Chapter 311: _ Just A Wife
I flinched like Axel had slapped me.
Just. My. Wife.
His words hit harder than anything Álvaro could’ve thrown at me across a dinner table. I stared at him, feeling my heartbeat drop into my stomach like a stone. "Since when have I become just your wife? Was it that easy to demote me? To file me away like some political alliance?"
Axel’s jaw tightened. "You’re being dramatic."
"No." I walked toward him now, and the pain made my voice tremble even as I fought to keep it even. "I’m being a woman whose husband used to worship the ground she walked on. Who once said I made him feel alive. Who used to kiss me like he needed it to breathe. And now? You barely look at me."
He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "I’m not doing this with you right now, María José."
"Oh, you’re not doing this?" My voice cracked, rising. "That’s rich, Axel. You never do anything anymore. You don’t talk to me, you don’t touch me passionately, you barely sleep in the same bed unless we try to ’make babies!’ Do you even know the last time you kissed me?"
He didn’t answer. Of course, he didn’t. He just stared at the rug like it held the answers to our problems.
My breath came faster. My heart pounded, wild and loud in my chest, like it was trying to escape the suffocating silence he always gave me.
"It was two weeks ago since you kissed me like you used to. With care and so much love." I said quietly. "You kissed me because we were in front of your mother. I had chili flakes on my lip, and you wiped them off and kissed me like I was a damn salad."
His nostrils flared. "Don’t twist things."
"Then untwist them for me!" I stepped in closer, too close, until I could feel the heat of his body and the ice behind his eyes. "Tell me what else I’ve done that’s made you look at me like I’m a burden!"
"You haven’t done anything new."
"Then why are you punishing me like I have?!"
He was then silent. His chest rose and fell once—slow and controlled, like he was taming something inside.
I wasn’t done. I couldn’t be. Not after everything.
"I wore the thong," I sighed.
His eyes flicked up to mine, startled. His mouth twitched, almost like it wanted to smile but didn’t remember how.
I went on anyway. "The red one. The one you bought me in Madrid one month ago when I thought we’d put the past between us. I wore it tonight. I planned the night down to the wine and the candle scent. I tried to make it special."
"Don’t guilt me with lace and nostalgia."
I laughed. It was bitter and loud and cracked right in the middle. "God, you really are good at this. At hurting me without even raising your voice."
His lips thinned, but he didn’t say a word. Just watched me unravel, his hands clenched at his sides, veins showing under his skin.
"You’re not a statue, Axel. You don’t get to go cold and silent and expect me to be okay with it. I’m not a painting you can hang and forget."
"Enough," he said lowly.
I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Something inside me had already split open.
"I used to feel like your home. Now I feel like your furniture."
His eyes blazed. "I said enough."
I stepped back.
There it was—that voice. That command that could still slice through me like a blade. But it wasn’t power I heard in it tonight. It was fear. Frustration. A man clinging to his sanity by the seams.
Was this it? Was my husband losing it? Was something else going on with him?
I folded my arms and nodded slowly. "Fine. You win. I’ll stop begging you to love me."
His mouth opened slightly like he wanted to correct me. But no words came. So I walked out.
Humiliated, a little breathless, and with a stupid thong cutting into my hips like a red string of fate that’d led me straight into heartbreak.
The hallway was empty. The walls echoed with silence. I leaned against one and slid down until my knees hit the rug, chest rising and falling in angry hiccups.
I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to scream but hell, did I cry?
Ten minutes later, Carmen rounded the corner with quiet steps and a silver tray in her hands. She paused, taking in the pathetic shape of her mistress slumped in the corridor like a forgotten bride.
"Oh no, Señora," she murmured, placing the tray down and kneeling beside me. "What did that man say now?"
I sniffled and wiped my nose with the back of my hand, like some ragged schoolgirl. "I wore the thong."
Carmen blinked. "The... Madrid one?"
I nodded.
"He didn’t even blink."
Carmen looked personally offended on my behalf. "Señora, forgive me, but if I may speak plainly—your husband needs a frying pan to the back of the head."
I laughed wetly, ridiculously, and suddenly.
Lila appeared next, carrying a plush robe and a determined expression. She gave me one look and clucked her tongue. "Ay, this is exactly why I told you to go with the silk robe and not the lace. He doesn’t deserve lace."
"I didn’t think I’d be crying in the hallway like a rejected heroine," I muttered.
Carmen took my arm and helped me up. "Come, Señora. This is not how a Luna ends her night."
Lila nodded. "Let him sit with his silence. You have better company tonight."
I blinked at them. "You two?"
Carmen straightened her shoulders. "We may be your maids, Señora, but we are loyal to the throne and the heart. And tonight, your heart needs pampering."
Does it, really? Tell me, who could best pamper me if it wasn’t my husband who knew just the spots where I break and unbreak?