The plate was still where she'd left it, untouched, cooling beside her half-finished cup of coffee.

I sat there for a while, tracing lazy circles against the rim of my own mug, staring at the chair across from me like it might fill itself if I waited long enough.

Aline's footsteps echoed faintly from the kitchen before fading again. She must've known better than to ask if we wanted seconds.

After a while, I pushed back my chair and stood. The stairs felt longer than usual on the way up.

When I reached our room, she was standing in front of the mirror. Her back was to me, one hand fixing the clasp of her earring while the other smoothed down her dress — navy blue, form-fitting, elegant in the way everything she wore seemed to be without even trying.

For a second, I just stood there, quiet, watching. There were still moments like this, when she looked almost unreal. Like the world hadn't gotten to her yet.

She turned when she noticed my reflection behind her.

There was a small pause before she asked, "How do I look?"

Her tone was calm, polite even, but it carried something else beneath, a faint echo of what used to be warmth.

"You look great," I said.

And she did. Perfect, really. Too perfect. The kind of perfect that made me realize how far she'd drifted, how much of her I'd been missing even while she stood right there.

She nodded, a small, careful smile tugging at her lips. She reached for her clutch and car keys, pausing like she had more to say. Her eyes flicked toward me, uncertain, then she shook her head slightly.

"I'll… be back later," she said instead.

I nodded. "Drive safe."

> "Yeah."

And just like that, she was gone.

The door closed with that soft, final sound that seemed to echo through every wall in the house.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the spot she'd been standing a minute ago. The faint trace of her perfume lingered, something subtle, expensive, familiar. I'd always liked that scent.

Now it just felt like absence.

After a while, I reached for my phone from the nightstand and unlocked it. The screen blinked to life, empty except for the chat list. My thumb hovered, hesitating for reasons I didn't fully understand. Then I typed:

You free today?

Or is Marina gonna kill you if you sneak out again?

It didn't take long for Trent to reply.

Depends. You buying?

I typed back:

Maybe.

A few seconds passed. The typing dots blinked, stopped, then blinked again.

Then yeah, I can risk dying for that.

I couldn't help the small huff that left me. Typical Trent.

---

We met at this small restaurant near the waterfront. It was one of those quiet places that somehow stayed open through every economic crisis and food trend, the kind of spot only locals remembered.

Trent was already there when I walked in, leaning back in his chair, scrolling through his phone with a drink in hand.

"Wow," he said when he saw me. "You actually showed up on time. What, Val kicked you out or something?"

"Something like that," I muttered, pulling out a chair.

He grinned. "Man, I was kidding."

"I wasn't."

He blinked, then chuckled awkwardly. "Right. Should've known better."

A waiter came by. We ordered the usual — beers, something fried, something grilled — and for a while, we just talked. Work. Sports. A guy from our graduating year who apparently started some crypto startup that didn't immediately crash.

It was normal. Easy. Like old times.

But then Trent leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. "So… Val's not with you today?"

"She had some client event," I said, fiddling with the rim of my glass.

Trent tilted his head. "Oh yeah, the Monarch Gala thing, right?"

I looked up. "The what?"

"The Monarch Gala." He frowned. "That's what Marina called it, I think. One of those fancy networking things. You know, champagne, business sharks, people pretending to be nice."

I blinked slowly. "Marina told you that?"

"Yeah." He took a sip. "She mentioned Val got invited. Said it was one of those events where you don't show up alone."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning," he said carefully, "it's the kind of thing where every exec brings a plus one. Partner, spouse, whatever looks good for PR. It's all about appearances."

I leaned back in my chair. "She didn't tell me that part."

Trent raised an eyebrow. "She didn't tell you at all?"

"No." My voice came out quieter than I meant it to. "She said she had a client event. That's it."

He whistled under his breath. "Damn. Thought you were going with her."

"Yeah, me too," I said before I could stop myself.

He gave me a long look. "So you're… not going?"

I hesitated. "She didn't ask."

"Doesn't mean you can't show up," he said simply. "You are her husband, remember?"

I laughed dryly. "Yeah. Kind of hard to forget that."

Trent leaned back again, arms crossed. "Look, man, I'm not saying crash the party. But if I were you, I'd at least show up. Even if it's just to remind her dad you're still around."

I didn't respond right away. My eyes drifted toward the window, out to where the sea met the horizon, the faint shimmer of sunlight cutting across the surface.

Would it make things better? Or worse?

Would she even want me there?

I had no idea anymore.

Trent must've seen the hesitation on my face because he sighed and said, "You're overthinking it, bud. Just go. You used to fight for her without even thinking. What happened to that guy?"

I smiled faintly. "He got married."

He snorted. "Yeah, and so did she. So figure it out before you two start acting like strangers for real."

The waiter came back with our food then, and the rest of the conversation faded into lighter things again. But my mind wasn't really there.

Half the time, I was staring at my untouched beer, wondering what she was doing at that moment. Probably smiling for cameras. Shaking hands. Looking perfect, as always.

And me? I couldn't even decide if I should show up or stay out of her way.

By the time we left the restaurant, the sun was already starting to dip. The streets glowed in that soft golden hue that made everything look warmer than it really was.

Trent clapped my shoulder before heading off. "Think about it, man. Just… don't let pride mess this up."

I watched him walk away, his words echoing longer than they should've. Then I looked down at my phone, at the contact that had been open since morning:

The Love Of My Life ❤️❤️ Celestia Valentina Moreau.

My thumb hovered over the call button, then I locked the screen instead.

And drove off.

---

To be continued...

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