Chapter 2
Corine's POV
It has been almost eight months since I got married, and today feels like a good day.
I wake up to the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains of our penthouse bedroom. The sheets beside me are still warm, and I know Allen must have just gotten out of bed. I stretch lazily before rolling over, catching the scent of his cologne lingering in the air.
The sound of movement from the kitchen tells me he's still home. A small smile tugs at my lips as I slip out of bed, pulling on one of Allen's button-down shirts over my silk nightgown. The fabric is crisp against my skin, smelling faintly of him.
I find him at the stove, flipping pancakes with one hand while sipping coffee with the other. He looks effortlessly handsome in his loose-fitting gray sweatpants and a fitted black T-shirt. His blonde hair is slightly tousled from sleep, and for a moment, I just stand there, watching him.
"Didn't know you could cook," I tease, leaning against the doorframe.
Allen turns and grins. "I have hidden talents." He gestures toward the plate of golden pancakes stacked high on the counter. "Come, sit. I made breakfast."
I pad barefoot across the marble floor and take a seat at the island, my stomach rumbling at the sight of the food. Allen slides a plate in front of me and presses a quick kiss to my forehead before sitting beside me.
I drizzle syrup over my pancakes, stealing a glance at him as he eats. We don't always get mornings like this. He's usually rushing off to work, and I'm either buried in projects for my beauty and clothing brand or preparing for my next campaign. But today, we have a rare moment of quiet together.
"This feels nice," I say softly, cutting into my pancake.
Allen nods, reaching for my hand. "It does. We should do this more often."
A comfortable silence settles between us as we eat, and for a while, everything feels perfect. Like the world outside doesn't exist, and it's just the two of us in our own little bubble.
After breakfast, I gather the dishes and begin rinsing them in the sink. Allen comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder.
"Leave them. I'll get them later."
I smile but shake my head. "I don't mind."
He presses a kiss to the side of my neck before stepping back. "I have to head to the office soon. You have plans today?"
I nod, wiping my hands on a towel. "Yeah, I was thinking of filming a 'Get Ready With Me' video before heading out for some shopping."
Allen smirks. "Of course. Retail therapy."
I roll my eyes playfully and push him toward the bedroom so he can get dressed. Once he's gone, I set up my phone in front of my vanity, adjusting the lighting before pressing record.
"Hey, loves," I greet my followers, flashing a smile. "It's been a while since I did one of these, so let's get ready together!"
I go through my morning skincare routine, chatting about my plans for the day. My hands move with practiced ease, blending my foundation, dabbing on blush, and carefully lining my lips. Everything feels routine, effortless.
Until it doesn't.
As I pick up my mascara, something shifts. The air in the room suddenly feels heavier, the light dimmer. A chill runs down my spine, and a strange, creeping exhaustion settles over me. My vision blurs slightly, my hands trembling as I try to steady myself.
Then I hear it.
A whisper. Soft, but unmistakable.
I freeze, my grip on the mascara tightening. The voice is familiar, yet foreign. Distant, yet unbearably close. I glance at my reflection in the mirror, my pulse quickening. My own eyes stare back at me, wide and slightly unfocused.
I try to shake it off, forcing a small laugh. "Wow, I think I need more sleep," I mumble, brushing off my the unease. I reach to turn off the recording, but my fingers hesitate over the screen.
Another whisper. Louder this time.
"Stop."
The word sends a shiver through me. I whip around, my heart hammering. The room is empty. Of course, it is.
I exhale shakily, pressing a hand to my forehead. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe it's nothing.
But deep down, I know better.
The whispers haven't come in months. Not since I started my new medication. But now they're back, creeping in like shadows at the edges of my mind.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to steady my breathing. I just need to get up, move around, do something to ground myself. I stand and take a step toward the bathroom, but the moment my foot touches the floor, my body suddenly feels unbearably heavy.
The exhaustion slams into me all at once. My legs buckle, and I barely manage to catch myself against the vanity. My head spins, and the room warps around me, shifting like a distorted dream.
Then the voices return. Not whispers this time, but full-blown echoes, overlapping, suffocating.
"You're not good enough."
"Everyone knows you're a fraud."
"Allen doesn't love you anymore."
My breath comes in short gasps as I grip the edge of the vanity. The walls seem to close in, the once bright and airy room turning cold and suffocating.
I fumble for my phone, my hands shaking as I scroll to Allen's contact. The screen blurs before me, but I manage to press the call button. It rings twice before his voice comes through, sharp with concern.
"Corine?"
I try to speak, but my throat feels tight. "I-I need you to come home." My voice is barely a whisper. "Please."
There's no hesitation. "I'm on my way. Stay where you are."
I let the phone slip from my hand as I sink to the floor, curling into myself. My heart pounds in my chest, the voices relentless. The minutes stretch, each second dragging painfully.
Then, finally, I hear the front door open. Footsteps rush toward me, and within moments, Allen is kneeling beside me, his arms wrapping around me.
"I'm here, baby," he murmurs, his voice steady, soothing. "You're okay. I've got you."
I clutch onto him, my fingers digging into his shirt. The voices don't stop immediately, but they begin to fade, replaced by the steady rhythm of his breathing.
He strokes my hair, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Talk to me."
I swallow hard. "They came back," I whisper.
Allen's arms tighten around me. "I've got you," he repeats. "You're not alone. We'll figure this out."
I want to believe him. I really do. But deep down, I know this isn't the last time the darkness will come creeping back.
And that terrifies me.