Chapter 3 Nicole

• I can feel the weight of tonight's event already settling on me as I stood before the mirror. The red dress which was the symbol of my victory just moments ago, now seemed to mock me. Washing away my makeup, the reflection staring back was now a stranger, a woman with dark circles under her eyes, a proof of the exhaustion that had finally etched itself into my life.
• Since forever, I've been fighting tooth and nail for acceptance, first as a girl child, now as a wife. The first battle was kind of over but the second one seemed far from over, and it is like a heavy cloak on my shoulders.
• Lifting my hand, I traced the shadows under my eyes, the physical manifestation of my emotional turmoil. A question, that kept coming up a thousand times from the quiet corners of my mind, finally escaped my lips quietly. "Am I not beautiful enough?"
• Before I could stop myself, the question came out of my mouth. This time, they weren't a silent plea or a question lost in the business of the world. This time, they were like a painful cry, a demand for an answer, but from who exactly? Nicholas or my ruthless uncle?
• "Am I not beautiful enough?" The statement kept echoing in my head as I let the hairstylist do her thing on my head.
• A soft voice startled me. "You are beautiful, ma'am," my hairstylist replied, her voice gentle. I'd completely forgotten she was there, standing silently behind me, her gaze not leaving mine.
• I turned to face her, a wry smile gracing my lips. It felt polite, the automatic response to a compliment, but it didn't quite reach my eyes. "Thank you," I murmured, the gratitude hollow.
• Her gaze held mine for a beat longer than professional courtesy dictated. Perhaps she sensed the trouble bubbling from inside of me, the storm brewing behind my carefully constructed facade. But the moment passed, and she returned to her work, her brush stroke smoothly against my hair.
• I turned back to the mirror, but my reflection remained a stranger. The compliment, though kind, felt like a Band-Aid on my gaping wound. It did little job by soothing the aching in my heart. The question lingered in the air, a silent echo in the room. Did it even matter if I was beautiful, when the man I'd married seemed not to see it? Why can't he see me the way the my hairstylist did?
• I knew my beauty shouldn't be defined by Nicholas or societal expectations. Yet, their voices, like a relentless chorus, filled my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing they could be quiet. For the first time, I craved a different answer, a truth that came from within, not from external validation.
• The final touches of lipstick were applied, and I leaned back, surveying my reflection in the mirror. Makeup, as always, worked its magic. It masked the dark circles under my eyes, all the evidence of a sleepless night fueled by worry were now covered with makeup.
• All this time, I'd tried to maintain a facade, a strong woman unfazed by his actions and the constant rumors swirling around. But tonight, the mask had begun to slip. The exhaustion, the gnawing sense of worthlessness, it is now obvious even with the carefully painted face of mine staring back at me in the mirror. Despite everything, I look stunning.
• "Maybe I should see a therapist," I thought. The thought of talking to someone who wouldn't judge, who might offer a path out of this suffocating situation, felt like a beacon of hope in the darkness.
• What I craved was something deeper, a way to heal the wounds constant betrayals had inflicted on me, and more importantly, the ones I'd unknowingly inflicted on myself.
• For the first time, I acknowledged the truth. Endurance had its limits. The humiliation, the constant questioning of my self-worth, it was slowly eating away at me. Maybe, a therapist could help me untangle the mess, rebuild my self-esteem, and find the strength to break free from this cage, not just physically, but emotionally as well.
• The red dress hugged my curves flawlessly, my hair was done, my face all caked up. I was more than ready physically for the pomp but was I ready mentally? I don't think so.
• Hours ticked by but Nicholas was nowhere to be found. The initial anticipation I was feeling about the pomp had changed into a tense silence. I was already frustrated enough, must he always add to it. Even with the whirlwind of emotions, a carefully painted smile was on my face.
• Finally, the sound of the front door opening shattered the quiet. I spun around, expecting to see Nicholas unprepared for the event. Instead, he strolled in, fully prepared, adjusting the lapels of his tuxedo. He looked immaculate, every hair in place, but that wasn't the point.
• "Where have you been?" My voice was a low rumble, laced with a dangerous mix of anger and hurt.
• He met my gaze, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. But before he could answer, a practiced smile flickered across his face. "We don't want to be late, my love," he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Let's go. “
• He reached for my hand, but I recoiled, the movement sharp and instinctive. "Don't," I spat, the word laced with venom. "Don't touch me."
• The smile faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. But quickly, the practiced charm returned. "Is this really the time for a fight, darling?" he drawled, his voice dripping with a false concern.
• "Don't you dare call me darling," I shot back, my voice gaining strength with every word. "Where were you, Nicholas? All this time, while I sat here waiting for you?"
• He reached out to me, and took my hands, carefully placing it on his. He didn't say anything else, he didn't answer me. His silence was a loud answer, enough to be the confirmation of the suspicions that had gnawed at me for far too long. It was at this moment, I knew I couldn't ignore the truth any longer.