C4 Exhausted

Priscilla POV

After ensuring everything downstairs was in place and the staff had completed their duties, I walked back upstairs. My body felt heavy, my limbs weak, as though exhaustion had seeped into my bones.

I didn’t even bother changing. The moment I entered the bedroom, I lay on the bed and pulled the covers over myself. Sleep took me almost instantly, thick and dreamless.

I was awakened by the sensation of someone touching me. Warm lips brushed my skin, slow and familiar. A hand traced my waist, possessive and certain. I stirred, my lashes fluttering open as I squinted against the dim light.

Adrian.

I sat up immediately, the remnants of sleep vanishing. “You’re back,” I said softly, my voice hoarse from rest.

He nodded, already loosening his tie. That was how he was, minimal words, no unnecessary explanations.

“Have you eaten?” I asked, a habit ingrained in me now.

“Yes,” he replied. He paused, then added, “I wanted you to rest today, so I didn’t wake you. But from tomorrow, you’ll wake up early. Help me get ready for work. Cook my meals. Prepare my lunch and send it with the driver in the afternoon.”

His words were calm, almost casual. Instructions delivered the same way one would assign tasks.

“Alright,” I replied without hesitation. He resumed what he had started earlier, his touch reclaiming me. I didn’t resist. I never did. This had become part of our routine, his desire, my compliance. We shared another night together, my body responding even when my heart felt distant. And like that, we slept.

That was how my life settled into rhythm in his house. I stared blankly at my reflection in the mirror.

************************************************

I was seated before the vanity in our bedroom, my hands resting limply on my lap. The woman staring back at me looked polished and composed, her skin glowing, her hair neatly styled. She wore expensive silk, her posture elegant.

Yet I did not recognize her.

This was not me. This could not be me.

Where was the Priscilla who used to wake up with purpose? The woman who worked hard, who felt confident walking into an office, who had dreams beyond walls and schedules? The person in the mirror looked hollow, dutiful, obedient, existing only for someone else.

I had turned into something unfamiliar in the name of love. I felt tired. No, I'm exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that sleep could not fix. My chest felt tight, my thoughts heavy. I was collapsing, slowly and silently, losing pieces of myself every day.

It had been two years since I married Adrian. Two years of obedience. Two years of devotion. Two years of shrinking.

I cooked. I cleaned. I followed his rules. I satisfied him whenever he wanted me, never denying him, not even when my body ached or my mind screamed for rest.

I told myself this was love. I told myself endurance was devotion. But in loving him, I had lost my voice. I had lost my freedom.

I was no longer living, I was revolving around him.

I was not allowed to go out unless it was with his family or to an official event by his side. In two years, I had visited my parents only three times, and each time, he followed me. My world had become smaller, my existence reduced to his schedule, his needs, his presence.

He was my husband, yes. But he was only there physically. Emotionally, he was absent. Spiritually, unreachable.

He controlled everything, where I went, what I did, who I saw. What I wear. And though he never raised his voice or his hand, I felt the weight of his control pressing down on me every single day.

Sometimes, I sensed fear in him. A deep, quiet insecurity, like a shadow he refused to acknowledge. But whatever haunted him did not give him the right to cage me.

Enough was enough.

I could feel myself breaking. If I didn’t speak now, I feared I might lose myself completely. I needed air. I needed purpose. I needed to work, to exist outside these walls.

I stood up and walked to the bed, lying back and staring at the ceiling. The chandelier above glittered softly, expensive and beautiful, just like everything else in this mansion. People said I was lucky. They said I had married well. They envied my life.

Yes, I married the man I loved. But this was not the life I wanted. Despite the luxury, the comfort, the wealth, I felt unbearably lonely.

The sound of the door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I sat upright instantly.

“Welcome back,” I said.

He nodded, loosening his cufflinks. He only spoke when necessary. Silence had become his language.

“I want to talk with you,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

He paused, finally looking at me. “I also want to talk,” he said. “But wait till I shower.”

I nodded, folding my hands together, waiting patiently as he disappeared into the bathroom. My heart raced. My palms were damp. I rehearsed my words in my mind, afraid yet determined.

Soon, he returned.

“Okay,” he said. “You can start.”

“It’s about us, Adrian. Please… I feel lonely and bored. I’m starting to lose my mind. Can you allow”

He cut me off before I could finish.

“I know you might feel bored or lonely,”

Adrian said calmly, adjusting his cufflinks, “That’s why we’re going out tomorrow night to a family gathering. You can prepare. Call the spa team and stylists so they can get you dressed.”

His tone was final, as if the matter had already been settled.

“Okay,” I said quietly, not arguing. I swallowed the words I wanted to say and nodded instead. I’ll talk to him another time, I told myself. This isn’t the right moment.