The clock in the penthouse lobby read 6:55 p.m.
Julian Vance stood leaning casually near the elevator. The bespoke black tailored suit wrapped flawlessly around his tall frame. His bow tie was fastened stiffly at his collar. His arms were folded across his chest. His eyes flicked to the Patek Philippe watch on his left wrist. Five minutes left.
Ding. The steel doors slid open.
Serena stepped out.
Julian's breath nearly caught. The midnight-blue velvet fundraiser gown fit his wife perfectly. Its hem fell to her ankles. The front was completely covered. Conservative. In keeping with Vance family standards. But when Serena moved, her back was slightly exposed. Elegant without being excessive. Her black hair was swept into a neat updo. The diamond earrings at her ears reflected the dim light from the chandelier.
Physically, Serena was perfect. One hundred percent Mrs. Vance Group.
But something was missing. Something crucial.
Usually, whenever she wore a new gown, Serena would smile brightly. Her eyes would sparkle with excitement. She would walk over, touch Julian's suit sleeve, then straighten the shirt collar that was already perfectly neat. After that, she would ask in a gentle voice, "Does the gown look good? Does it go with your suit?"
Tonight was different.
Forget smiling. Serena didn't even bother looking him in the eye. His wife walked straight past him. She headed for the console table to pick up her clutch. A fleeting whiff of vanilla perfume reached Julian's nose, suddenly feeling so unfamiliar.
"Are we leaving now?" Serena asked.
Her tone was flat. Blank. Hollow.
Julian cleared his throat softly, trying to dislodge the strange obstruction that had suddenly lodged at the base of his throat. "Yes. The car's downstairs."
The luxury sedan sped through the streets. Inside the cabin, silence reigned. It felt like a torturous isolation chamber.
Julian began to grow restless. Usually, Serena was the busiest person in the car. She would open her tablet. Go over the event rundown again. Remind Julian of the names of the older donors who needed to be greeted first. Sometimes, she would even fuss over whether her husband had taken his stomach vitamins before they left.
Now? Nothing.
Serena sat back against the leather seat. Her legs were crossed casually. Her eyes were turned toward the window, watching the capital's streetlights flash past. Her face was expressionless. She acted as if the man beside her had never existed.
Julian glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Once. Twice. Three times.
His throat felt itchy. He wanted to say something. He wanted to break this insane silence. But his pride was too great. A man like Julian Vance would never start a conversation about something unimportant. In the end, he chose to keep his mouth firmly shut.
The car stopped in front of the five-star hotel's lobby.
Flashes from the reporters' cameras immediately burst through the glass. This was a public moment. In front of the media, they were the picture-perfect elite couple. Stiff but solid. Far removed from ugly rumors.
The driver opened the door. Julian got out first. He adjusted his suit buttons. Then he turned and extended his left arm to Serena.
If everything had gone as usual, Serena would have taken it immediately. She would slip her arm through Julian's, move closer, then give the camera lenses her sweetest smile.
But her movements tonight were broken. Mechanical.
Serena did take his arm. But she left space between their shoulders. Her fingers felt cold. Julian felt as if he were escorting a plastic mannequin, not a human being.
"Smile a little. Stand a bit closer," Julian hissed. His teeth were clenched, holding back the emotion beginning to creep into his head.
Serena glanced at him. The corners of her lips lifted, forming a smile. But Julian knew exactly how fake it was. It was the standard smile Serena used when dealing with demanding overseas clients. Bland. It never reached her eyes.
Julian's chest suddenly throbbed with pain.
They passed through the double doors and entered the magnificent ballroom. Classical music immediately enveloped the room. Since tonight's event was a fundraiser for Serena's family foundation, it didn't take long for their colleagues to swarm them.
"Good evening, Mr. Julian, Mrs. Serena. It's an honor to see you here." Mr. Dirham, the director of a private bank, greeted them with a broad smile. The champagne glass in his hand rose into the air.
In situations like this that used to trap him, Serena had been his shield. She was the one who stepped forward. She had an excellent memory for names. She was the one who would liven up the small talk. Julian usually only needed to stand there looking handsome, nod, and project authority.
Tonight? His wife chose to remain silent.
Serena merely stood straight as a concrete pillar, leaving Julian to scramble for something to say in response.
"Thank you, Mr. Dirham. The foundation's events are always our priority," Julian replied, a little stiffly. His left hand unconsciously wrapped around Serena's waist, pulling her closer as he tried to hide their awkwardness from the sharp-eyed businesspeople.
"Mrs. Vance looks extraordinary tonight. Her gown is beautiful," Mr. Dirham praised, trying to draw Serena into the conversation.
Serena merely lowered her head slightly. There was no bashful smile.
"Thank you very much, sir. Please enjoy the food."
Short. Extremely polite. And an efficient killer of conversation. Mr. Dirham gave a dry laugh, slightly confused. The middle-aged man finally excused himself in a hurry and retreated toward the buffet table.
Julian's breathing quickened. The moment a quiet opening appeared near a massive pillar, he seized Serena by the waist with anything but a gentle grip. He forced his wife to face him.
"What's gotten into you?" Julian reprimanded her quietly. His voice was restrained, heavy with anger. "You're so stiff in front of my people. Are you trying to embarrass me on purpose?"
Instead of being intimidated, Serena looked entirely at ease.
She stopped a server passing by. Took a glass of mineral water. Sipped it once. Her movements were calm and unhurried. Only then did she return Julian's stare. Her eyes looked straight into his, but held no emotion at all.
"What exactly am I doing on purpose? I'm just carrying out my duty tonight," Serena replied. Her voice was soft, almost drowned out by the scrape of violins from the stage. But to Julian's ears, the words rang painfully loud.
Serena's eyes swept over the crowd of men in suits around them. "Show up on time. Wear the covered-up gown your assistant picked out. Stand beside you. Protect your reputation. Smile for the reporters' cameras."
Serena turned her gaze back to her husband's face. A faint smile touched her lips. A smile colder than a block of ice.
"Did I miss any part of those instructions, Julian?"
Julian froze. His jaw stiffened. His tongue went numb.
His wife's words struck his ears with brutal force. There wasn't a single word he could refute. Because that list of rules was exactly what he had made absolute when they agreed to this marriage on paper three years ago. Everything was purely functional. Tactical. There was no need for feelings.
But damn it... hearing Serena repeat those rules to his face with an expression as flat as plywood made Julian feel as if he'd just been slapped hard in the middle of a crowd.