Yvette's Thoughts and Bedroom

Yvette sat alone in the grand living room of the mansion, a glass of whiskey clutched tightly in her hand. The room was dimly lit, the flickering flames from the fireplace casting long shadows on the walls. The sound of ice cubes clinking softly in the glass was the only noise in the otherwise silent house.

She took a slow sip, the burn of the alcohol not enough to numb the restlessness that had settled deep within her.

*"Did he find someone else?"* Yvette wondered, staring into the glass as if the answer might somehow reveal itself. Her mind was consumed with doubts and questions—ones she didn't want to face but couldn't ignore. *"Why else would he disappear for months?"*

The thought of Owen seeking another woman, of him leaving her behind for someone else, filled her with a deep, gnawing anger and fear. But there was something else—something more that she couldn't quite place.

Tossing back the rest of the whiskey, Yvette stood abruptly, the glass clattering against the table as she made her way up the grand staircase. Her heels echoed faintly on the marble floor, each step heavy with uncertainty.

She reached the door to her bedroom, hesitated for a moment, then pushed it open. The room was cold and untouched—neat, as always. It felt unfamiliar, almost alien.

They hadn't shared this room in years. They hadn't shared much of anything in a long time. And yet, tonight, the emptiness pressed down on her more than ever before.

Yvette closed the door behind her, standing in the center of the room. She let her fingers run along the edge of the dresser, tracing the contours of her reflection in the mirror.

*"Why do I feel so alone?"* she thought. The question echoed in her mind, heavier than any of the thoughts that had plagued her before.

Her gaze drifted to the empty side of the bed, the space beside her that had been vacant for so long. Tonight, that emptiness felt more profound than ever.

Yvette drew a slow, shaky breath and climbed into bed, but sleep didn't come. Instead, she lay there, staring at the ceiling, the silence surrounding her more deafening than any argument they had ever had.

For the first time in years, she felt the weight of her loneliness.

The morning sun streamed through the large windows of Yvette's mansion, casting long beams of golden light across the opulent dining room. The grand table was set, the silverware gleaming, and a lavish spread of breakfast foods lay waiting. The air was still and quiet, save for the soft clink of porcelain against glass.

Yvette sat at the head of the table, staring at the plate before her. Her appetite was nowhere to be found. The sight of the food felt distant, almost meaningless. Her mind kept drifting back to the events of the past few days—the unanswered questions, the absence of Owen.

A servant entered the room, his footsteps silent on the marble floor.

"Has Mr. Owen eaten yet?" Yvette asked, her voice cold, lacking the usual sharpness.

The servant bowed slightly, hesitating for a moment before replying, "He ate fruits, Madam. For his morning, he took a bath with tap water in the lawn."

Yvette's eyes widened, her fork still suspended midair. The words sank in slowly, the weight of them pressing against her chest. "Tap water… in the lawn?"

The servant nodded. "Yes, Madam."

Yvette sat there, stunned. The man she had married, who once begged to be part of her world, who had once sought everything she could offer—had abandoned the lavish life she had given him. He had stepped away from the comforts and luxuries she had provided.

A wave of disbelief washed over her. The mansion, the wealth, the status—none of it seemed to matter to him now.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions rising within her. "How could he…?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

The servant stood silently, unsure of how to respond. He knew better than to speak further.

Yvette stared down at her untouched breakfast, the silence stretching out around her. Owen had left not just physically, but mentally, emotionally—he had abandoned everything she had once meant to him. And that knowledge cut deeper than anything.

Yvette, still dressed in her elegant silk robe, stood at the mansion's entrance, her heels clicking softly against the stone pathway. Her face was a mixture of frustration and confusion as she made her way toward Owen, who remained seated under the old tree in deep meditation.

Yvette's heels came to a stop just a few feet from him. The sight of him in this state—the peaceful, almost detached expression on his face—only heightened her irritation.

"How long are you going to do this drama, Owen?" Yvette's voice broke the stillness, sharp and biting. "How much longer are you planning to make me go mad with your silence and… whatever this is supposed to be?"

Owen sat there, unmoving, eyes closed, his hands resting lightly on his knees. The peacefulness in his demeanor only made Yvette's anger boil.

"Answer me!" she snapped, her voice rising. "Is this some game to you? How much longer do you plan on pretending that you've abandoned everything I gave you?"

No response.

Yvette clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as her frustration turned into outright fury. She strode toward him, grabbing his shoulder and giving it a hard shake. "Talk to me, damn it!"

Still, he remained completely unresponsive. His calm, expressionless face seemed impenetrable, as though he was lost in some world of his own.

"You've already done enough!" Yvette yelled, her voice echoing through the quiet garden. "What more do you want from me?"

Finally, Owen opened his eyes—cold, distant, devoid of the man who once begged to be by her side. His gaze locked onto hers, but there was no hint of recognition or care in his expression.

"You've always had everything," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "What more could I possibly need from you?"

Yvette staggered back, as if his words had physically struck her. "How can you say that?!" she exclaimed. "You begged for me! You wanted my life, my world!"

Owen simply stared at her, his gaze unwavering. "And I left it behind," he said, as if that truth no longer mattered.

Yvette's lips quivered, the fury in her eyes fading into something more hollow, more painful. "Why? Why are you doing this?!"

Owen closed his eyes again, as if shutting her out completely. "Because I've already given up on us."

Yvette stumbled backward, her legs giving way beneath her. Her heart felt as though it had been shattered, and for the first time, she understood the emptiness in his expression. It wasn't a game. It was something far deeper.

She stood there, staring at the man who had become a stranger before her eyes, tears threatening to spill. "How could you?" she whispered, barely audible.

Owen said nothing, his silence the only response she would get.