After four years of a loveless marriage, Eleanor is blindsided by her husband Arthur's abrupt decision to divorce her. The convenient arrangement that had suited them both had, seemingly, run its course. As Eleanor struggles to come to terms with the end of their marriage, she can't help but feel discarded - a pawn replaced by Arthur's rekindled flame, a woman from his past. But just as Eleanor is starting to rebuild her life, Arthur drops a bombshell: he wants her back. His reasons are unclear, but one thing is certain - His regret.
View MoreELEANOR—
- As I lay on the bed, enveloped in my husband's warmth, I nestle my back deeply into his arms, feeling his gentle grip on my waist as he pulls me closer. Soft, tender kisses dance across my skin, sending shivers down my spine. The blood-boiling sex we shared still resonates, the lingering sensations on my skin and between my legs a reminder of our loving encounter. His arms around me tighten more and his lips press on the bane of my shoulder igniting more warmth in my body. His lips move to my neck where he kisses me passionately and excitedly and then moves to my cheeks where he places the last few kisses before letting his mouth leave me. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want to melt into Arthur and absorb his entirety. Surprisingly this time his touch feels more intimate than before, more secure, and more enthusiastic. It’s not unlike Arthur to touch me or kiss me, but tonight just feels different— different in a way that keeps me satisfied and pleasure-filled. I can feel love from his fingertips. The way his hand remains firm on my waist like a perfect puzzle piece that needs to perfect my body. I lean into him and he collects me even more. The room is silent with only our heavy breathing entertaining the night. I love this feeling, this moment. Our marriage isn’t one for the books, one look at us and a person can tell how distant we are as a married couple. But tonight, I feel like tonight changed things. I can’t explain it in literal meaning but the way Arthur touched me. I’m so glad we’ve become that loving couple I’ve always wanted us to be. To be in our matrimonial home and feel as though we are one. I feel Arthur’s breathing on my neck before he softly calls my name. His thick voice vibrates in his chest. “El,” he calls. He calls me El short for Eleanor and I think it’s the most lovely word I’ve ever heard in my entire life. “Hmm?” I reply gently, matching his tone. I listen to him breathe out another exhausted sigh. “Let’s get a divorce” Arthur adds softly and I pause. I did not hear wrong. “What?” I hear myself asking. My throat starts to feel clogged. “I don’t— I don’t understand” I swallow. “Brianna is back in Manhattan and I think it’s for the best. I am presently preparing the papers.” Brianna? Her name rings a thousand bells but I don’t need a divine entity to tell me she’s the woman she actually wants and not me. I hate how soft his voice is, I hate how coated and calm he’s sounding when he’s brewing such a storm in my ears like this. No one is supposed to sound casual filing for a divorce. A divorce. After all, we just had? I don’t speak— it’s not that I don’t know what to say, I do, But my voice feels like it’s frozen and it’s being stung by thousands of bees. His hands around my waist shift to sit there properly and I realize we’re both naked, in each others’ hands and he is propelling a divorce. What did I expect? I should have seen this coming—No, I did see it coming! Our marriage is like many others - built on respect and a harmonious home life. Though with less intimacy. And I couldn't forget, that this union was a transaction, an arrangement born of circumstance rather than love. I have to remember my position in this carefully constructed life. I shouldn’t get pierced by a divorce I saw coming. I just thought he’d love me enough one day. I have been stupid! What we had was a marriage of convenience, You get what you see and leave. Four years ago while my life was at a crossroads, fate brought an unexpected opportunity to my doorstep: marriage to Arthur Newton. At the time, Arthur was fighting a debilitating battle with severe skin ulceration, a cruel consequence of a malicious act by a business rival who had secretly laced his drink with a harmful substance. The Newtons' reputation had suffered greatly due to Arthur's illness, and his family was willing to pay a hefty price to anyone who would agree to marry him. I knew at the back of my mind that one day we would come to an end and our marriage was only based on materialistic yearning. I’ll never be close to what Arthur had with Brianna, even as his wife, even after four years of being married and being free of his skin illness. Was loving each other only from my end then? I didn’t imagine this, right? I cannot deny my sudden broken heart— shattered even. But this was all for business. I release Arthur’s hand from my waist and get on my feet, pulling the bed’s duvet to cover my naked body. “Alright then” I nod, trying to sound normal. “I’ll await the divorce papers” Arthur’s expression goes stoic. “Where are you going?” He looks at me as if I’m committing a crime but his voice remains careful and warm. “I think I should leave, It will be— “It’s already late, stay for the night, you can leave tomorrow” he adjusts his broad body on the bed, his voice polite and gentle. I nod and avoid eye contact. Gently, I lay back on the bed and try to push the lump in my throat but it’s not working. Arthur turns around with his back facing me and I let my lips quiver. He switches off the night table light and my eyes start to sting in the room’s darkness. We’re both quiet and I try my best not to let my breathing sound haggard. I think Arthur is asleep but I’m proved wrong when he starts to speak. “Eleanor?” His voice is almost like a whisper that I almost didn’t catch. “Yes?” I turn to face his back in the darkness. “Who is Leon?” He asks. I stop breathing. How did he know about Leon? Trying to process my words, my mind, and why and how he knows about a person who seems like a figment of time in my life, clogs my throat, and before I can reply Arthur speaks up. His voice starts to come out solemn and low. “Well, I’m sorry for taking up four years of your life, I hope you will be happy in the future. Goodnight Eleanor,” ——ELEANOR~The bathroom walls feel like they’re shrinking.My fingers are numb from gripping the metal doorknob, the damn thing refusing to budge no matter how many times I twist or pull or knock against it. I can’t even hear the party music anymore— just my breathing. Too loud. Too fast. Too close to breaking.It’s way too cold in here and I can’t take it. While the party is warm and has heaters every where the bathroom feels like the bottom of the ocean.I press my palm against the door and rest my forehead there, trying not to panic. I’d been knocking earlier, softly at first, then with more urgency, even calling out when I heard someone pass. But each time, footsteps faded away. I walk back into each and every one of the bathroom stalls hoping I’d find something, anything to help me break the door.Who the hell locks someone in a bathroom?I don’t need to guess when I see a note in the last bathroom stall, a small note placed atop of the toilet’s golden tank, looking like it was
—ARTHUR.-The party thrums around me, music swelling again now that the short performance interlude has passed, but I barely hear it. My thoughts are still wrapped around her.Eleanor.The way she sat behind that grand piano just minutes ago, skin glowing under the chandelier lights, fingers grazing each key with a grace that made everyone in the room sit up straighter. Even me. Especially me.I hadn’t expected that.I’d known she could play, of course. She teaches, I’ve known about it casually, like knowing a person’s favorite color. But tonight…Tonight she looked like a different version of herself. Or maybe not different—just free. Like she’d shed every layer of constraint our marriage wrapped around her and finally exhaled.And God, was she radiant.I lean against one of the tall cocktail tables, drink untouched in my hand, and scan the crowd distractedly. Vanessa and Handel are still chatting away with guests, glowing in their usual grandeur, but my mind keeps drifting.Back t
—ELEANOR.~*~All I can hear now is the hush of silk gowns shifting in chairs, the delicate clinks of silverware being set down, the occasional clear of someone’s throat.And then nothing.Silence.A suffocating one.I inhale— slow, deliberate— trying to remember what my hands used to feel like before the accident. Brianna’s smug smile lingers in the back of my mind.But I push her out.I think of something that fits this setting. Something classic. Something real.My fingers move— almost automatically—as I begin the haunting, familiar notes of a famous classic everyone should know.The first movement. Soft. Melancholic. Devastating.The first three notes echo like raindrops in the stillness.My heart pounds in my chest.The weight of a hundred eyes press into my back.But then— I find it. That still place. The old rhythm. Like I’ve slipped through time and into something that once loved me, and then I see my students and I’m reminded of the joy I get from playing.I smile briefly.M
—ELEANOR.-“I wish we could have something raw,” Vanessa says, swirling the wine in her glass as her voice dances over the table, “something classic—not another cover trying to force instruments to make it seem classic.”Her words float in the air like a challenge, one that ripples across the faces of the guests. I finally lift my gaze from the untouched food in front of me and look at Arthur.He’s already looking at me.No—watching me. His gaze is heavy, like a presence pressing into the space between us. It doesn’t waver, doesn’t flicker away when our eyes meet. It bores into me like he’s trying to read something buried in the marrow of my bones.His lips twitch into a faint, nearly imperceptible smirk. That little curve. It’s dangerous. It’s not sweet— it’s knowing.And before I can fully register the heat rising in my chest, Handel chuckles— a deep, wheezy sound that startles everyone into glancing his way.“Can’t keep your eyes off your wife?” Handel says, grinning with that smu
—ELEANOR.-“Fancy meeting you here.”Brianna’s voice cuts through the air with a falsely innocent sweetness, the kind that makes your skin crawl. She offers a sheepish smile, her eyes glinting with something too sharp to be kindness. It’s the kind of smile that peels back like a mask. Polite, but vengeful underneath.My fingers nearly curl into themselves, a raw instinct to shield the soft places she used to puncture with her words.Arthur tenses beside me. He doesn’t hesitate—he steps forward, creating a subtle but firm barrier between me and her. Protective. Commanding.“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice low and edged, already tired of the game she’s trying to play.Brianna halts, her expression snapping like a branch underfoot. Her anger simmers just beneath the glossy surface of her carefully done makeup. She raises a perfectly arched brow and fixes her piercing gaze on him.“What do you mean by that?” she scoffs. “I’m my father’s daughter. I’m a Brown, Arthur. Of course I
—ELEANOR. -Like a doting wife, I slip my hand into the crook of Arthur’s arm, letting my body lean into his warmth in that effortlessly intimate way couples do when they’ve grown used to each other’s gravity.My smile stretches naturally as I see the couple gliding toward us—refined, poised, the kind of elegance money can’t buy but bloodlines can.“Mr. and Mrs. Greendale,” Arthur says smoothly, his voice not quite his usual—deeper, more grounded, laced with quiet command.It’s a version of him I don’t see often, but when I do, it catches something at the back of my throat. He wears confidence like a custom suit.“Oh please,” Vanessa laughs, the sound like glass clinking against silver. “Call me Vanessa, and call him Handel. Formality draws a line where connection should form.”Her words are gracious, but her tone is sharp with control. She’s used to drawing lines and daring people to step over them.“Well, nice to meet you, Vanessa and Handel,” Arthur replies, extending his hand wit
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