Love Unspoken

Paralyzed in uncertainty, Quinn stood there, feeling like a jester in the throes of unrequited love. "Just leave it," Alexander commanded, his voice devoid of emotion. Quinn acquiesced, her movements muted as she retreated from the study. Behind her, Getty's voice persisted, a plea wrapped in a demand. "We agreed you'd accompany me to the press conference tomorrow. Don't let me down." "Mm," was the only response. "Guess what? I did a livestream yesterday and raked in over ten grand. Impressive, isn't it?" "Impressive," Alexander echoed, his commendation laced with indifference.Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

"Moreover, I got an offer from a talent agency. Should I sign with them? Do you think I have a shot at fame?" "If that's what you desire, you have my backing."

The remainder of the conversation slipped past Quinn, not that she needed to hear more. Alexander always indulged Getty, allowing her a freedom that seemed boundless in his company. She was free to socialize, to express her emotions, to chase her dreams.

Getty was a complete entity, living a life that was equally whole. In stark contrast, Quinn felt like a mere puppet, undeserving of a life that was truly hers.

After a few perfunctory bites of dinner, Quinn retreated to her bedroom. Sleep proved elusive, and her insomnia intensified, leaving her tossing and turning for hours. Eventually, Alexander joined her. He slid into bed with a practiced ease, yet he did not enfold her in his arms as he once did. They lay back-to-back, their bodies creating a tangible divide in the bed they shared.

Clutching the pillow, Quinn closed her eyes, trying to ignore the void beside her. Even with her eyes shut, the overhead light seemed blindingly bright.

Unable to succumb to sleep, Quinn eventually rose. She moved through the bathroom to the living room, where she curled up on the couch, burying her head in the crook of her arm to block out the light. Half an hour later, she felt a weight on her and looked up to find a blanket draped over her. Alexander stood there, his hair tousled, looking boyishly charming in his pajamas. It was a look that always made her feel as if she were slipping back in time.

Startled, she sat up quickly. Alexander settled beside her and suggested, "Getting a job might help alleviate your boredom." Quinn stared at him, her expression blank.

After a moment, she raised her hands to sign, "Can I make friends if I get a job?""You can if you want, but that's if you manage to make any," he retorted. Did his comment insinuate she was incapable of making friends? Perhaps it did. After all, who would want to associate with someone who couldn't even talk? Quinn signed, "Where will I work?" "What do you want to do?" he countered.

Quinn confessed, "I want to sing."""You want to sing." Alexander laughed, but it was a derisive laugh. "Are you starting to defy me now?"She wasn't defying him. She genuinely yearned to sing. It was a deep-seated dream of hers, a wild fancy.She also harbored a longing for a divorce, a desire as unattainable as her dream of singing.Alexander's smirk faded as he regarded her impassively. "I'll give you one last chance. What do you want to do?"Quinn gestured, "I don't know."