Aida woke before the alarm.
For a few seconds she lay still, caught between sleep and awareness, unsure why her body felt heavy.
Then memory returned.
Not like a scream. Like weight.
Her back throbbed when she shifted. A dull ache spread across her ribs, deep and warm beneath her skin. She inhaled slowly, testing her breath as if pain might shatter it.
The living room felt unfamiliar in morning light. The couch. The folded blanket. The silence.
From the bedroom came the soft sound of running water.
Julius was awake.
Her stomach tightened.
Morning light was merciless.
She lifted her blouse in the bathroom mirror and turned sideways. The bruise had darkened overnight, purple blooming toward black.
Her fingers hovered just above it, not touching.
Proof.
Her phone lay on the counter. She picked it up, hesitated, then took a picture.
She stared at the image.
Deleted it.
Stared at the empty screen.
Took another.
This time she saved it. A quiet instinct she didn't fully understand told her to keep it. Not to show anyone. Just… keep.
The shower stopped.
Her pulse quickened. She pulled her blouse down quickly, smoothing invisible wrinkles, rearranging her face into something calm.
Into something safe.
Julius stood at the kitchen counter when she entered.
He turned immediately. And smiled.
Not wide. Soft. Careful.
"Aida," he said gently. "You're up."
The warmth in his voice made her hesitate.
He stepped toward her slowly, like approaching something fragile. "I was going to make you coffee. You shouldn't have slept on the couch."
Her throat tightened.
He reached for her hands. She didn't pull away.
"I'm sorry about last night."
The words landed softly, almost tender.
She blinked.
He exhaled, eyes lowering as if carrying weight. "I hate when we fight like that. Things just… escalate. I never want to hurt you."
Never want. Not didn't.
Her mind caught the wording, then immediately dismissed it.
"I shouldn't have pushed you," he added quietly.
Her chest loosened slightly. There it was. Accountability. Or something that felt like it.
"I was stressed," he continued. "Work, pressure… everything. And when you came at me like that…" He shook his head softly. "We both lost control."
We both.
She nodded automatically.
He pulled her into a hug. Slowly. Carefully. As if giving her time to refuse.
She didn't.
His arms wrapped around her, warm and familiar. Her body stiffened for a moment, then softened despite herself.
He smelled like soap. Safe. Normal.
"You're a good woman," he murmured against her hair.
The words slid into her like relief.
"I love you," she whispered before she could stop herself.
He kissed the top of her head. "I know."
At the office, Aida walked in like she owned it.
Tailored navy blazer that hid everything. Neutral lipstick that suggested confidence without aggression. Hair pulled into a sleek bun that said professional instead of I slept on a couch because my husband shoved me into a counter.
People smiled at her in the elevator.
"Morning, Ms. Aida!"
"Love that blazer!"
She smiled. Nodded. Played the part.
Inside, she was screaming.
Sharon was waiting at her desk with two lattes and a concerned expression.
"Babe," Sharon said, pulling her into a hug. "You look exhausted."
Aida stiffened. Sharon smelled like vanilla and something floral. Expensive perfume, the kind Aida couldn't afford because she was too busy paying everyone else's bills.
The kind Julius had smelled like last night.
Sharon pulled back, studying her. "You sure you're okay?"
Aida's eyes lingered on her friend. "You smell different."
Sharon blinked, then laughed. "Oh, yeah. My cousin visited over the weekend. Left her perfume. I borrowed it this morning." She set the lattes down. "Why?"
Aida hesitated. "Julius smelled like that last night."
Sharon's expression shifted into something between concern and careful neutrality. "Aida…"
"It's nothing," Aida said quickly. "I'm overthinking."
"Are you sure? Because if…"
"I'm sure." Aida picked up her latte, forcing a smile. "Just tired."
Sharon didn't look convinced, but she nodded. "Okay. But you know you can talk to me, right?"
"I know."
Her phone rang. Work call. She answered it gratefully.
At lunch, Aida sat in the corner of the cafeteria, salad untouched.
Voices drifted from a nearby table.
Women from accounting.
"Her husband is so attentive," one of them said. "Did you see him pick her up last week? He brought her flowers."
Another voice chimed in. "You can tell when a woman is well taken care of. She just glows."
"Exactly. And he's so handsome. She's lucky."
Aida set down her fork carefully, stood, and excused herself with a polite smile no one questioned.
In the restroom, she pressed her palms against the sink, staring at her reflection.
Well taken care of.
She almost laughed.
Last week, Julius had picked her up because his car was in the shop and he needed hers. The flowers had been purchased with her credit card. She'd seen the charge that night while transferring money to her errand runner.
But no one asked those questions. No one saw past the performance.
She splashed cold water on her face and whispered to the woman in the mirror: "You're fine."
The woman didn't believe her.
The perfume hit her first when she opened the door at 6:30.
Sweet. Deliberate. A scent that clung to the air like it had every right to be there.
A woman sat on the couch, legs crossed elegantly, wine glass balanced in one hand. She looked up when Aida appeared, lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Oh," the woman said slowly. "You must be Aida."
Aida's chest tightened. "Who are you?"
The woman rose, smoothing her dress. "Relax. If Julius didn't tell you I was coming, that's on him."
Julius appeared then, wearing shorts and an unbuttoned shirt, irritation etched into his face. "Why are you home so early?"
Aida stared at him. "It's 6:30."
"Exactly."
Her hands trembled. She clenched them into fists. "Why is she here?"
The woman chuckled. "She asks questions. That's brave."
"Get out," Aida whispered, voice shaking. "Please. Just leave."
The woman glanced at Julius. He said nothing.
She shrugged, picked up her purse, and leaned close as she passed Aida. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"You should thank me. I remind him what he deserves."
The door closed behind her.
Silence.
Then Julius turned. Calm. Controlled. "What's wrong with you? Do you enjoy embarrassing me?"
"I came home to another woman in my house."
"And? You're never here anyway. Besides, that's my business partner."
"Business partner?" Aida's voice cracked. "You must think I'm 8?"
His expression darkened. He stepped closer. "You think your job makes you better than me?"
"I just want…"
His hand struck her before she could finish.
Her head snapped to the side, pain flashing white. She stumbled, hip slamming into the wall, and collapsed.
"Look what you made me do," he said, breathing hard. "You always play the victim."
He pointed at her. "You come home cold, tired, acting superior. What do you expect?"
He paced. "You're the reason I cheat."
The words cut deeper than the blow.
"You push me to this. And then act shocked when I react."
Her body shook, shoulders caving.
"And since you think you're the man of the house," he added coldly, "send me some money tonight. I have plans."
She stared at him through tears, unable to speak.
"You owe me. For everything. For being patient with you." He paused, smirking. "For being married to someone like you."
He walked away.
The house went quiet.
Aida stayed on the floor, not just from physical pain but from the hollow ache that lived in her chest.
She tried desperately to avoid the visions, but she knew better.
Then it came—blood spreading across white tiles, a scream echoing, hands shaking…
She screamed.
Out loud this time.
Julius yelled from the bedroom. "Why are you screaming?"
She pressed her palms to her face and wept.
"If only you knew…"
Later, in bed, Julius lay beside her scrolling through his phone.
Aida stared at the ceiling, every muscle tense.
She tried not to look. But she peeked.
A message notification appeared:
Madam Karisa: Don't test me. I'm not your wife. My husband must never know anything abo…
Julius's thumb hovered, then he locked the screen and rolled onto his side, phone disappearing beneath his pillow.
Aida's heart pounded.
Who is that?
She thought of the woman on the couch. The perfume. The text.
Her chest tightened.
She blinked rapidly, refusing tears, until exhaustion finally pulled her under.