Chapter 30: No Fun

Emerging from the bathroom, I was met with whistles and nasty words from onlookers. Their remarks were inconsequential to me, as I already felt like a pincushion, riddled with holes. How could I care about their needle-like stings?

Devon noticed my unsteady footing and ushered me into the car. I drifted in and out of consciousness during the journey, only to awaken the next day in my own bed.

After rising and taking a bath, I submerged myself in the tub, observing a tangle of black hair floating in the water. Recalling the humiliating events from the previous day, a surge of inner turmoil engulfed me. Stepping out of the bathtub, still damp, I disregarded my appearance and searched for a pair of scissors, promptly trimming my waist-length hair to the nape of my neck.

The thought of facing Devon's displeasure at my altered appearance weighed heavily on me.

As I finished drying off, I made my way downstairs. Devon's expression shifted from surprise to anger upon seeing my short hair as I entered the cafeteria, but I pretended as if nothing had changed.

If he didn't like my hair, then he wouldn't have it.

Standing behind me, Devon caressed my short hair and remarked, "Aria, I had hoped that yesterday's incident would serve as a wake-up call for you, but it seems you are becoming increasingly indifferent."

I laughed coldly and retorted, "Devon has supported me for years, and it's time for me to reciprocate. Just socializing with clients? No problem. I simply prefer the convenience of short hair."

Devon's hand hesitated, and his tone softened, tinged with unexpected sadness. "Aria, must you speak to me in this manner now?"

I maintained my aggressive demeanor. "I have always been this way. I was pretending before."

"Fine." Devon withdrew his hand and left the room.

He was absent for lunch and most of the afternoon, appearing only in the late afternoon to instruct me to pack up as Balley would be picking me up.

Attending dinner with Devon and Balley, I wore a sheath dress, heels, and a puffer jacket. As the evening progressed, I smiled at everyone, raised my glass, and removed my jacket when I grew warm, exposing my bare back and shoulders. It was evident that several individuals were openly staring at me with lustful intent.

Amidst the crowd, Devon observed my actions, his eyes betraying little emotion. After some time, he advised, "It's chilly. Put your jacket on and don't catch a cold."

I playfully leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, remarking, "People are warm, and a drink warms the body."

"You," Devon glanced at me briefly before continuing, "were intoxicated, and I asked Balley to take you home."

Dismissing his concern, I insisted, "I can still handle my drink. I'm not drunk," reaching for a glass of wine on the table.

Unheeding, Devon called for Balley and promptly escorted me out.

As I stumbled into the car, clutching onto my drunkenness, I found myself sprawled in the backseat on the journey home. Despite my grogginess, there was a small, secret joy in knowing Devon, even if just a little. He never approved of me attending such events, and he particularly disapproved of my subdued demeanor. It had been at least two years since he last took me to any drinking party.

He likely hoped my discomfort would lead to surrender, but I persisted, denying him the satisfaction of tormenting me.

The next day, as I stirred awake, I found him lying beside me, too inebriated to recall his return.

Noticing my consciousness, he reached out, gently touching my cheek, and after a moment's reflection, uttered softly, "Aria, let's stop this, alright? Let's return to how things used to be."

I didn't wish to degrade myself merely to spite him. Realistically, escaping my current circumstances was futile. Since he began to plead for peace, I resigned myself to acquiescence. But finding pleasing words for him now felt near impossible.

I opted to keep my eyes shut, ignoring his presence. Unperturbed by my silence, he persisted, "I've been excessive lately, I promise it won't happen again."

Turning away, I murmured, "Fine, I won't leave."

He drew closer, enveloping me in his embrace, murmuring against my neck, "It's good to have you back, though your long hair is sorely missed."

Devon remained the most esteemed figure in my life, his existence a nostalgic journey as he claimed. Each day felt like a return to a time before the hardships, with outsiders mistaking us for the epitome of a perfect couple.

His happiness seemed performative, and I found myself playing along, barred from employment and monitored by Balley whenever he ventured out. The audience for his act remained unclear.

Living in such a manner seemed devoid of purpose to me.