The next morning, the dining table was exactly the same. Empty and cold.
Julian was already seated in his chair at exactly six-thirty. The black coffee beside his tablet was still giving off a faint curl of steam at precisely ninety degrees. But one thing was different.
Usually, even though Julian never initiated a conversation, there would be a cup of hot tea waiting across the table for his wife. This morning, that spot was completely bare. Only a clean white plate sat there, untouched.
Julian looked up when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
Serena approached. She was wearing a gray business suit, her hair twisted into a careless bun. Without a greeting or a smile, she pulled out the chair across from her husband and poured herself tea from the little pot.
“Seven tonight,” Julian said, breaking the silence. “Remember to be ready on time. The company car is waiting downstairs.”
Serena slowly dipped her tea bag. “Okay.”
Just one word. So brief.
Julian tapped his fingers against the marble table. Something felt strange. Usually, Serena would ask all kinds of questions about the event that night. Who would be there, or what color tie would go best with that midnight-blue gown.
Now? She wouldn’t even spare him a glance.
“Martha made sure the gown fits?” Julian asked again, trying to draw her into a conversation.
Serena gave her husband a brief look, her eyes flat and expressionless. “Yes. It’s in the closet.”
After that, the room fell silent again. There was no continuation to the conversation. Serena busied herself chewing her toast, while Julian stared at his tablet screen without actually reading anything. An inexplicable irritation stirred in the man’s chest.
Usually, Serena’s constant questions annoyed him. But when his wife was truly silent like this, it was somehow far more irritating.
Julian finished the rest of his coffee, then stood.
“I’m leaving.”
“Mm. Be careful.”
Julian walked past the dining table. But even after he stepped into the private elevator, he couldn’t stop thinking about the blank expression on his wife’s face that morning.
By late afternoon, the atmosphere at Vance Group’s main office was no less hectic.
Julian sat in his spacious top-floor office. A stack of financial reports and meeting schedules lay neatly arranged before him. But his concentration had scattered. Twice, he misread the numbers on his monitor.
Usually, around this time, his assistant would come in with his afternoon coffee or remind him of his personal schedule. Today, his thoughts kept straying to the penthouse. To Serena, who had sat across from him that morning without even looking his way.
The man let out an irritated scoff, then snapped his laptop shut.
Something was wrong. And Julian hated anything beyond his control.