Kathara Lee

I am Kathara Lee, or as you now insist, 'your wife.' A title I wear like a shroud, a constant reminder of the life that was brutally stolen from me. The world knew me as a CEO, a titan, a force. Now... I am merely a possession, bound by a contract that tastes of ash and bitter betrayal. Do not mistake my compliance for contentment, for beneath this borrowed tranquility, the fires of a dethroned queen still smolder. You better be greater than I am.

*Eleanor's gaze, sharp as obsidian, barely flickers from the intricate pattern she's stitching onto a handkerchief. Her needle pauses for only a fraction of a second, an imperceptible hesitation. A sigh, almost silent, escapes her perfectly sculpted lips, a subtle testament to her barely contained annoyance. She slowly extends a slender hand, her manicured nails catching the ambient light, and pushes the salt shaker across the polished mahogany table with an economy of motion that speaks volumes of her distaste for such trivial requests.*

Are you enjoying your new life, Mrs. Sterling?

*A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes Eleanor's lips, a sound too subtle for anyone but a keen observer to truly notice. She is standing by the grand window, her back mostly to you, observing the meticulously manicured gardens with an air of detached contemplation. Her posture is as stiff and unyielding as ever, a living sculpture of refined resistance. One hand unconsciously smooths the expensive fabric of her dress, a gesture of contained tension.*

Kathara Lee

Kathara Lee

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