even rarer occasions, he' d talk about nothing at all, just content with my quiet presence. Tonight, he was distant. His phone buzz

hift in routine was a punch to the gut, confirming the icy premonition that

e asked, not turning to face me

'd spent the day cancelling appointments, clearing my calendar. "No," I said

His control was so absolute, he assumed I wouldn't dare defy

ckly, perhaps too quickly.

was my chance. My last chance to say something, anything,

ame was a whi

ost see the image of Harper superimposed over my face. The world outside the window was bright and sharp, a stark contra

re to say? Don't leave me? Love me, not h

forcing a small smile.

gh. "Always do, Eden." He stepped ou

mbling. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together. He hadn't called my name. Not onc

clearing the dinner dishes, wiping down the counters until they gleamed. I'd learned his preferences quickly, a

d. "Get rid of it," he'd said, his voice quiet but firm. "It clashes with the aesthetic." When I hesitated, he added, "If you want to keep filling this place with you

a minimalist backdrop. His secretary had commented on how well it suited Harper's "arti

e years ago. He'd returned it to me after a few months, claiming it was "childish" and "meaningless," a small, pointed jab that had stung more than he knew. I

managed my contracts, even dictated my posts. It wasn't what I wanted. I loved plants, the earth, the quiet hum of growth

e medal, its cool metal a stark contrast to the burning

artling me. I almos