Chapter 5 Made To Watch

• ELARA
• It’s been four days since Lucy died, and somehow, the house feels even colder now than it did the night she stopped breathing.
• The air is heavy, like it carries weight I can’t see. The staff avoid my eyes. The corridors echo with silence. Even the flowers in the vases look like they’re wilting faster. Grief doesn’t make time slow—it makes it unbearable.
• But it’s not just grief that suffocates me.
• It’s Mateo.
• It’s always Mateo.
• I lie in bed long after morning has crept in through the sheer curtains, the sunlight weak and pale on the floorboards. I don’t move. I can’t. My hands are folded tightly over my stomach like I’m bracing for something. I stare at the ceiling until the lines between the panels blur.
• Then I hear it.
• Laughter.
• A woman’s.
• Light. Effortless. Obnoxiously loud.
• It travels up from the lower level like smoke from a burning room—impossible to ignore, impossible to breathe through.
• My throat goes dry. My mouth feels like sandpaper. I try to swallow, but even that hurts.
• He brought another one.
• Of course he did.
• It’s only been days since Lucy’s body left the house in a bag, but Mateo’s appetite for destruction doesn’t believe in mourning periods.
• I sit up slowly, my body aching in places I didn’t know could ache. I slide my feet into the slippers by my bed and pull on my robe, knotting it tightly like armor. My hands tremble as I push open the door and step into the hallway.
• It’s quiet, deceptively so.
• But beneath that silence is the unmistakable hum of something wrong.
• I move past the gallery wall, my steps careful on the marble. The house feels like it’s watching me—like even the shadows have opinions. I make it to the landing, and I’m about to turn toward the kitchen when I hear it.
• A moan.
• A low, breathy sound that makes my heart slam into my ribs.
• I freeze.
• Another moan. Louder.
• Then his voice.
• Mateo.
• Rough. Deep. Intoxicatingly cruel.
• “No. Like that.”
• I don’t want to look. I tell myself not to look. But my feet betray me. My head turns.
• The living room door is open. Wide open.
• I see them.
• Mateo is sprawled on the velvet couch like a king, his shirt unbuttoned, chest bare, his slacks pulled low on his hips. A woman straddles him, her back arched, her dress riding up past her ass. Her heels are digging into the cushions, her body grinding against his.
• I choke on the air. It’s thick with sex and power and everything I never wanted.
• I should turn around. Run. But I don’t. I can’t.
• Then he sees me.
• His eyes snap to mine—stormy grey, sharp as knives—and something flickers behind them.
• Recognition.
• Satisfaction.
• And then—he smirks.
• “Keep going,” Mateo says, not to me, but to her.
• She obeys like a puppet. Her hips keep moving, her moan rising, louder, bolder.
• I take a step back.
• “Come closer, Elara,” he calls.
• The sound of my name in his mouth makes my stomach twist. “I—I was just going to get some tea,” I whisper.
• “I didn’t ask why you were down here.” His voice cuts through the room like a blade. “I said, come closer.”
• I hesitate.
• His eyes narrow. “Now.”
• My body moves before my brain catches up. I step into the room, each movement heavier than the last. The rug under my feet is too soft. The room is too warm. I can’t breathe.
• She’s still moving. Still clinging to him like he’s a god and she’s starving.
• I reach the edge of the couch. I can’t look at them directly. I just stare at his knees. His hands are on her hips, guiding, owning.
• Mateo leans back, eyes locked on mine. “Watch.”
• My mouth goes dry. “What?”
• He nods at her. “Watch how it’s done. Maybe you’ll stop being such a disappointment.”
• Tears sting the back of my eyes. I shake my head. “Please…”
• “Don’t look away,” he says.
• He’s not yelling.
• That’s the worst part.
• He doesn’t need to yell. His voice is low, measured. It makes the humiliation hit harder.
• The woman climbs off his lap and slides down to her knees between his legs.
• My stomach drops.
• I know what’s coming.
• I try to move. To run. To disappear.
• But I don’t get the chance.
• Her head dips.
• And she put his huge cock into her mouth.
• Mateo tilts his head slightly, watching me. Not her. Never her.
• Always me.
• I stumble back, a sob clawing its way up my throat. My hand flies to my mouth. The sound of wet suction fills the room, obscene and deliberate.
• Mateo doesn’t break eye contact.
• “Do you see now, wife?” he asks softly, his voice laced with venom. “This is what a man needs. Not your shaking hands and lifeless eyes.”
• “Stop,” I whisper.
• But he doesn’t.
• The woman moans. Her hands clutch at his thighs, and he lets out a quiet, satisfied breath.
• I can’t watch anymore.
• I turn and run.
• ---
• I don’t remember how I made it up the stairs.
• The world is a blur of walls and sobs and the sound of my heartbeat trying to escape my chest.
• I slam my bedroom door shut and lock it with trembling fingers. My knees give out, and I collapse to the floor.
• I can't breathe.
• The sobs that rip out of me are raw and broken. I clutch my stomach, doubling over. Every part of me aches—from the humiliation, from the rage, from the fear.
• Why is he doing this?
• Why does he hate me this much?
• I curl up on the floor, the robe clinging to my sweat-damp skin. I wish I could disappear into the floorboards. I wish I could stop feeling.
• But the image won’t leave.
• Her mouth. His eyes. That smirk.
• I drag myself onto the bed, my body leaden. I yank the covers up to my chin and stare at the ceiling again.
• That same ceiling.
• Only this time, it’s spinning.
• I don’t cry anymore. There’s nothing left to spill. Just an empty ache in my chest, pulsing with every breath.
• I'm here.
• Trapped.
• Married to a monster with eyes like storms and a heart made of cruelty.
• There’s no one left to save me.
• No one coming.
• Just the sound of my own breathing and the echo of his voice in my head.
• “Watch.”
• I close my eyes.
• But the image stays.