The first thing Seraphina noticed the next morning was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind—the deliberate kind. The kind that came from someone choosing not to speak.
Lucien wasn’t at breakfast.
His absence shouldn’t have mattered. They were adults. Busy. Independent.
Yet it did.
She stared at the empty seat across from her longer than she meant to, irritation rising at herself more than anything else. She finished her coffee untouched and stood, smoothing her dress with unnecessary care.
Get a grip, she told herself.
She had survived worse than emotional whiplash from a billionaire with control issues.
Still, the air in the penthouse felt unsettled.
—
They didn’t see each other until evening.
Lucien returned late, jacket over one arm, expression unreadable. Seraphina was in the
