ROSALIE
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The room was tense, thick with a suffocating silence that wrapped itself around my throat like a shackle. My chest felt tight. my hands trembling at my sides, but I forced myself to stand my ground. Damien’s eyes bore into me, dark with something I couldn’t quite name–confusion, disbelief, maybe even disappointment.
I hated that look
His mother was still on the floor, clutching her wrist like I had actually hurt her. She was an expert at theatrics, her face twisted in just the right amount of pain, her breath coming out in soft, exaggerated gasps. It was a performance, and she was the star.
1 should have expected this.
I should have known that she would twist things in her favor, that she would make herself the victim and turn Damien against me. This was what she did best–playing the fragile mother, the poor woman wronged by her son’s unworthy wife.
And the worst part?
Damien was falling for it.
I could see it in the way his jaw tensed, the way his fists clenched at his sides, like he was holding himself back from exploding.
Not at her.
At me
1 swallowed hard, my throat dry. My heart pounded so loudly in my chest that I could hear it in my ears. I wanted to scream, to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, to make him see the truth. But I knew how this worked. I knew how deep his. mother’s claws ran.
She had been doing this for so long.
And Damien will probably always take her side.
Rosalie,” Damien’s voice came, low and sharp. “Did you hit my mother?”
My breath hitched. My hands clenched into fists at my sides.
“No,” I said firmly, my voice steady despite the lump forming in my throat. “I didn’t.”
Damien’s mother let out a gasp, shaking her head in dismay as if I had just spat in her face.
“Liar” she snapped, turning to Damien with watery eyes. “Do you see
see what I mean? She has no shame, no remorse! She’s standing right there, calling me a liar to my face!”
I gritted my teeth. “I never said that”
“Oh, but that’s what you meant, isn’t it?” she cut me off. “You’re trying to make me look like the villain here, trying to turn my own son against me?” She clutched her chest dramatically, her voice thick with emotion: “Damien, how can she stand there and he to you like this? You saw it with your own eyes! You walked in and found her grabbing me after she struck me!”
My hands trembled at my sides. I could feel the heat rising to my face, my pulse hammering in my ears.
“She’s twisting it,” I said, desperate for Damien to understand. “She tried to slap me first, and I stopped her. That’s all that
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happened. I would never
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“Lies, lies, lies!” his mother wailed. “Can’t you see what she’s doing, Damien? She has bewitched you! She is poisoning you against your own family!”
I felt my chest tighten, frustration bubbling into something dangerously close to helplessness. I turned to Damien, searching his face for any sign that he believed me.
“I’m telling the truth,” I said, my voice breaking slightly. “I swear, I didn’t hit her.”
Damien’s jaw was locked tight. He wasn’t looking at me. His hands were clenched at his sides, his body rigid, tense.
“Damien, please.” I pleaded. “You know me. You know I would never do something like this.”
His silence was worse than anything his mother could have said.
His silence meant doubt.
My stomach churned. My throat burned.
Why was this happening? Why did I have to stand here, defending myself against something I didn’t do? Why did I have to
beg him to believe me when he should have known–should have known–that I would never, never lay a hand on his mother?
A shaky breath left my lips.
“She’s lying.” I said, my voice softer now, drained.
en’s mother scoffed loudly, her expression turning cruel. “And there she goes again! How dare you speak to me this
You have no respect, not for me, not for my son, not for this family!” She turned to Damien, her voice rising with fury. “Are you just going to stand there and let her insult me like this?”
Damien exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience finally snapping.
“Enough.”
His voice cut through the air like a blade.
1 flinched at the sharpness of it.
“Rosalie, keep quiet,” he ordered, his tone firm.
1 stared at him, stunned.
Keep quiet?
Keep quiet while his mother stood there, lying through her teeth? While she twisted the truth to make me look like the villain! While she painted herself as the victim?
Something inside me cracked.
“You want me to keep quiet?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “While she stands here and lies about me?”
Damien didn’t respond.
His mother smirked, victorious.
The sheer unfairness of it all made my blood boil.
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Damien’s mother turned to me, smugness dripping from her tone. “You see, girl? This is where you belong–silent. A good wife knows her place.”
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
Damien didn’t say a word. He just stood there, still, unreadable.
Then, to my absolute shock, he turned to his mother.
“You should leave,” he said, his voice controlled but firm.
His mother’s face twisted in disbelief. “What?”
“You’ve overstayed your welcome.”
Her mouth fell open slightly, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you throwing me out of my own son’s house? Because of her? That thing!” She jabbed a finger in my direction, venom lacing her words.
Damien’s jaw tightened. “I am your son and that thing is my wife. And she will be addressed with respect.”
Silence fell over the
e room.
His mother’s face contorted in fury before she let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “Respect?” she echoed. “You want me to respect her?” She shook her head, looking at me like I was dirt beneath her shoe. “I will never accept her as my daughter–in- law. She is nothing but a disgrace to this family. And mark my words, Damien–her days in this house are numbered.”
With that, she stormed toward the door, her heels clicking loudly against the floor.
I expected Damien to turn to me, to lash out, to demand an explanation.
I expected his anger, his disappointment, the inevitable moment when he would take his mother’s side without hesitation once she was gone.
So when he just stood there, staring at me with an unreadable expression, I wasn’t sure how to react.
He exhaled through his nose, his jaw tight, his hands still clenched into fists at his sides. Then, in a voice so calm it almost felt unnatural, he asked,
“What’s for dinner?”
I blinked, convinced I had misheard him.
“What
His expression didn’t change. “Dinner,” he repeated, his voice steady, controlled. “Is it ready?”
I stared at him, my mind struggling to catch up. He wasn’t asking me if I hit his mother. He wasn’t telling me to apologize. He wasn’t accusing me of anything
He was asking about dinner.
Like nothing had happened.
I swallowed, trying to find my voice.
“It—it will be soon. I’ll set the table and let you know when it’s done.”
He gave a small nod. No hesitation, no anger, just a simple nod. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing up the stairs.
I stood there, frozen, watching him go.
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That was it!
No accusations? No shouting? No lectures about how I needed to respect his mother?
I turned slowly, my gaze landing on the empty space his mother had occupied moments ago. The living room still held traces of her presence–the untouched juice on the table, the half–caten pastries, the dramatic mess she had made when she threw herself to the ground.
And yet, she was gone.
And he had let her go.
The realization settled in my chest like a heavy weight.
Damien had taken my side.
Not directly. He hadn’t defended me with words. He hadn’t told his mother she was wrong. But in his own way, he had chosen. He had asked her to leave. He had refused to let her manipulate him. And he hadn’t turned on me the way I had been bracing myself for.
I felt unsteady, caught between confusion and something dangerously close to relief.
I wasn’t used to this.
I wasn’t used to Damien not believing the worst in me.
For so long, it had felt like he only saw what his family wanted him to see–that I was a mistake, a burden, an outsider ruining their perfect image.
But this time_
This time. he had looked at me, and instead of assuming I was guilty, he had walked away.
I let out a slow breath, trying to p
process it all.
Was this progress? Was this a shift in whatever fragile dynamic existed between us? Or was it just indifference?
I shook my head, pushing the thoughts aside. Overanalyzing Damien was a dangerous game, one I had lost too many times
