiptoed in wearing a princess nightgown. Her brown curls were wild, one hand clutching a stuffed unicorn. “I can’t sleep.” Elowen smiled softly, sitting up. “Come here.” Cleo padded over and leaned against the edge of the tub, resting her head on her mom’s shoulder. “Did Daddy come home yet?” “Not yet,” Elowen said gently. Cleo frowned. “He used to read me bedtime stories.” “I know,” Elowen whispered, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “Is he mad at me?” “No, baby. Daddy’s just… very busy. Grown-up busy.” Cleo nodded quietly. “He smells different lately.” Elowen froze for a second, heart skipping. “What do you mean?” she asked, keeping her voice even. Cleo shrugged. “Like perfume. Not like yours. Someone else’s.” Elowen’s spine straightened slightly. “Where did you smell it?” “In his car,” Cleo answered simply. “Auntie Tracy picked me up in it last week. Daddy forgot.” Elowen smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart. But it’s probably nothing, okay?” Cleo nodded again and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Night, Mommy.” “Goodnight, love.” As Cleo left, Elowen’s heart twisted. Her mind raced. She tried to shake the thought, but it clung like damp smoke. Later that night, Rowan came home. The time on the oven read 12:34 a.m. Elowen didn’t pretend to sleep. She stood in the kitchen, pouring tea, clad in his oversized shirt and nothing else. Rowan looked worn. “You’re up?” “I made chamomile,” she offered, voice soft. He exhaled and dropped his keys. “Thanks. I could use it.” They sat in silence for a while—until Rowan’s phone buzzed on the counter. A message lit up the screen. Unknown Name. “Next time, don’t rush. I hate when you leave me hungry.” Elowen’s throat closed. She didn’t touch it. Didn’t scream. Just watched as the phone dimmed and Rowan took a long sip of tea. “Crazy day,” he murmured. “The investor pitch ran over.” “Mm,” she hummed. “Tomorrow I might work late again. I’ve got that London prep.” “Do you want me to come with you?” He paused for a beat too long. “That won’t be necessary. It’s mostly men, suits, and long hours.” Elowen nodded. Then turned to him slowly. “I miss us,” she whispered. Rowan looked at her then, really looked. And he saw the pain in her eyes. The longing. The slow destruction. He reached across the counter and touched her hand. “I’m here,” he said. She didn’t know whether to believe it. But she smiled anyway. Because that was her job, right? To smile. To serve. To survive.