Triplets of the Fallen Billionaire

FAYE I used to wake up to the sound of my alarm. Now I wake up to silence. The kind of silence that feels heavy, like a blanket soaked in cold water. The kind that settles into your bones and whispers that you’re alone long before you open your eyes. Cedric’s side of the bed is cold. It always is. I reach out anyway, fingertips brushing the untouched pillow. The sheets are smooth, unwrinkled. He didn’t come home last night. Or if he did, he didn’t come to me. I sit up slowly, pulling the blanket around my shoulders. The room is dim, the curtains still drawn. I used to open them every morning, letting the sunlight in, hoping it would warm the space between us. Now I leave them closed. Light doesn’t fix anything. I slip out of bed and pad into the kitchen. The house is spotless — because I keep it that way. Cedric likes order. Clean lines. No clutter. No mess. No signs of life. I used to think it was a preference. Now I think it’s a metaphor. I tie my hair into a loose bun and start breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Fresh fruit. I cook enough for two, even though I know he won’t eat. He never eats breakfast at home anymore. Still, I set his plate on the table. Habit is a stubborn thing. I glance at the clock. 6:12 AM. Cedric won’t be home for at least another hour — if he comes home at all. I sit down with my own plate and take a small bite. The food tastes like nothing. I chew anyway. This is my life now. Cooking. Cleaning. Gardening. A housewife in a house that doesn’t feel like mine. It’s strange, how quickly a person can disappear inside a marriage. How easily you can shrink yourself to fit someone else’s world. I wasn’t always like this. Before Cedric, I was… someone. A tech prodigy, they used to call me. A girl who built her first app at fourteen. A woman who could have been rich, powerful, unstoppable. But Cedric didn’t want a wife who worked. He wanted someone at home. Someone quiet and simple. So I became that. I traded my laptop for a garden trowel. My code for recipes. My ambition for silence. I told myself it was love. That this was what marriage was supposed to be. That I was lucky. But love shouldn’t feel like erasing yourself. I finish my breakfast and wash the dishes. The sun is rising now, casting a soft glow across the kitchen. I step outside into the garden — the only place where I still feel like myself. The roses are blooming. The basil is thriving. The tomatoes need pruning. Plants are easy. They grow when you care for them. They respond to warmth. They don’t pull away. I’m kneeling in the soil when I hear the front door open. My heart jumps — stupid, hopeful thing. I wipe my hands on my apron and walk inside. Cedric is standing in the foyer, loosening his tie. He looks tired. Handsome. Untouchable. His suit jacket is draped over his arm, his hair slightly mussed. He doesn’t look at me. “Good morning,” I say softly. “Morning.” His voice is flat, distant. He walks past me toward the bedroom. I follow him with my eyes, waiting for him to turn around. To say something. To ask how I slept. To notice the breakfast on the table. He doesn’t. He disappears into the bathroom, and the door clicks shut. I stand there for a moment, staring at the closed door, feeling something inside me wilt. This is our marriage. Cold. Quiet. Empty. I used to think it was my fault. That I wasn’t enough. Not pretty enough. Not exciting enough. Not… anything enough. I don’t wear makeup anymore. Just lip gloss. Cedric never noticed when I tried, so I stopped trying. My clothes are simple — soft sweaters, loose dresses, nothing that draws attention. Cedric once told me he liked women who were “low‑maintenance.” I took it as a compliment. Now I’m not so sure. He emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, freshly showered, already dressed for work. He grabs his keys from the counter. “You’re leaving?” I ask. He nods. “Early meeting.” I swallow. “Did you eat?” “No time.” He walks toward the door. I take a step forward. “Cedric—” He pauses, hand on the doorknob. For a moment, I think he’ll turn around. Look at me. See me. But he doesn’t. “Don’t wait up,” he says. Then he’s gone. "Tomorrow's my—" The door closes behind him, and the silence returns. Tomorrow is my birthday. I wanted to ask him if we can go on a quick trip— just the two of us. Spend some quality time together. Because I bought two tickets bound for Paris. It is the city of love after all. I stand there, staring at the empty space where he stood, feeling the familiar ache settle in my chest. This isn’t what I imagined or what I dreamed of. This isn’t what I thought love would be. But maybe it was never love. Maybe it was something else entirely. It happened months before the wedding. Before the coldness and silence. Before I knew what it meant to lose yourself. I was at The Aurelius Grand Hotel, attending a bachelorette party for my friend, Lila. The hotel was extravagant — gold accents, marble floors, chandeliers that sparkled like stars. I wasn’t much of a party girl, but Lila insisted. “You need to live a little,” she said, dragging me into the elevator. I had too much to drink. More than I ever had before. Cedric was there too — but not for our party. He was attending a corporate gala on the floor above. I didn’t know that at the time. I only knew that I was dizzy, exhausted, and desperate to lie down. My room was 526. I stumbled out of the elevator, squinting at the numbers on the doors. 520… 522… 524… The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was dark, but I didn’t notice anything strange. I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in the pillows. I must have dozed off, because the next thing I remember is the sound of the door opening. I sat up slowly, blinking. And there he was. Cedric Moore. The boy I had a crush on in high school. The boy who never noticed me. The boy who was now a man — tall, broad‑shouldered, devastatingly handsome. He looked… different. Unsteady. Flushed. Eyes unfocused. I didn’t know it then, but he had been drugged at the gala. Someone slipped something into his drink. He stared at me, confused. “Who…?” I froze. I should have explained. I should have apologized. I should have left. But I didn’t. Because for the first time in my life, he was looking at me. Really looking. “Cedric?” I whispered. He frowned, trying to place me. “Do I… know you?” My heart twisted. “Not really.” He took a step closer. “Why are you in my room?” My breath caught. His room? This is 526. I’m pretty sure it’s mine. I opened my mouth to explain — to tell him he had the wrong room — but the words tangled in my throat. He was so close. So warm and real. And I was drunk. And everything felt like a dream. He was paying attention to me. He was talking to me. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “But I think you’ve got the—” Wrong room, I wanted to say, but I was too mesmerized by his eyes. He stared at me for a long moment. Then he sat beside me on the bed. My heart pounded so loudly I thought he could hear it. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. His hand brushed mine. I should have pulled away. I didn’t. Because I had loved him from afar for years. Because I was lonely… and foolish. And fate is cruel. That night changed everything. It led to a whirlwind romance. A rushed engagement. A marriage built on a moment that never should have happened. And now… I’m in a house that feels like a museum. With a man who doesn’t see me. With a heart that’s breaking a little more each day.