Affection's Facade

Happily never after

Elera's pov

His hands were manipulative. She could remember the lines and details with her eyes closed. Not because he'd ever hit her. He wouldn't dare. But because even with their clothes on, she could see his hands imprinted on every woman he ever slept with. Everywhere he touched, when they embraced. They traced over the curves of breasts and hips, waltzed around necks softly, teasing lips, and teasing thighs until they bloomed open like a flower in spring sunlight.

Every mark had been made with precision and intent. His hands directed the women's bodies like puppet strings, and they weren't willing to resist. Maybe out of spite to remind Elera her husband didn't respect her.  His hands, they were coercive, directing and warm. Even today, the white collar of his shirt had a mark. A dark purple one. Elera's eyes darted to it momentarily, a fleeting acknowledgment of its existence.

Elera adjusted Jae-Hoon's collar with practiced grace, her movements precise and elegant. She could feel the eyes of the gathering on her as she worked. The crowd seemed to whisper among themselves, but their murmurs were muffled and indistinct. It was the third interview this week and she these things. However, what did that matter.

Finally, the mark was covered up and Elera stepped back. She caught a glimpse of the young woman in the front row, who seemed to have been paying particular attention. Her lips were stained a deep maroon, purple that Elera noticed matched perfectly with the mark on Jae-Hoon's collar. She couldn't help but feel an undeniable sense of familiarity; this wasn't the first time she had seen that color on her husband's body.

Though no one else could see it, Elera knew his handprints must've once been on that woman's thigh—they must've always there. Even if no one else noticed it, she did. As if on cue, there was a collective "aweee" from the audience and suddenly everyone was looking at her. She just smiled, —that's all she could do. She made sure no one saw the annoyance that threatened to escape as she turned away and resumed her seat beside Jae-Hoon.

Elera felt the weight of the world pressing down on her. Everywhere she turned, someone was watching. She could feel their eyes upon her as they waited for her to slip up, to make a mistake that would tarnish Jae-Hoon's reputation and possibly end their marriage.

She was painfully aware of Jae-Hoon's presence beside her, his hand enveloping hers in a clammy grip that tightened with every passing second. Even now, his gaze commanded attention — demanding respect and admiration from those around him. His lips were set in a thin smile as he worked the crowd like a practiced actor.

The palpitations in Elera's chest seemed to sync with Jae-Hoon's. Every beat was a reminder of the life they shared together — the good times and bad, and the secrets she kept hidden from view. The secrets that gave her strength when her will faltered, but also weighed heavily on her conscience like an anchor around her neck.

The white noise of conversation hung heavy in the air as Elera tried to steel herself against Jae-Hoon's dominant presence. Forcing herself to remain composed, she smiled politely and nodded at anything he said despite knowing there would be consequences if she didn't comply exactly with his wishes. Anything less than perfect from Elera would stir up trouble for both of them — it was simply not worth the risk.

No matter how much she wanted to escape this life of lies and violence, Elera had come to accept that she was stuck in it for better or worse—but even then, she still hoped for better, for herself than anything.

It was as if she was tethered to him, not just by marital bonds, but by the very essence of life itself.

Her hand felt trapped, imprisoned by his. She could almost imagine the lines of their palms entwining, retracing against one another as if a blood pact required it of her, creating an intricate map of their life together. A life that was as convoluted, as it was staged.