Morning sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains of the master bedroom. Julian woke with a throbbing head.
He had slept poorly all night, waking every few hours. His eyes reflexively flicked toward the left side of the king-size bed. Empty. The sheets there were still perfectly neat, cold, and completely untouched.
Julian roughly rubbed his face. He got out of bed, took a quick cold shower, put on his gray suit, then glanced at his watch.
6:25 a.m. Five minutes before his usual breakfast time.
A flicker of ego whispered inside his head. Serena must already be downstairs. His wife had only been carried away by her emotions last night, he thought. After sleeping separately and cooling off, she would surely return to her morning routine. Prepare breakfast, sit prettily at the end of the table, and act as if nothing had happened.
Julian left the bedroom. His steps halted for a moment in front of the guest-room door.
The door was slightly open.
Julian pushed it gently. Empty. The bed had been perfectly remade. The blanket was folded neatly, without a single flaw. There was absolutely no sign that Serena had been there.
Julian's brow furrowed. He turned, strode quickly toward the elevator, rode down to the lower floor, then walked straight toward the dining room.
His steps slowed.
The six-meter marble table stood completely empty.
There was no Serena sitting across from him with the morning paper. No cup of hot tea. Even his cup of black coffee, kept at ninety degrees, had not been served. There was only the clean, smooth, gleaming marble surface.
The dining room was silent. Dead.
"Auntie Anna!" Julian called. His voice was louder and sharper than usual.
Auntie Anna hurried out from the kitchen. The middle-aged woman's face looked startled and flustered. She quickly wiped her wet hands on her apron. "Yes, Mr. Vance?"
"Where's my breakfast? Where's my coffee?" Julian asked without preamble. "And where's Serena?"
Auntie Anna nervously twisted the edge of her apron. She didn't dare look her employer directly in the face. "Mrs. Serena... has already left, Mr. Vance. She called a cab a little before six."
"Left? Where is she going this early?"
"To the office, Mr. Vance. She said she had a lot of work that needed to be finished right away." Auntie Anna swallowed hard. "As for the coffee... Mrs. Serena didn't leave any instructions this morning. Usually, Mrs. Serena brews it herself and measures the temperature. I... I'll make it now, Mr. Vance?"
Julian fell silent. His chest suddenly felt as if it had been crushed beneath a concrete beam.
Serena had truly washed her hands of everything. She hadn't bothered taking care of his morning anymore. She didn't care what he drank, what he ate for breakfast, or what time he left.
A functional wife. Nothing more, nothing less.
His wife's words from the night before echoed in his ears.
"Don't bother," Julian refused coldly. His tone made Auntie Anna flinch. "I'm leaving now."
Vance Group's main building. Fiftieth floor.
The marketing division meeting that morning suddenly felt like a horror show.
"These numbers don't make sense. What did you use to calculate them? A broken calculator?"
Julian tossed the blue folder into the middle of the glass table. He wasn't shouting. His tone was level and flat. But the icy atmosphere radiating from him was enough to make everyone in the room hold their breath.
The managers lowered their heads. No one dared speak, much less protest. Julian Vance was well known as a perfectionist boss with little mercy to spare. But today... the man's aura was far more terrifying than usual. One wrong word, and a formal disciplinary warning could be issued on the spot.
Julian pressed hard at the bridge of his nose. His concentration was shot.
For a while now, his eyes had been unable to stop glancing toward the phone lying beside his tablet. The screen was dark. Black. Not a single notification had come in.
Usually, around ten in the morning, there was always one message from Serena. Her messages were never long. Usually just, Don't forget to take your stomach vitamins after the meeting. Or, My afternoon is free, so I'll send lunch from your favorite restaurant to your office, okay?
In the past, Julian had considered those messages a minor but bothersome interruption. Something he could skim from the lock screen, then ignore without ever deigning to reply. He'd felt he didn't need reminders about trivial things like that.
But today? The phone was silent.
And that silence successfully pushed Julian's temper to the boiling point.
"Meeting's over. Fix this garbage report before lunch," Julian declared unilaterally.
He stood immediately, roughly buttoned his suit jacket, and strode out of the conference room, leaving more than a dozen subordinates exhaling in unison as if they'd just escaped a firing squad.
The moment he entered his spacious office, Julian dropped heavily into his executive chair.
Martha, his efficient personal assistant, followed him in. She carried a cup of black coffee and carefully set it on her boss's desk.
"Your coffee, sir. And here's the revised schedule for your meeting with the client from Singapore this afternoon."
Julian ignored the folder Martha held out. His eyes fixed on his assistant.
"Martha."
"Yes, sir?"
"Did you get any calls or messages on your number this morning? From home?" Julian asked flatly.
Martha looked slightly confused. She took a quick look at her tablet. "From the penthouse? No, sir. Did you leave an important document at home? If so, I can ask the driver to pick it up right now."
"No. Forget it. Get out."
Martha nodded politely, then hurried out of the room before her boss could change his mind and unload his anger on her.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Julian leaned back. His eyes stared at the ceiling of his office.
Serena hadn't been bluffing. His wife wasn't throwing a tantrum to get attention. She had genuinely cut off every form of care she'd given him freely for the past three years.
Julian leaned forward. He reached for the coffee Martha had made and took a small sip.
His brow immediately furrowed. The water was too hot, nearly burning the tip of his tongue. And it was too bitter, with none of the precise balance that usually soothed his stomach every morning. It was nothing like Serena's coffee.
Irritated, Julian set the cup roughly back onto its saucer. Some of the black liquid spilled, staining his usually spotless desk.
Damn it.
For the first time in their marriage, Julian's logic was slapped in the face by a bitter reality. All this time, he'd thought he was invincible. He'd thought he was independent and in control of everything.
But today, he realized that he was the one who had quietly become deeply dependent on his wife's presence. And now, he was completely panicked because she had stopped caring.