Regrets.

 Annabella rushed to her room, her vision blurred by the tears she couldn't hold back any longer. She slammed the door behind her, collapsing onto the bed as tears fell on her body. Every word Andrew had said, every cold glance he had given her, echoed in her mind.

 "Why did I ever agree to this?" She questioned herself.

 She put her face in her pillow, the sound of her cries filling the empty room. She had thought, foolishly, that maybe things would get better, that maybe Andrew would change over time. She had told herself that the contract was only for a year, just a year, and then she could be free. But as each day passed, it became harder to hold onto that hope.

 "Why did I think he could change? she asked herself, her heart aching. She had entered into the contract marriage out of desperation to save her mother, thinking that enduring Andrew's coldness would be worth it in the end. But now, all she felt was regret. Regret for allowing herself to be trapped in this loveless arrangement. Regret for thinking that Andrew, with all his wealth and power, would ever see her as more than just a tool.

The tears wouldn't stop. She hugged her knees to her chest, her body trembling as she wept. "It's just a year," she whispered to herself, trying to convince her breaking heart. "Just one year…"

 But deep down, Anna wasn't sure she could last that long.

 Meanwhile, Andrew was downstairs, his anger still simmering from the confrontation with Annabella. He summoned the maids, his tone cold and commanding as they gathered before him in the living room.

 "Who left the house chores to my wife?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

 The maids stood in silence, exchanging nervous glances. No one dared to speak, knowing that Andrew's temper was nothing to be taken lightly.

 Andrew's eyes darkened, his patience wearing thin. "I asked a question," he snapped. "Who was supposed to clean today?"

 One of the maids, a timid young woman, finally stepped forward, her hands trembling as she spoke. "I... I was, sir," she stammered. "But I... I didn't think she would do it... I'm so sorry."

 Andrew's gaze pierced through her, making her flinch. "I don't pay you to 'think,'" he growled. "I pay you to do your job. If I ever find out that Annabella has to lift a finger again, you will all face the consequences. Do you understand?"

 The maids nodded quickly, fear evident in their eyes. Andrew's threats were never empty, and they all knew it.

"Good," Andrew said, his voice cold. "Now get out of my sight."

 The maids hurried out of the room, leaving Andrew standing alone in the quiet house. His thoughts drifted back to Annabella, recalling the hurt in her eyes when he had scolded her earlier. For a moment, something stirred inside him—something like guilt. But he quickly pushed it away.

" She's my wife, not a maid, he reminded himself, but the thought did little to ease the pain in his chest."

 Annabella's tears, however, continued to fall upstairs, her heart heavy with the weight of regret and the realization that no matter what she did, Andrew would never truly care for her. She had entered this marriage with the hope of saving her mother, but in the process, she had lost herself.