Chapter 4
Chelsea couldn't bring herself to say she understood. Her heart felt like it was being stabbed with needles. But she couldn't say she didn't forgive him either. Honestly, she didn't even have the right to ask why.
All she could do was use those simple words to gloss over their absurd wedding night. No blame, no complaints, just stating the obvious: it was over.
Jeffery seemed pretty satisfied with her knowing her place. He nodded, turned, and went upstairs for a shower. After changing clothes, he didn't spare her a single glance. He just walked straight out the door.
That was the total of their conversation on the first day of their marriage.
The first thing Chelsea learned in the first month of marriage was how to eat alone.
Jeffery's schedule was completely out of sync with hers. He left at seven in the morning and rarely came home before ten at night. Most nights, he'd come back after midnight, smelling of alcohol.
Chelsea tried waiting for him.
For two weeks straight, she kept the food warm in the insulated box and sat on the living room sofa, waiting until her eyelids grew too heavy and she fell asleep at the table.
But every time he came home, he never woke her up. He just went straight upstairs or spent the night in the study.
After that, she stopped waiting.
Chelsea started teaching herself how to cook.
Not because she enjoyed it, but because the cooking of the housekeeper in the Newsom family was way too bland. Jeffery, being from Elowen, couldn't go a day without spice.
She foolishly hoped that maybe, if he came home to food he actually liked, he'd stick around a bit longer.
Chelsea bought three hefty Elowen cookbooks and started with the basics, cooking Spicy Pork Chops.
Her first attempt was a disaster. The spicy fumes made her cough and tear up, and she ended up with several red blisters from the hot oil.
The housekeeper watched from the side, looking like she wanted to say something but stopped herself, her eyes full of sympathy.
When the dish was finally ready, Chelsea snapped a pic and texted Jeffery. [I tried cooking Spicy Pork Chops. Are you coming home for dinner tonight?]
After two hours, her phone finally lit up.
Just two words: [Working late.]
She ended up eating those Spicy Pork Chops by herself, over two meals. She ate and cried, her tears stinging her throat along with the spice.
Sure, the spice made her cry, but mostly, it was the heartache.
Three months into their marriage, it was Amber's birthday party.
Chelsea started getting ready a whole month in advance. She asked Jeffery what Amber liked, but he shrugged and said, "Whatever." So she went to the housekeeper at the old mansion, who told her Amber was into gem.
She gritted her teeth, took out three months' worth of her salary, and picked out a pair of top-quality emerald earrings at the mall.
Chelsea thought it was worth it. After all, Amber was Jeffery's mom. She wanted to make a good impression and fit into the family.
On the day of the birthday party, Chelsea wore her brand-new dress, put on the emerald earrings, did her makeup to perfection, and showed up at the hotel early, waiting for everyone to arrive.
Jeffery was the last to arrive.
He showed up with a woman at his side.
It was Bridget Moore.
Chelsea didn't know Bridget, but she instantly understood their connection. When Jeffery spoke to Bridget, his face relaxed in a way Chelsea had never seen.
It was not a forced smile, but the kind of easy, genuine closeness that came when one didn't have to pretend or act formal.
But whenever Jeffery looked at Chelsea, his eyes were always polite and distant, like she was just some irrelevant coworker.
Throughout the whole dinner, Jeffery exchanged twenty-seven sentences with Bridget, talking about work, hobbies, and even the weather.
But to Chelsea, he only said one thing: "Help Bridget with her shawl, she's feeling cold."
Chelsea didn't say anything. She quietly got up, picked up Bridget's shawl from the back of the chair, handed it over, and managed a stiff smile.
Bridget said sweetly, "Thanks, Chelsea."
Jeffery sat there, saying nothing, and didn't even spare Chelsea a glance.
After the party, Chelsea slipped away to the restroom and stood in front of the mirror for ages.
The woman staring back at her looked glamorous. Her dress hugged her curves, the emerald earrings highlighted her pale skin, and her makeup was on point.
But only Chelsea knew the truth. She was just a fake flower placed in a vase, nice to look at, but with no roots, never part of the Newsom family.
When Jeffery got home, he did something out of the ordinary. He didn't go straight to the study. Instead, he settled onto the living room sofa, uncorked a bottle of red wine, and drank alone.
Chelsea walked over and took a seat next to him.
"Jeffery," Chelsea said.
"Mm," Jeffery responded, not even looking up.
Chelsea asked, her voice barely steady, "Is there anything you want to say to me?"
Jeffery took a slow sip of wine, sat in silence for a few seconds, then finally said, "You look good in that dress tonight."
Chelsea felt her heart drop.
She hadn't been waiting all night to hear that.
She'd been hoping he'd say something like, "Sorry I didn't pay attention to you today," or "Bridget's just a friend. Don't overthink it," or even just a simple "Thanks for all your hard work."
But he didn't.
He just tossed out that meaningless "You look good in that dress" and went back to his wine, like he was going through the motions.