Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. I only own the plot. I am sorry if the plot happens to be similar to other works; I assure you, it is not intentional. If you feel the need to contact me regarding the plot, please do so via the personal messenger or review. Thank you.

(A/N) Should any of you notice grammatical errors that may or may not have been glaring at me at the moment, please indicate so in a review. Much obliged. Constructive criticism is very much welcome as I am only starting to venture into writing POTO fanfiction. Thanks.


Prologue

The servants have been dismissed for the night. After all, she did want to serve her husband as a wife should.

Everything is ready. The lights are dimmed, romantic dinner music is ready at hand, the table is set for two, and the gourmet food that she herself prepared is placed on the table among the expertly folded napkins and wonderfully arranged flowers.

Yes, everything is set – all that was lacking is the man of the house.

The woman smoothened out nonexistent creases on her silk skirt. She turned to the grandfather clock in the sitting room.

He should have been home by now.

Full of nervous energy, she stood up from her position on the couch and headed towards the full-body mirror.

Her pale face stared back at her from the mirror. Rich brown eyes once full of the vivacity of life are now shadowed with anxiety and tentative fear. Cheeks that used to be rosy on its own are now painted on to hide its almost sunken appearance and sickly pallor. Lips are chapped under the mask of red lipstick and eye bags hidden by concealer. Her bouncy curls are tucked neatly into a bun. Anyone looking at her would think her a woman jaded by worldly issues rather than a maiden barely out of teenage life.

Apparently, months of wedded bliss pass very quickly.

She glided on the marble floor as though a specter haunting a gloomy place. She sank back into her seat and carefully bent her head in despair.

The week was wrought with tempests in their household, pulling husband and wife apart and creating a rift that was nearing a state that could not be mended. A storm is building up and she is determined to stop it from occurring; most especially due to the knowledge she gained that morning.

The clock chimed the next hour.

Her husband is really late.

She let out a sigh. He probably did not think that she would stay up to wait for him nor would he have guessed that she wished to surprise him.

A faint sound of an automobile parking was heard.

He is here.

Delicately, she stood up and took one last look at the mirror to ensure that she was presentable enough before moving to open the front door for her husband.

The massive door was opened to reveal a seemingly inebriated masked man, marked by his unbalanced stance and the unkempt appearance of his usually tidy hair.

"What're you doing up so late?" He slurred as he entered his home with uneven steps, tossing his briefcase and keys on the couch as he did so. "Did I tell you to do so?" He breathed in front of his wife's face after she has locked the door.

The woman's eyes widened in shock at the man's behavior and menacing facial expression that she did not notice that the smell of alcohol was very faint and there appears to be lucidity behind the man's eyes.

"I-I-I just thought that…"

"Quit stammering woman!" The man ran his fingers through his hair as he turned his back on her. "Not that I care for what you utter," He muttered in an undertone that cannot be missed by her. He loosened his tie while trudging towards the dining room. "Well, let's not waste your presence; summon a maid to prepare me a meal."

The brunette trailed behind the tall man. "I dismissed them for the night." She said weakly.

"You what! How am I to eat now?!" He turned abruptly and, with madness reflected on his face, motioned as though to strike the woman who showed signs of being terrified. The tyrant pulled back at the last second as though remembering himself. "Never do that again." He reiterated, tapping his wife's forehead with his finger at each word. He sneered at her. "Apparently, I would've made do with your lackluster culinary skills – if any, that is." He slightly slurred the insult out.

He was about to continue insulting his better half when he became aware of the dinner spread before him. He stopped and stood at the doorway.

The woman apprehensively bit her lip and kept her head down from behind the man. She was unsure of how he will react. For the past weeks, the man in front of her appears to have completely transformed into someone she did not know. Had she observed intently the emotions on her husband's exposed half of face, she would have registered a flicker of wretchedness and sorrow before reverting to his passive expression.

To her surprise and agitation, the man laughed, bursts of sound that sent a shiver down her spine. He grabbed her by the forearms and had her face-to-face.

"So, you think you can bribe me with food, eh?" He spat at her. "Well, missy, I don't think that's a good idea seeing that I was the one who paid for the resources used to prepare this." He gestured towards the spread. "What's the idea? What prank are you planning on pulling right now? What trickery are you conjuring now, woman? How low can you go?" He let a hand slide from the forearm to her chest and stomach.

Feeling his hand on her stomach made the woman pull away and find her voice. "You're not yourself tonight," She firmly said. "I need to tell you something; I'll do it tomorrow instead." She proceeded to lead him to his seat at the table. "For now, you should eat."

"Why are you doing this?" The man mumbled from his seat, gazing unseeingly at his empty plate. "I'm not paying you to do this – to take care of me." He said the last part inaudibly to himself.

His wife stared at him. Is not this what wives do for their husbands?

Without warning, the man stood up to his full height, illuminating his mask in the low light that cast shadows about the place.

"What's wrong?" The woman was ready to stand her ground. Too long she has let this man control their life. "Would you now explain anything to me or would you just let your rage overpower you?" She bit out.

"What is wrong, you ask." The husband bared his teeth. "You ARE the problem, my dear."

"Me?" She raised her eyebrow defiantly. "Care to expound, dear husband."

He ran his fingers through his mussed up black hair. "Ever since we came back here, you have proceeded to defy me at every turn."

"I have done no such thing!" She replied with indignation.

"There you go again!" He laughed sardonically, tearing his eyes away from her and the setup in the dining room. "Let's recap then," He moved to get something from their bar when his wife blocked his way. "Move away, woman. I need my drink!"

"No. Stop avoiding the issue and talk to me." She met his ferocious glare bravely. "Where have you been and what's wrong? What's happening?" She gestured between them. "What's happening to us?"

"Fine then!" He raised his arms in mock surrender. "So, inspector, shall I begin from the start or shall I tread along the path haphazardly?"

It was not dignified with an answer and he did not expect one.

He continued. "You see, dear wife," The endearment was used scornfully. "This week has been hell. Hell everywhere! From work up to this farce we call home." He headed towards the sitting room and continued to rant drunkenly. "What's taking me months, no, years, to build up you almost ruin in a day of gallivanting around the city!"

"What?" She questioned, confused.

"Reputation! Damn it! The company's reputation! My name! Our name!" He shook her, holding her by her shoulders and placing his face near hers. "Thanks to my idiotic father, the Destler name is deep in mud. I am building it up from that level and you, dear wife, are dragging me down!" He pushed her away. "You were seen in a bar. Damn it! A bar! In a bar, flaunting your self for the entertainment of the public! Woman, do you think that would credit me in any way? My wife exploiting herself in a public place!"

Her face colored in offense. "The way you tell it, you make it appear as though I'm a woman of the night!"

The enraged corporate mogul scoffed. "Dearest, in this society, it's as bad as that."

"First of all, it was not an ordinary bar – it's a -."

"I don't care what it's called, dearest."

"Second, I was not flaunting myself for public entertainment, as you eloquently put it. I was performing! I was merely singing!"

"Flaunting yourself, your talent, same thing!"

"But, music flows in my blood! How can you –!"

"Did I not instruct you to drop that issue? Did I not instruct you to quit performing anywhere? Did you not just quit from your role in the theater?"

"For your information, I did not quit from the theater – YOU quit me from - !"

"EXACTLY! That would mean you are banned from performing! You discredit me in that way."

"Is that all you think about? Your reputation? What about my dreams? Why did you marry me anyway?"

The man fell silent in front of her, staring stonily at her. "Did I even marry you?"

The woman, tired from their row, stooped in defeat. "I think this is enough for the night. You're tired and not yourself." She touched his arm lightly. "We should get to bed."

"That's what you are good for," He glared malevolently as he whispered the next word. "Whore."

The woman froze. "What did you say?" She carefully enunciated each word.

"Whore. That's what you are." Seeing the face of the woman coloring, he continued. "Or maybe not, prostitutes get paid don't they?"

The woman stood still, simmering in anger and frozen with shock.

The man bent down to get open his briefcase from the couch. "I think this should clarify things, dearest." He pulled out a folder and tossed it at the woman's feet.

She bent down and opened the file, sucking her breath as matters became clearer or foggier to her. "Th-this ca-can't be true. Lies!" She chucked the file back to the man.

"I'm afraid its true, my dear." He caught the file suavely and waved in the air. "We've both been victims. We've been conned. We've been in hell these past months. Maybe this is our salvation."

She continued to shake her head slowly as she wrapped her arms around her middle.

"Our marriage is null and void. It never took place." He said the words aloud as though to add credibility to it. "The presiding person was a fake. He did not have the right to do it. This whole thing, apparently, is a farce." He stepped closer to her. "You are not my wife. I am not your husband. Thank the heavens!" He laughed bitterly.

She raised her head one last time to look into the eyes of the man she thought that loved her. She only saw intense hatred on his face when he said the next words.

"We can now part ways without casting a shadow on our public image!"

Christine Daae, not Destler, bit her lip to keep her from crying in front of the man as she fled the room.

The man sank down the couch, took off his mask, and wiped the sweat off his face. Erik Destler wept.