The Silence that Followed
Xavier sat in the dimly lit study, adjacent to their so called "Matrimony Room", a tumbler of whiskey untouched beside him. His fingers drummed absentmindedly against the armrest of his chair, his mind looping over the past few hours with a relentless cruelty. Myra's voice still echoed in his ears - sharp, unflinching.
"You are insufferable."
He had heard many things in his life. Praise, flattery, feigned admiration - people tiptoeing around the very ground he walked on, afraid to fall out of favor with the Westwood family. His family was old money, and with that came a certain unshakable reverence. No one dared to speak badly about him. Not to his face, at least.
The other fact of the matter was, there honestly weren't any bad qualities in him that people could pick on. Not that he ever gave them the chance. Wealth aside, his business acumen was considered a Midas touch, every venture he touched turning to a lucrative success. His face, symmetrical and sharp-edged, put him solely in the "Hottest Face" category in every magazine each year. Charm came naturally - an effortless smile here, a well-timed laugh here, and people melted, eager to please.
But beneath it all, he sometimes wondered - what would the say if they weren't afraid? If money and power weren't barriers, if his last name wasn't a golden shield against criticism? What would they find, if they truly looked?
It was a fleeting thought, one that often came late at night when the parties ended, when the echo of laughter faded, and the silence of his opulence home felt heavier than it should. He would shake it off, tell himself it doesn't really matter. Because in the world that he lived in, perception was his reality. And as long as the world continued to look at him with admiration - genuine or not - he would continue to play the part they expected.
After all, wasn't that the way the game was played?
But Myra .. she had no such reservations. A mere charity case he picked up, yet she had met his gaze - steady and unflinching. They say eyes are the windows to the soul, and Xaiver would tell her eyes were special, for when he looked into her eyes, he saw that there was no want in her eyes, no desperate grasping for favor, like the people surrounding him 24/7.
He should have been enraged. And yet, he found himself amused, intrigued by her audacity. The sparkle in her eyes had drawn him in, made him reckless.
Then came the kiss.
A mistake. An indulgence he had no business craving, and yet - he did. The memory of her lips haunted her, tormenting him like a ghost that refused to be exorcised. He could still feel the warm of her against him, the way she had hesitated, then yielded, if only for a moment. But she had pulled away with something close to disgust in her gaze, as if he had defiled her.
And perhaps, in a way, he had.
She was beneath him in every possible way, yet it was HE who was left wanting. Pining. For her.
***
Myra sat curled up on the grand four-poster bed, the silk sheets pooling around her, feeling like shackles rather than luxury. The moonlight filtered through the vast windows, bathing the room in a soft glow, but it offered her no comfort. No warmth.
She was alone.
The only person who had every loved her, truly loved her, was gone. Her father, her rock, the man who had carried her on his shoulder as a child and whispered reassurances in the dark, was now nothing but a memory. His death had left her adrift in a world that did not care for people like her.
And now, she was here. In a room grander than anything she had ever know, a prisoner to circumstance and to a man who looked at her like she was both a curiosity and a conquest.
Xavier Westwood.
A name that meant nothing to her, yet everything to the world. He was power, influence, arrogance wrapped in expensive handmade suits. And he had kissed her.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, shame and anger warring within her. What had she expected? A Westwood would never see her anything more than an amusement, a fleeting interest. And yet, despite knowing this, despite the cruel smirk he so often wore, since she had come meet him, she had let herself believe, for the briefest moment, that there had been something in that kiss. Something real.
How foolish of her.
She felt cheap. Broken. She had spent what was left of her dignity to keep her head above water, to prove she had more to offer and was more than a charity case. But tonight, in that moment, she had felt powerless beneath his touch.
The silence of the room was suffocating. She could hear the faint tick of the antique clock, the distant rustle of the wind against the glass. But nothing filled the emptiness inside her.
She was utterly, devastatingly alone.
The whole room remained eerily quiet that night. Two souls, so vastly different yet equally tormented, lay awake in separate rooms. Both bound by their own demons. Both haunted by the silence that followed.
**************
Unlike what she had thought, the weight of the day's events had drained Myra. As soon as she closed her eyes, Myra feel into a deep slumber, sleeping a dreamless dream.
Sometime in the dead of the night, Xavier stood over, his gaze unreadable. He had told himself he could stay in his study, as it provided all the amenities of a study and a bedroom and he has no reason to come to their shared room. And yet, here he was. His feet had carried him to their room before he even realized it.
She looked fragile in her sleep, her face stripped of the usual guarded expression she wore when awake. In the dim glow of the moonlight, she seemed untouchable - something out of reach. Something he shouldn't want.
He raised a hand, hovering just above her cheek, contemplating. The urge to touch her was brief but strong. He resisted, curling his fingers into a fist before leaning against the bedpost, arms crossed, frustration settling deep within him. He wasn't sure how long he stood there or why he was even there - only that the pull to be near her was irrational and unsettling.
Eventually, he left. But before dawn, he had returned. This time, dressed and ready for the day, his footsteps near soundless.
Unlike what others believed, Xavier was a man of rigid discipline and regimen. Despite the wealth he sat on, his days started early, and he worked as tirelessly as the men who relied on his business to survive.
He studied her in the dim morning light, his gaze lingering longer than he intended. There was something raw about her beauty, something that hadn't been polished by wealth or groomed for status. A rawness that intrigued him - though not enough to make her believe she was anything more than temporary.
She was a passing interest, nothing more. If he spent enough time and money on her, surely he would grow bored, just as he had with everything else in his life.
With a quiet breath, he straightened, tearing his gaze away. He left as silently as he had come, closing the door behind him without a sound, already pushing aside whatever it was that had brought him there in the first place.
By the time Myra finally stirred awake, the other side of the bed was empty and cool to the touch - Xavier had already been gone for hours. He was already deep into his fifth meeting of the morning, his world moved at a faster pace than hers. Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, she stretched her arms overhead and let out a satisfied sigh. Surprisingly, she left well-rested, as if she had sunk into a deep, undisturbed slumber.
She became aware of her surroundings, as she glanced around the elegantly decorated bedroom, its silk-draped canopy, plush rugs, and faint scent of lavender exuding wealth and refinement. This wasn't her space, not really, but somehow, she had slept better here than she had in weeks.
"I guess being in a rich man's bed, really does help with a good night's sleep," she murmured to herself, half jokingly, and the other half a genuine realization.
Still, the comfort unsettled her. She was a guest - perhaps even an outsider - in this grand estate - yet her body melted into the luxury as if it belonged here. That in itself was strange. Shouldn't unfamiliar surroundings make her restless. Shouldn't she have tossed and turned all night?
A small shiver ran through her. Perhaps she was adapting quicker than she had thought. Or maybe it was the exhaustion of the last few weeks that had caught up with her. 'Money may not buy happiness but it sure does buy comfort', Myra thought. Either way, the thought lingered as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and prepared to face the whatever the day had in store for her.