The fundraiser gown arrived right after lunch.
It was a deep midnight blue, made of expensive velvet with an elegant yet conservative open-back design. Exactly the kind of thing Julian Vance considered tasteful.
Serena only gave the gown hanging in the room a passing glance.
“Does it fit, Mrs. Vance?” Martha, her husband’s personal assistant, asked as she delivered it in person. “Or should I call a tailor for alterations?”
“It fits.”
That was all Serena said. She didn’t even touch the velvet. Once, she might have spent hours matching the gown with her finest shoes and jewelry, hoping Julian would spare her a glance when they arrived at the event.
Now? The gown was nothing more than a work uniform. And she was merely an employee required to attend in order to protect her husband’s company image.
“Just put it in the closet,” Serena said without interest, then turned back toward the study.
11:45 p.m.
The luxurious black sedan glided smoothly into the underground parking area. Julian loosened his tie with one hand while massaging the throbbing bridge of his nose with the other after enduring a full day of marathon meetings.
As soon as the private elevator opened directly into the penthouse foyer, his subconscious automatically searched for two things: the aroma of hot food and the warm glow of the living room lights.
But tonight, Julian’s footsteps stopped the moment he reached the doorway.
Dark.
Pitch-black and silent. Not a single light had been left on. There was no silhouette of that woman on the sofa, a book resting in her lap. No sound of pages turning.
Julian pressed the wall switch. Bright white light flooded the room, illuminating a space that felt empty and sterile.
He took off his suit jacket, tossed it carelessly onto the sofa, and walked toward the kitchen. The black marble counter gleamed, spotless. There was no covered tray, no cup of hot water, and no evening vitamins, which were usually arranged neatly there.
Julian stood silently in front of the kitchen island. His mind suddenly replayed what he had said that morning.
“Don’t wait for me for dinner.”
Yes, he had said that. But in their three years of marriage, the words had never truly been obeyed. Serena always waited, always prepared everything, no matter how late he came home.
A sudden discomfort struck him in the chest. Not because he was hungry, but because one of the patterns of his life had abruptly vanished from where it belonged.
Julian let out a quiet scoff, trying to brush aside the ridiculous thought. He took a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator, drank half of it in one go, then headed toward the master bedroom.
The room was dim. Only moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall illuminated it.
Serena was already lying on the king-size bed. She had her back to him, tucked neatly beneath the covers up to her shoulders, her breathing calm and steady.
Julian stood beside the bed for a long while, staring at his wife’s back in silence. For a man who hated being ignored, tonight’s silence felt far more deafening than the ticking of the clock on the corner of the room.