The morning in the penthouse felt cold. Not because the air-conditioning was set too low, but because of the man sitting at the far end of the dining table: Julian Vance.
He was completely absorbed in the screen of his tablet. The navy tailored suit fitted to his body was so immaculate, as if he had never moved in it for even a second. The cup of black coffee beside his hand had gone cold long ago, its steam already gone.
Serena walked down the main staircase. Her steps were slow and nearly silent, breaking the quiet in the dining room, which was far too spacious for two strangers. She pulled out the chair across from her husband.
Julian didn't look up at all. His eyes remained fixed on the rows of charts and figures on the screen.
“My schedule is packed today,” he said flatly. No good morning, no small talk. “And don't wait for me for dinner.”
Julian swiped across the screen before continuing, “There's a fundraiser for your family foundation tomorrow night. Martha sent the gown to your room last night.”
He pressed the lock button on his tablet, then slowly rose to his feet. “Make sure you're ready in the lobby at seven sharp. I hate slow people.”
Once upon a time, those stiff words would have made Serena's chest ache instantly. She might have smiled and asked if her husband was tired, or stubbornly waited up until late at night just to welcome him home. But today? Serena simply said nothing. She picked up her cup of tea and took a leisurely sip. Whatever.
“All right.”
Just one word. Brief, with no protest and no sulky expression.
Julian, who had been about to straighten the buttons on his suit, suddenly stopped. He glanced at his wife, his brow faintly furrowed. Usually, Serena would ask him all sorts of questions or search for a topic to keep him sitting longer. But now? His wife was busy spreading jam on plain toast as if he weren't even there.
“I’m leaving.”
Julian walked past the dining table. The scent of his expensive cologne drifted by for a moment—the fragrance that used to make Serena's heart race, but now felt utterly bland.
“Take care.”
Serena didn't get up. She remained sitting calmly in her place.
Julian's steps paused for a second before he finally gave a soft snort and continued toward the front door.
Click. The main door shut tightly.
Serena slowly set down her knife. The house had suddenly become so quiet, but for some reason, her shoulders felt much lighter.
From the kitchen, Auntie Anna, who had worked in the house for many years, approached the dining table hesitantly. “Mrs. Serena...”
Serena raised her head. “What is it, Auntie?”
“Tonight... should I prepare Mr. Julian's favorite Wagyu beef? In case he comes home early...”
Serena offered a faint smile as she set down her butter knife. “No need, Auntie.”
“But what if Mr. Julian asks for it?”
Serena gazed at the large window displaying the city's skyscrapers from the upper floor. “Just cook whatever you and the others want to eat. From now on, we don't need to go out of our way to cater to his tastes.”
It wasn't as if that man had ever cared, anyway.
And from this moment on, it was Serena's turn to stop caring.