The Cruel Truth.

 The sound of the front door clicked open caught Annabella off guard as she stood in the kitchen, still deep in thought. Andrew had returned earlier than usual. She could hear his heavy footsteps approaching, and her heart began to race with anticipation. She wasn't sure what kind of mood he would be in today, but she hoped he wouldn't notice anything was different.

 Andrew walked into the living room, his sharp eyes immediately scanning the space. His gaze swept over the immaculate surroundings, from the perfectly polished floors to the dust-free surfaces. Everything was pristine, even more so than usual. A slight frown formed on his face.

 "Who cleaned the house?" His voice was cold, demanding an answer.

 Annabella hesitated for a moment before stepping into the room. "I did," she replied quietly, her voice barely audible.

 Andrew turned toward her, his expression darkening. "You? Why would you do that?" His tone was sharp, almost accusatory.

 Annabella blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor. "I just... I wanted to keep myself busy," she explained softly, avoiding his gaze.

 His eyes looked, and without warning, his voice rose in anger. "That's not your job! I hired maids for a reason. You are not here to scrub floors and clean counters, Annabella!"

 She frowned at his words, the harshness of his tone cutting through her like a blade. Her hands trembled slightly, but she clenched them into fists to steady herself.

 "I was just trying to help," she said, her voice shaky. "I didn't want to feel useless."

 Andrew smirked, his cold eyes locking onto hers. "Help? By playing maid? You're my wife, not a servant." His words dripped with contempt, and Annabella felt her heart tighten in her chest.

 He crossed his arms, staring at her as if she had done something wrong. "If you want to be a cleaner so badly, go ahead. It's your choice," he sneered. "But don't forget your place in this house."

 Annabella stood frozen, her breath catching in her throat. His cruelty hit her harder than she expected, and she could feel her emotions swirling inside her. For a moment, she couldn't even speak, overwhelmed by the sting of his words.

 "I'm his wife, not a maid..."

 But Andrew's coldness shattered the hope she had been holding onto. She had tried to do something simple, something to distract herself, and yet he had turned it into an insult. His disdain, his lack of warmth, reminded her of the harsh reality of their relationship.

 She had started to feel something for him, despite everything. But now, as he stood there frustrating her efforts, that small spark of affection stopped and began to fade. His cruelty was too much to bear, and Annabella felt herself pulling back, withdrawing from him emotionally.

 "I understand," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I won't do it again."

 Andrew didn't respond. He simply turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, her heart heavy with the weight of his words.

 As she watched him go, Anna realized something: the man she had begun to care for wasn't capable of the love she had hoped for. His cruelty, his coldness—it was a wall she couldn't break through. And maybe, just maybe, she didn't want to try anymore.

 In that moment, the fragile feelings she had developed for him began to dissolve. She wasn't sure if she could ever love someone who treated her this way, and the thought of staying in this house, trapped in a loveless marriage, filled her with dread.

 Annabella looked around the spotless room, the silence now feeling suffocating. She had done everything she could to keep herself busy, to avoid facing the truth. But now, it was impossible to ignore.

She was alone. Truly alone. And the man she had married—the man she had once believed could change—wasn't the man she thought he could be.