The Worn Frame

Rey was silently admiring a photo of a mysterious woman on his desk, his fingers gently brushing against the glass of the frame as if caressing skin long lost. The tenderness in his touch clashed sharply with the cold, indifferent demeanor he always displayed, piercing Aluna with a burning curiosity. The motive behind this contract marriage grew murkier and more unsettling—like a complex puzzle where each piece only raised more questions about the man who now shared her bed, yet remained a stranger, hidden behind a wall of ice. Could the woman in the photo be the true reason behind this entire charade? Was she merely a replacement for someone who had vanished, or just a tool to achieve a hidden purpose behind his facade of power and apathy—a plan that involved her body, and perhaps even her heart, without her fully realizing it?

Aluna's curiosity mingled with a sharp and unpleasant tinge of jealousy—an emotion unfamiliar and discomforting. It pushed her with an almost irresistible urge to uncover more about the past of the man who shared her warmth at night, yet remained emotionally distant. There was a strange pull between her and the mystery surrounding Rey, a dangerous desire to peel away the icy layers around his heart—hoping to find warmth underneath, or at least to understand the frost that stung so deeply.

Since the gala night full of pretense and Rey's ambiguous defense, Aluna had begun observing her husband more closely, trying to read the stiffness in his body language and the vacant look in his eyes when he sat in silence amid the luxury that was supposed to bring comfort but only bred alienation. She noticed the faint sadness that occasionally flickered in his otherwise cold gaze—a fleeting vulnerability quickly masked behind an expressionless facade. His obsessively cautious efforts to maintain emotional and physical distance made it seem as though he feared any touch might shatter the defenses he had painstakingly built—defenses seemingly erected to protect a deep wound.

She tried to learn more about his past discreetly, asking the servants carefully, slipping questions into small talk. But they all responded politely and evasively, as if bound by a silent oath to the Adrasta family, a loyalty that puzzled Aluna and made her feel even more isolated in this mansion. The grand estate increasingly felt like a labyrinth filled with shadowy corridors and hidden corners, harboring too many secrets behind its silent and cold walls. Aluna felt like a stranger within it—a wife without warmth, bound to a man whose past remained a mystery.

During one of her quiet explorations of the house, Aluna discovered a room at the end of the second-floor hallway that was always locked. Its oak door looked older and sturdier than the others, carved with intricate designs that seemed to hold dark stories and bitter memories—a whisper from the past trapped in cold wood. Every time she passed it, she felt a powerful aura, as if the room held something vital and fiercely protected—a beating heart hidden in silence. Her curiosity grew stronger, drawn to the secret behind the door like iron to a magnet. She often stopped in front of it, pressing her ear to the cool wood, hoping to hear something inside. But all she ever found was chilling silence—an absence of sound so profound it felt more terrifying than screams. It was as though the room absorbed every noise and emotion, storing unspoken grief and painful memories. Her imagination ran wild with possibilities about what lay within, fueling her growing suspicions about Rey and his enigmatic past—a past so important he locked it away from the world, including her.

One night, Aluna woke from a restless sleep to find Rey missing from their bed. The usual chill of his presence was gone. With curiosity laced with a pang of anxiety, she got out of bed and walked to the large window in their room, peeking outside. There, under the pale moonlight, she saw Rey exiting the locked room at the end of the second-floor corridor. The silver glow lit up his face, and Aluna could clearly see his red, tear-filled eyes—an expression of sorrow so deep it radiated from the man who usually appeared so composed and emotionless. His face was fragile, wounded—a jarring contrast to the image of power and indifference he portrayed to the world.

Her heart clenched at the sight of Rey's hidden vulnerability, but the urge to uncover the truth behind that locked door burned even brighter—a fire fueled by mystery. What could provoke such raw emotion in a man like Rey? What pain did that room hold?

After Rey returned to bed and Aluna pretended to be asleep, she lay awake, haunted by the memory of his grief-stricken face under the moonlight. There was something crucial behind that door, something tied to his dark past—and possibly to the woman in the photo on his desk. It was a missing puzzle piece that might explain his coldness, and maybe even the strange pull she felt toward him, despite the absence of warmth.

With a sudden surge of courage, Aluna rose from the bed once more, ignoring her fear of Rey's potential anger. She quietly crept down the dark hallway toward the door he had just exited. Her heart pounded as she stood before it, sensing the cold air emanating from within—an air thick with silent stories.

On the floor in front of the door lay a single, wilted red rose. Its petals had dried and its color faded to a melancholic deep red, yet it still held a trace of its past beauty—like the dried tears on the cheek of a mourner, a symbol of profound grief.

Aluna stood frozen, staring at the rose. Rey's gentle touch on the framed photo, his tearful eyes as he left this room, and now this withered rose... All signs pointed toward a confusing and painful truth. Beneath Rey's mask of control lay a wounded heart—and the locked room held the silent echo of that pain. Aluna now knew that his past would change everything, and she had to uncover it—even if it meant stepping into danger.