3:15 a.m.
Julian stared wide-eyed at the ceiling of the master bedroom. Lying on his back in the darkness atop the king-size bed that usually felt so comfortable, he couldn't sleep.
He had kept his eyes closed for more than three hours, tossing and turning from side to side, raising the AC temperature and then lowering it again. But sleep refused to come. The bed suddenly felt too big. Too cold. And too lonely.
Julian let out a rough snort. He threw off his thick blanket and climbed out of bed.
He walked out of the bedroom barefoot. At first, all he wanted was to get a bottle of cold water from the kitchen to cool his head, which had been boiling ever since his argument with Serena several hours earlier.
The penthouse was completely still that night. The only sound was the rush of the night wind hitting the floor-to-ceiling glass wall.
Julian opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of mineral water, and drank straight from it. The cold water ran down his throat, but it failed to extinguish the strange feeling gnawing at his chest. He leaned his hips against the black marble kitchen island. His eyes stared straight ahead at the dimly lit living room.
His gaze locked onto the single leather sofa in the corner.
Suddenly, without warning, a memory from the past slammed into his mind.
It had happened during the first year of their marriage. It was the rainy season then. Julian had been dealing with a major crisis at the company after a supplier ran off with the project funds. He had worked himself to the bone, barely slept, and didn't arrive at the penthouse until three in the morning, his body feeling ready to collapse.
Julian remembered exactly what had greeted him that night.
The living room lights were off, leaving only a single golden-yellow reading lamp. Serena was curled up on the corner sofa. She was wearing long satin pajamas, hugging a thick novel to her chest, and sleeping with even breaths.
A row of covered trays sat on the dining table, already completely cold.
The moment she heard the private elevator doors open, Serena woke up. Her eyes were still red and watery with sleep, and her hair was slightly mussed. But the first thing she did was smile. It was a smile of pure relief at seeing Julian come home safely.
“You’re home?” Serena's voice had been hoarse then. She hurriedly pushed aside her small blanket. “Take a warm shower first. I’ll heat up the food. You haven’t eaten since lunch, have you?”
Instead of being touched, the exhausted, egotistical young Julian responded coldly.
“Don’t bother,” Julian refused curtly as he tossed down his suit jacket. “I already told you not to wait for me. Why waste your time staying up until three in the morning just to warm up food the housekeeper could handle tomorrow morning? Go to sleep. You’re only making me feel guilty for disrupting your sleep schedule.”
Julian still remembered exactly how the smile faded from Serena’s face that night. The woman's hand, reaching to carry the tray to the microwave, stopped in midair.
Serena lowered her head, squeezed the hem of her pajamas, and nodded slowly. “Sorry. I just... I was worried. All right, I’ll go to bed first. Good night, Julian.”
At the time, Julian thought his reprimand had been justified. He hated small talk. He hated illogical trouble. He thought his warning would make Serena stop wasting her energy on inefficient things.
Now, three years later, Julian stood in the same kitchen again. At the exact same hour. Three fifteen in the morning.
The man stared at the corner sofa.
It was empty. There was no blanket fallen on the floor. No book lying carelessly nearby. No sleepy-eyed woman forcing a smile to welcome him home.
The yellow reading lamp was off. The room had been left in complete darkness.
Julian swallowed with difficulty. The bottle of mineral water in his hand slowly drooped.
Back then, he had felt uncomfortable being waited for. He had considered his wife's excessive affection an unwanted burden. Arrogantly, he had told Serena to stop caring and go to sleep.
And tonight, after all this time... Serena had finally obeyed that order.
His wife was sleeping soundly in the guest room. She had locked the door tight. She didn't care what time her husband came home, what he ate, or whether he could sleep tonight at all.
An invisible blow struck Julian squarely in the pit of his stomach. The pain didn't draw blood, but it left him struggling desperately to breathe.
The man set his bottle on the marble table. He walked slowly down the hallway and stopped directly in front of the tightly closed guest-room door.
His wife was on the other side of this mahogany door. They might have been separated by only a five-centimeter-thick plank. But it felt as though Serena were in a galaxy Julian could never reach.
Julian slowly raised his right hand. His knuckles hovered in the air, only one millimeter from the surface of the door.
A powerful urge in his mind told him to knock. He wanted to call Serena's name. He wanted to ask about the man named Dirga who had called her earlier. He wanted to demand an explanation, or maybe... for the first time in his life, he wanted to beg her to come out and look at him the way she used to.
But the pride and self-respect ingrained in Julian's bones made his hand freeze in midair.
What would he say if Serena actually opened the door? Admit that he felt her slipping away? Swallow back his own words after acting as cold as an iceberg for three years?
Julian's hand finally curled slowly into a fist. He pulled it back, then let it fall to his side.
The man rested his forehead against the cold wooden surface. He squeezed his eyes shut. The silence of three in the morning swallowed him whole.
You really are a bastard, Julian cursed himself inwardly.
Because only now, in this very second, did he realize a cruel truth: losing something you had considered cheap could cost far more than all the assets in your company combined.