My One Night Stand, My Second Husband

"Oh yeah! Keep it up, baby."

"You like this way?"

Turning off the surveillance camera that recorded Damon sleeping with another woman, Elena fought the urge to vomit.

She didn't cry anymore. Those days, sobbing over his betrayals, breaking her own heart again and again, were gone. Now there was only disgust. Her husband had become a stranger she couldn't even stand to look at.

She sank into the chair at her desk and flipped open her laptop. She was smart. Brilliant, even. She loved creating, building things that could change the world. But none of it ever mattered. None of it ever left the shadows of this house. She had spent three years being the perfect, loyal wife, throwing her dreams away to keep Damon satisfied.

And for what?

What good was loyalty when her husband was never faithful?

Damon Donovan. Three years of marriage, and he had never touched her. Not once. He'd rather drown himself in liquor and bury himself in other women.

A knock broke the silence, sharp and heavy against the door, echoing through the hollow corridors of their home. Elena snapped her laptop shut. No one here could know she was working.

A waste of time, they always said.

The voice of her husband's mother, Laura, pierced through the thin veil of sanctuary that Elena had sought in her room, "Why are you hiding in the room again?" Laura's words carried a weight of disapproval, her tone sharp with disdain. "Are you rebelling because Damon is not home?"

"You've been married for three years," Laura continued, her voice rising in indignation, "And you can't even bear him a child." A reminder of Elena's perceived failure to fulfill her primary duty as a wife.

"Why are you being so unreasonable?" Laura's words lashed out like a whip. "Why did you not come out and cook?"

Elena sighed and stood up. It wasn't enough to endure Damon's coldness, distance, and infidelity. She also had to put up with her demanding and rude mother-in-law.

'It even takes two hands to clap. Giving birth to a child is not something that I can do alone. Am I supposed to reproduce on my own?' Elena thought.

Suppressing the nauseating feeling that swirled within her, Elena forced herself to open the door and head to the kitchen.

Ever since Elena married into the Donovan family, her once promising life had descended into a relentless nightmare. The vibrant hues of her independence had been muted, and the dreams of building a successful career were reduced to mere echoes of what could have been.

She had willingly sacrificed everything she held dear, convinced that her unwavering dedication would eventually win Damon's heart.

But her hopes had been shattered, crumbling under the weight of his indifference and his family's animosity. Elena had poured every ounce of her being into this relationship, believing that her love and efforts would bridge the gap that separated them.

Instead, her sacrifices were met with disdain, as if they were never enough to appease Damon's family.

It was just a marriage of convenience. Damon never cared. Elena had to learn the hard way not to care either.

"Ah! Elena, are you crazy?" Laura's voice pierced through the air, filled with annoyance and disgust. "You are mixing your blood with the dishes! Are you trying to disgust me to death?"

Elena winced as she heard Laura's relentless nagging, her words like barbs that stung deep within.

A bead of crimson blood trickled from her finger, evidence of a careless mistake in the midst of her culinary endeavors. Yet, to her surprise, there was no accompanying surge of pain. It was as if her senses had been momentarily numbed, the physical sensation lost in the chaotic turmoil of her emotions.

She stared at the bright red blood dripping from her finger, the vivid color contrasting against the pristine kitchen tiles. As her eyes shifted from the wound to Laura's face contorted in disgust, a surge of emotions overwhelmed her.

"I just cut myself," she said impatiently.

"You should be more careful then," Laura spat.

Laura was a beautiful and vain lady. She did not seem to be the 60 years old she was. Her hair was always dyed black, with no traces of gray. Her brown eyes were harsh, like dictators.

"You should cook your own food then," Elena retorted, without much thought.

Laura raised her eyebrows. "What did you say, girl?"

Elena's throat tightened. She lived with Damon and Laura, and she never dared to be rude. She knew that her family's business depended on that cursed marriage.

As Laura surged forward, her presence akin to an approaching storm, Elena braced herself for the onslaught of verbal barbs and potential physical blows.

With a resigned gesture, Elena bowed her head, a silent acknowledgment of her subordinate position in this tumultuous household.

"I am sorry. I did not mean that," Elena's voice barely rose above a whisper.

For a moment, the air crackled with tension as Laura scrutinized Elena with a mixture of disdain and superiority. Then, with a regal lift of her chin, Laura issued a reminder:

"Remember your place, Elena."