"The battered wife"

Serina's perspective:

I woke up because of the sun's rays, jolting upright. What happened last night? It seems real, but maybe it's just a dream. Yes, it must be a dream. Markus, the one I knew, loved me. I'll hold onto that thought, a smile playing on my lips.

I am Serina Gonzales-Feehily, Markus Michael Patrick Verdon Feehily's wife. I hurriedly left our room to find him, only to face the painful truth that he never loved me. I sighed, realizing I couldn't deceive myself. Tears fell, and it hurt so much. I let my tears flow, hoping it would ease the pain.

"Good morning, ma'am Serina. I'm sorry Sir left early; he said you were too tired from the wedding," a servant explained. I wiped my tears, unable to face them, my eyes surely swollen. I had fallen asleep crying last night, hoping he'd comfort me, but I was wrong. I slept alone in his vast, cold room.

A bitter smile crossed my face as I recalled his words, "If you think I married you out of love, you're mistaken. I used you to pay for all your sins. You owe me a life, and you should repay it!"

The pain echoed as I remembered his cruel words.

I closed my eyes as I remembered it again... until now, I still can't believe it.

"U-uh, ma'am? Are you okay?" I opened my eyes and was slightly startled; I forgot that there was someone behind me.

"I-I'm okay... um, what time did your sir leave?" I tried to compose myself, adjusting my speech. I didn't want them to notice I had been crying.

"He left early, ma'am. He just instructed me to prepare breakfast for you before we left," she replied respectfully.

He asked them to prepare breakfast for me? Is that what I heard? I felt a certain happiness, but it quickly faded. What if it's just a show, like what he did when he was still my boyfriend?

But wait, before they leave?

"You're leaving? W-where are you going? W-why are you leaving?" I couldn't help but turn to look at them. They mentioned leaving before.

"Oh, ma'am, Sir transferred all of us to the hacienda. We'll be working there from now on. I thought you knew," it said with a hint of confusion.

"Uh, y-yes, of course... I-I forgot," I made an excuse. I didn't want them to suspect that my husband and I might be having problems, so I just went along.

I temporarily set aside my questions. I'll ask later; maybe he was just overwhelmed by last night's events. I convinced myself.

I headed straight to the dining area, and my attention was stolen by a painting.

It was Markus in the painting – so beautifully done, capturing every detail of his face, from his long, arched eyebrows to his pointed nose, red lips matched with his blue eyes. His Irish heritage was evident.

I smiled sadly. He used to look so gentle in that painting, but last night, he seemed like a monster in his rage.

I shifted my focus to the bottom of the painting, where the artist's name was written: Sapphire.

Who is Sapphire?

"Ma'am, your breakfast is ready," Rita interrupted my thoughts. She always pops up unexpectedly.

"T-thank you," I said, taking my eyes off the painting and sitting down.

Rita handed me a newspaper, and I grabbed a cup of coffee.

I sipped my coffee while flipping through the newspaper, and there, I was shocked by a picture of my husband. He was in a business suit, pretending to sit in a swivel chair. But what caught my attention was the text next to his name:

"THE MURDERER MUST BE PUNISHED."

I shuddered at the words; I didn't know why. I dropped the cup, and the hot coffee burned my leg.

"Ouch!" I winced in pain.

"Ma'am!" Rita exclaimed, concerned, handing me a tissue.

"I-I'm okay," I replied with teary eyes, rushing to my room.

The pain from the spilled coffee on my leg was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. Although there was no name mentioned, I had a strong feeling that I was the one he referred to as the murderer.