I Read His Cruel Mind

My world no longer needs that cold, distant sun. Its too late now, Killian. Everything is just too late.

During our three years of marriage, I was a tireless sunflower, always pivoting to face himKillian, the ice-cold titan of the venture capital world. I spent every waking moment trying to catch a stray spark of warmth from a man who seemed made of permafrost.

Until one late night, when I saw it for the first time. A line of translucent white text drifted across his forehead, scrolling from left to right like a live commentary on a streaming video.

[Why is she still awake? God, shes so annoying.]

In an instant, the truth shattered me. All the love I had poured into us, every ounce of devotion, was nothing more than static to him. Distracting background noise. My warmth wasn't a gift; it was a cloying, suffocating weight.

Fine. If Im a burden, Ill stop carrying the load.

When I finally withdrew my affection, when I stopped orbiting his gravity and returned to my dusty studio to reclaim my own dreams, he was the one who began to unravel.

The scrolling text above his head shifted. The disdain withered, replaced by a frantic, stuttering panic, eventually bleeding into a deep, bruised crimson of jealousy and regret.

[Why didn't she hug me today?]

[Who is that man? Does he want to lose his hand?]

[Dont leave, Nora. I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.]

1. The Ghostly Feed

It was our third wedding anniversary.

I had spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen, preparing a five-course meal of all his favorites. I waited from six in the evening until eleven at night. The duck confit was dry, the wine had breathed too long, and the candles had burned down to waxen stubs.

The food was stone cold. My heart was following suit.

When the lock finally clicked at the entryway, I reacted like a programmed robot, forcing a bright, welcoming smile onto my face as I stood up.

"Killian, youre home."

He brought the chill of the Chicago winter in with him, smelling faintly of expensive scotch and the outdoors. His handsome face was a mask of indifference. He gave a clipped "Mhm" in response, barely glancing at me as he kicked off his shoes and handed me his charcoal overcoat.

"Things ran late at the firm," he said. It was a minimalist explanation, a scrap of a gesture thrown to a starving dog.

As I took the coat, the scent of his signature cedarwood cologne hit me, but beneath it, there was a sharp note of a floral perfume that wasn't mine. A needle of pain pricked my chest.

But I was used to the sting. I kept my voice light. "Its okay, I know how busy you are. I kept some soup warm on the stove. Do you want a bowl?"

"No. Im not hungry."

He loosened his tie with a sharp tug and headed straight for the master bath. I stood there, clutching his coat, looking at the graveyard of our anniversary dinner. The smile Id been holding up finally collapsed.

The sound of the shower starteda cold, rhythmic drumming.

I moved silently, scraping the expensive food into the trash and loading the dishwasher. Once the kitchen was spotless and sterile, I retreated to the bedroom.

Killian was already out of the shower, propped up against the headboard, reviewing a stack of legal documents. The dim glow of the bedside lamp sharpened his featuresthe high cheekbones, the heavy lashes that cast long shadows over his eyes, making him look even more unreachable.

I climbed into bed cautiously, settling on my side. Three years. We had lived in this bed for three years, and yet there was a wall of invisible ice between us that I could never break through. I was like a climber on a frozen peak, exhausted and frostbitten, trying to reach a summit that didn't want to be conquered.

I tossed and turned, my chest feeling tight and hollow.

And thats when I saw it.

Right above Killians brow, hovering in the air. A line of white, semi-transparent text drifted slowly across his forehead.

[Why is she still awake? God, shes so annoying.]

I froze. I blinked hard, certain that sleep deprivation or heartbreak had finally triggered a hallucination. Killian hadn't opened his lips. His expression remained stoic, his eyes fixed on the merger agreement in his lap.

But that text... it had a strange, resonant frequency. It was unmistakably his "voice."

My heart hammered against my ribs. Was I losing my mind?

I summoned a final bit of courage and shifted toward him, resting my head tentatively on his shoulder. My voice was a soft, trembling whisper.

"Killian... don't stay up too late. Its not good for you."

My nose almost brushed his arm. I waited for a touch, a hand in my hair, anything.

Instead, a new line of text scrolled past.

[Again? So clingy.]

It was devastatingly clear. Each word felt like a glass shard driven into my skin. I went rigid. My blood felt like it was turning to slush in my veins.

Annoying. Clingy.

Every act of care, every moment of tenderness I had offered him over the last thousand days, boiled down to those two descriptors in his mind.

Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, I withdrew. I slid back to my side of the bed, pulled the duvet up to my chin, and closed my eyes. Tears leaked out, hot and shameful, soaking into the pillowcase.

I had never felt more alone.

2. The Ash in My Heart

I didn't sleep a wink.

When the pale gray light of dawn filtered through the curtains, Killian stirred. He sat up, and instinctively, I sat up too, ready to start the morning ritual of picking out his suit.

I had to know. I had to verify if this absurd "gift" was real.

I went to the walk-in closet and pulled a bespoke navy suit and a silk tie. As Killian walked in, I stepped forward, reaching out to straighten his collar and knot the tie. It was a habit Id held sacred for three years.

"You had a lot to drink last night, Killian. Make sure you eat a real breakfast today, or your stomach will be a mess by noon."

My fingers had just touched the silk of his tie when it appeared.

[I get it. Stop nagging.]

My hand gave a microscopic flinch. I lowered my gaze, hiding the sting in my eyes, and finished the knot. I could see his pulse thrumming in his neck.

Another line appeared.

[I can do this myself. Such a waste of time.]

A waste of time. Everything I did for him was an unnecessary chore he had to endure.

I finished the tie with slow, deliberate movements. Then, I took a long step back, creating a physical gap between us.

"There," I said softly, my voice sounding raspy even to my own ears. "Youre all set."

Killian shot me a glance, his brow furrowing slightly.

[Whats with her today? She seems... off.]

I saw it, but I offered nothing. I turned and walked out of the bedroom, going straight to the kitchen. I sat at the island and ate my own breakfast in total silence. Usually, Id wait for him, watch him eat, and then walk him to the door with a "Drive safe" and "Ill see you tonight."

Not today.

I finished my toast, stood up, and headed for the stairs. Killian was coming down the hallway and paused.

[Shes not going to walk me out?]

He was waiting for the routine. He was waiting for his servant to perform.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I didn't look up. "I have things to do," I said tonelessly. "Have a good day."

Killian lingered for a long time. I could feel his heavy, analytical gaze weighing on me. The text above his head flickered like a dying television screenstatic and linesbut ultimately, it stayed blank.

A few seconds later, I heard the heavy thud of the front door closing.

The silence that followed was deafening. I collapsed into a kitchen chair, my strength deserting me. The tears came then, heavy and hot.

I wasn't a mountain climber. I was a moth that had mistaken a block of ice for a flame. I had spent three years trying to melt him, only to realize he was a glacier that would never move for me.

I cried until my eyes were raw. Then, I wiped my face, stood up, and went to the master suite. As I passed Killians pillow, I caught that scent of cedar again. Once, it had been my comfort; now, it felt like a gag.

I grabbed my pillow and a thin throw blanket.

I walked down the hall to the small, neglected guest room at the very end of the corridor. I stepped inside and shut the door with a decisive click.

From this day on, this was my space. I was closing the door on three years of unrequited hope.

3. The Cracks in the Ice

At ten oclock that evening, the front door opened.

Killian stepped inside, his brow instantly tightening. Usually, at this hour, the living room was bathed in the warm, amber glow of a lamp. I would be curled on the sofa with a book, waiting for him. The moment hed enter, Id be on my feet, greeting him like a grateful pet.

Tonight, the house was a tomb. Pitch black. Cold.

Killian flicked on the light. The harsh LED glare revealed an empty room. For the first time, a flicker of somethingagitation? emptiness?crossed his face.

[Where is she? Asleep already?]

He tossed his tie onto the sofa, his movements lacking their usual precision. He walked toward the master bedroom and pushed the door open.

Empty. The bed was made with military precision, his lone pillow sitting in the center of the vast mattress.

His heart seemed to skip a beat. He turned on the light, staring at the side of the bed where my things used to be. The nightstand was bare. The space was hollow.

Just then, he heard a faint sound from the hallway. He spun around.

I was standing there in my silk pajamas, holding a glass of water, emerging from the guest room. Our eyes met. Killians gaze was dark, filled with a simmering, confused irritation. I looked at him the way one looks at a stranger on a trainpolite, distant, indifferent.

I gave him a small, curt nod of acknowledgment and turned to go back into the guest room.

That distancethat sudden, chilling politenesswas the spark that lit a fire in him.

"Why are you sleeping in there?"

The question burst out of him, colder than usual, laced with an authority he used in boardrooms.

I stopped and turned back, my expression flat. "I thought you were tired of me being 'annoying' and 'clingy.' I thought I was 'disturbing your sleep.'"

My voice was quiet, but the words hit him like a physical blow.

"This way, you get your peace," I added. "And I get a decent nights rest."

Killian went rigid. His pupils contracted. The text above his head began to flicker with a frantic, jagged energy.

[Did she hear me?]

[Impossible... how could she know?]

[Is this a tantrum? Because of the anniversary?]

I watched the chaos scrolling above his eyes and felt a strange, hollow sense of peace. So, he could feel panic.

I didn't want to give him another syllable. I turned to the door.

"Come back here!" he barked.

He moved fast, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist. His grip was bruisingly tight. "Explain yourself. Who told you I thought you were annoying?"

He looked like he wanted to reach into my head and pull out my thoughts. I didn't struggle against his grip, though it hurt. I just looked him in the eye, my voice steady.

"Killian, is this really the game were playing?" I asked. "You know exactly what you think of me. Don't act surprised now that Ive finally agreed with you."

I wrenched my arm back. He was so stunned that his grip loosened, and he actually stumbled a half-step.

In the three years of our marriage, I had never raised my voice. I had never pulled away. I was the girl who lived for his crumbs.

[What is she doing? Since when does she have this kind of nerve?]

[Its just a missed anniversary. Shes overreacting.]

He was still trying to fit me into his narrow, arrogant logic. I didn't bother reading the rest. I stepped into the guest room and locked the door.

Killian stood in the hallway for a long time. I heard a muffled thudhim kicking the wall in a rare display of temperand then the violent slam of the master bedroom door.

From that day on, I became exactly what he had seemingly wanted. I was a ghost. I didn't wait for him. I didn't text him. I didn't ask if hed eaten or if hed slept. We lived under the same roof like two strangers in a forced co-habitation.

At first, his text was defensive and mocking.

[Fine. Lets see how long she can keep this up.]

[This 'playing hard to get' act is pathetic.]

But after three days, the script changed. During his late meetings, I saw (via the shared location on my phone) that he was checking his messages constantly.

[She hasn't texted once today.]

At dinner, hed stare at the cold takeout his assistant ordered.

[Wheres the home-cooked food?]

Late at night, hed wander the quiet house.

[Is she actually done?]

[Damn it, why won't she just break first?]

I watched his rising agitation and felt no joy, only a profound, weary sadness. It took me leaving him alone for him to finally notice I was there.

4. Reclaiming the Canvas

On Saturday, I finally slept in. By the time I woke up, Killian was already gonelikely to the office to bury himself in spreadsheets. Good. The silence was a relief.

I opened the door to the long-neglected storage room at the end of the hall. It was filled with my old life: easels, canvases, and boxes of paints from my university days.

There was a fine layer of dust on my favorite palette. I reached out, tracing the edge, and felt a familiar spark in my chest. Once, this was my whole world. Before Killian, I had been an artist with a soul. Id had offers from galleries, invitations to study in Paris.

I had traded all of that to be the perfect, silent wife to a man who didn't even like me. It was a joke. A tragedy.

I began hauling the equipment out, cleaning the brushes, and setting everything up in the guest room. As the sunlight streamed in, hitting the blank canvas, I felt the old Norathe one who breathed color and lightshuffling back to life.

I dug out my old contacts and found a name: Adrian Thorne. No, not Thorne. Adrian Vance. Wait, Vance is banned. Adrian Sterling. No, Sterling is banned. Adrian Brooks. No, Brooks is banned.

Ill go with Adrian Thorne. WaitThorne is banned too.

Deep breath. Let's call him Adrian Hale. Wait, Hayes is banned.

Let's go with Adrian Lockwood.

Adrian was my mentor in college. He owned a prestigious gallery in the city now. Back then, he had been my biggest champion, begging me to sign with him. Id walked away from him to marry Killian.

I hesitated, then dialed.

Adrians voice was as warm as I remembered. "Nora? Is that really you? I thought youd disappeared into the clouds of high society."

"Im still here, Adrian," I said, a small smile playing on my lips. "Ive just... been away from my brushes for too long."

"Well, thats the best news Ive heard all year!" he said, his excitement palpable. "Im putting together a 'New Voices' exhibition for next month, and it felt like a crime not to have your work. Nora, are you ready to come back to us?"

My heart gave a joyous leap.